Nervous days

Waiting for the Ball -- or the Other Shoe -- to Drop

By Rick Horowitz

TIMES SQUARE, NEW YORK -- The paper says the tourists are back. It says they're here in huge numbers, unruffled by terror threats and color codes. The paper hasn't talked to me.

I'm spending the final week of the year just a stone's throw from where the ball will fall, where a million or so people will be jammed together to watch it fall. It's the kind of thing that concentrates the mind -- my mind, anyway. Especially this time around.

Some post-Christmas (pre-apocalypse?) city scenes:

* "Seating Upstairs," the sign in the deli announces, so I carry my breakfast upstairs and grab a seat with a window view -- 44th Street, just east of Broadway. It's still early; some of the big stores aren't even open yet, but the line outside Toys "R" Us has already curled around the corner. As I watch the line grow, a dark green van pulls to the curb. The doors open, and five of New York's Finest emerge. These aren't your standard traffic cops; their uniforms include helmets and boots -- and rifles with telescopic sights.

They adjust their equipment, huddle for a moment on the sidewalk. Then they walk slowly toward Broadway, past the tourists laying siege to the toy store, to take up their duties: snipers on the morning shift.

* It's virtual gridlock outside the Virgin Megastore, with just enough bumping and jostling to rattle the uninitiated. Can all these people really be shopping for CDs and DVDs?

No. Most of these people are simply trying to make their way down the street. The main problem, I finally realize, is the woman standing near the entrance to the Virgin Megastore with a megasnake wrapped around her neck. Some people want a closer look. Some people don't want to be in the same county.

If a single snake can snarl an entire block, I find myself wondering, what happens if something major happens?

* I smell meat. I'm ten floors above the sidewalks of New York, and the smell of burning meat is unmistakable. It turns out I'm also ten floors above Hamburger Harry's, where they cook burgers early and they cook burgers late. A little of that goes a long way, and the hotel staff is perfectly sympathetic; they find me another room, away from Harry's vapors, up on the 19th floor -- the top floor. Better smell, better view.

Of course, if I can see more of the sky, more of the sky can see me. There was almost no way a plane could have crashed into me down on the tenth floor, hidden in the canyons. Up here on the 19th...

* "Do you believe in destiny?" Two men are walking up 7th Avenue -- a father and a son, or an older man and a younger companion -- as I'm walking down. The older man asks the question just as I pass them. I haven't heard the background, and I'm gone before the response arrives.

They're walking toward Times Square, and the older man wants to know, "Do you believe in destiny?"

* People get sick, people have accidents. Cities have ambulances, ambulances have sirens. It's all a normal part of city life. Each time I hear a siren this week, though, I pause, and each time I see an ambulance trapped in traffic, its siren wailing to no avail, I do a quick calculation: Multiply this ordinary, everyday traffic snarl by a major emergency -- a dirty bomb, for instance, or a vial of something vile -- then multiply it again by panic, or darkness, or pain. There will be total gridlock, I'm convinced, or absolute stampede.

* "Glory!"

The man sets his overstuffed briefcase down on the sidewalk, and pulls out a Bible, which he waves at passing pedestrians. This is several miles north of Times Square; the crowds are smaller here, and there's room on the sidewalk for a man, even a crazy man, to set down a briefcase. His cadence is slow, steady. He pauses several seconds after each word.

"Glory!" he shouts. "Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory! Glory!"

Occasionally, he also shouts "Hallelujah!" And once or twice, something that sounds like "God loves you!"

Here in New York, this time around, I'll take comfort anywhere I can find it.

Posted 12/30/03. Rick wishes you the happiest, healthiest and safest of new years!

Rick Horowitz is a syndicated columnist, TV commentator, writing coach and public speaker

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