After the first day of meetings I
was pretty sure I was the wrong guy in the wrong place. They were trying to
pound a square peg into a round whole.
The committee, group, board, commission,
consultants, council, task force (all names we
called ourselves in the first day) was charged with editing and upgrading
the Alliance Youth Fellowship constitution. I wanted to dump it, not rewrite
it.
I was only following the process marginally in my
own church. I used their terms, sort of elected/appointed leaders and wanted
more a flow of teens taking responsibility. I just didn’t care what correct
word should be used to clarify the exact meaning. I was convinced the whole
thing should disappear, as it had no meaning. I suppose it had some meaning at
the time, but it was clearly on its way out. I wanted to start the fire. It was
obvious my ideas did not gel with the rest of the committee. They had a very
clear assignment and were determined to do it. Being the new kid on the block I
was being tolerated, not appreciated. I could see the bad fit and moved in the
next day to play nice and work with them, but I never gave up my dream and made
a comment whenever I could. I wanted to be somewhat careful. I didn’t want them
to hate me.
After we ended the days meeting about 8:30 p.m.,
Glen took me for a walk. We flowed the exact same route I had taken the night
before. Except we only walked two blocks toward Macy’s. Once we turned onto
Broadway four people confronted us in two blocks asking for money. One was very
persistent and followed us the last half block. He only gave up when we crossed
the street.
It was just as crowded the second night as the
first. A magician was added to the street performers. He was also a juggler. He
wasn’t very good.
We stopped at the corner of Broadway and 42nd
before entering that one block of “America’s most evil.” His words, not mine.
We stopped in the middle of the block and he began to point out things I had
completely missed. I saw the uniformed policemen. Twelve, if I remember right.
But there were another twelve or more suited men who looked a little out of
place. I was told these were undercover officers.
He pointed out the prostitutes. This time I was
struck by how profoundly ugly they were. Poorly dressed, sloppy, over weight,
skinny, acne, and stringy hair. No one looked like the beauties of TV and film.
They looked disgusting, bad teeth, cigarettes in their hands or dangling from
their dry lips. I could not believe people would actually pay to be with those
people. Then we studied the potential clientele. Most looked about the same. They
were shabby and dirty men with hair sprouting in all directions. There was a
glaze over the eyes I could see. Hucksters stood in many business doorways,
trying to talk passersby into becoming customers. Traffic in and out of these
doors was brisk.
I no longer saw the street as just porn shops. It
became the end of the world, a last stop before death. If there are zombies,
they were walking 42nd Street.
We were talking and I was learning when a young
guy approached. He was just as dirty as the rest of the crowd and he smelled of
booze and cigarettes. His breath nearly took mine away. He offered to do us
both at a very reasonable price. When we said no, he lowed the price. “Anything
you want. I’ll do it to you or you can do it to me. I need the money.”
Glen said, “Are you needing more liquor?” “No
man, I need cocaine.”
We managed to pull away and head back to my
hotel. We parted at the corner of Madison and 44th. Glen left and I
walked to the entrance of my hotel when I was propositioned by a much more
attractive person. I thought it was a woman, but I could have been wrong. “No
thank you,” I said and went in for the night. I wanted to get back to Saskatoon
and my wife. I wanted out of that hellhole.
I had a shower and went to bed.
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