Date: Tue, 24 Feb 2015 17:18:06 +0000 (UTC)
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: New York, New York 4

This story is about a college boy's first visit to Manhattan.

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Copyright 2015 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.


			    NEW YORK, NEW YORK

			      by Macout Mann



				    IV


Monday morning I said "goodbye" to Mikey and headed for the RCA Building.
I strode across the NBC lobby, past the sightseers lining up for tours,
past the pages guarding access to the elevators, and went directly to
Studio 6C, where rehearsals were to begin for "An Ideal Husband" by Oscar
Wilde.  The play would star Rex Harrison and Lili Palmer, but they wouldn't
arrive until later in the week.  Stand-ins would serve during the early
read-throughs.  Mr. Fickett welcomed me and introduced me to Lawrence
Langner, whom I was surprised to see was actually personally involved in
the production.

This rehearsal was for timing, to work out some technical details, and to
see if the working script needed editing.  I discovered that the stand-ins
were younger, promising actors who relished the job, since it gave them an
opportunity to be heard by the likes of Langner and Fickett.  In fact,
during a break when I was with them, Langner commented that the actress
reading Lili Palmer's part "sure knows how to do Wilde."

I'm sure that resulted in a future audition to say the least.  Never hurts
to be noticed by the number one stage producer in the country.

I did carry away a souvenir, a copy of the working script of the play.
After the rehearsal I also by pure chance ran into Kyle, one of the guys
from my high school who was a page.  I explained how I happened to be
there, but he seemed rather uninterested.  He was more anxious to tell me
that he and other pages, who were also musicians, could book a studio and
have a jam session at will.

I have never been an employee of NBC, but have contracted with the network
many times.  I can't imagine that Kyle's supervisors were unaware of what
they were doing.  Was he suggesting that pages might even book a studio and
have an orgy at will?

Anyway, he did give me the courage to wander further around the inner
sanctum of the network without being on a tour.  I went up to the eighth
floor and inspected Studio 8H, the largest radio studio in the world.  The
original home of the NBC Symphony, it had the dead acoustics of all radio
studios of the era and was particularly unsuited for symphonic music.  The
space is now the site of the television show, "Saturday Night Live."

I checked out of the hotel, put my bag in a locker at Grand Central, and
splurged on a lunch at Peacock Alley at the Waldorf.  It was to become one
of my favorite restaurants in still my favorite New York hotel.

I spent most of the afternoon cruising the sites of mid-Manhattan from
Times Square to Central Park.  In those days it was magic just to wander up
and down Broadway and Fifth or Park Avenues.

I retrieved my luggage and caught a cab to 58th and Broadway.  The bar at
which I was to meet Rex and his friends was just a few doors east on 58th.
I thought the cab was an extravagance; but although I had only one bag, it
was too heavy to lug all the way from Grand Central to Columbus Circle.

Rex and his three friends were already at the bar, and they were all great
to be with.  They entertained me with anecdotes about screw-ups at the
Voice, some of which were hilarious.  I told them about my adventures with
Mikey.  I didn't let them know Mikey was gay.  I knew Rex was straight, but
I did notice that two of his colleagues seemed to show an interest in me
and each other.

I let the time get away from me.  It was after 6:15 when I hailed a cab in
front of the bar.  Fortunately 58th was one-way going toward Queens.

"Can you get me to the American terminal at Laguardia by seven o'clock?"  I
was panicked.

"I'll try," the cabbie responded.

We slipped over into the left lane and charged down to the approach to the
Queensboro Bridge. We sped over the river in a wrong-way lane.  I didn't
know if I was more panicked by the cab ride or the possibility that I'd
miss my plane.

It was 6:56 when we arrived at the airport and the cabbie turned toward the
American hangers.

"No," I shouted.  "I need to go to the terminal!"

"You aint a pilot?" he rejoined.

We reached my goal with moments to spare.  I tossed him a tip big enough to
make me a pauper and rushed into the terminal.

"American passenger Cunningham.  Please come to Gate 3," I heard the
loudspeaker say.  They did that sort of thing back then.

I reached the gate, surrendered my ticket, ran up the steps to the plane,
and immediately the door was closed behind me.

As we taxied to the runway, I wondered how the cabbie could have thought I
was a pilot.  His misconception was the only reason we reached the airport
in time.  In those days folks traveling by air always wore suits and I was
also wearing a khaki trench coat like a pilot might.  But I was still too
young to be a pilot.  Fortunately, my first job out of high school was as a
summer replacement radio announcer.  Since I was working with guys twice my
age, my boss suggested that I grow a moustache to look more mature.  I kept
it when I went on to college that fall and have it to this day.  I guess in
the twilight I did look like a pilot.

An exciting end to a first visit to the Big Apple.  My cousin was waiting
for me at Washington National.  We arrived right on time.

                              THE END


Please do let me know your reaction to the story.  It's quite a bit
different from my usual stuff.  macoutmann@yahoo.com.

Coming soon: "The Third Empire," a futuristic fantasy set in the late
Twenty Second Century.