Where Do I Belong?

I was born in New York City. So were my parents, and their parents. To the best of my knowledge, all of my great-grandparents were born overseas. A very limited number of countries were involved, but I have never had any connection with any of them, except that I have visited Germany twice (two great-grandparents were born there).

I was a baby in Rosedale, Borough of Queens, out by Idlewild Airport. After a year or so we moved to the north shore of Queens, right on the East River, close to La Guardia Airport. I attended the local Catholic grammar school and a nearby Catholic high school. I had a New York City address and a New York drivers' license when I joined the Navy and when I was discharged (Honorable). I returned home, and resumed my life as a New Yorker. I attended the City University of New York, and I got married in New York City. Our first son was born in New York City. I received five of the seven sacraments in our local Catholic church.

You hardly notice how terrible the New York weather is until you are about twenty. Before that, it's the weather that you know, so you're used to it, and young people are not bothered by extremes of weather anyway. Hot? Okay, it's hot, so what? Cold? You hardly feel the cold until you are fully grown. It's that “fires of youth burn hot” thing. Snow is fun when you are a kid, you get days off from school, the cold is nothing, it's all fun and games! It all hits you suddenly in your mid-twenties. The cold hurts; the extreme heat and humidity are annoying; you have to get to work; you have to get your kids to school, if school is open; you probably have to drive around in whatever kind of weather presents itself. At that point, for many of us, the fun is over, the spell is broken. I had spent countless hours in all of the great museums, and I had enjoyed hundreds of movies that one cannot find on view in other places, and I had had my fill of big buildings and all of that, and it was time to go. Time for the entire family to go to a place where just running a simple family life wasn't so Goddamned hard.

I had seen San Diego, California as a sailor, and my wife had visited Los Angeles. We had both seen California at the height of winter. It's about eighty degrees during the daylight hours, with the palm trees and the beautiful ocean and everything. The last straw for us was visiting the school where our son was about to start Kindergarten. It looked like a prison. There was heavy protective grating on all of the windows, and the school yard was full of broken glass. That night we had a serious talk and decided, yeah, California, let's allow the boy to start Kindergarten in Los Angeles. We decided on Los Angeles because it was the easiest city to come down on your feet and hit the ground running, making a living beginning in the first week or ten days. It turned out just that way.

That move occurred in the mid-1970s, and since that time I have not held a New York drivers' license, nor any other kind of New York license. I have never owned real property in New York. Since that move, I have neither had a New York address, nor have I paid any New York taxes or utility bills. After that it was California all the way.

I immediately obtained a California drivers' license and began to pay California utilities and California taxes. We very quickly bought a home, and I owned real property in California for almost forty years. I attended law school and obtained a license to practice law in California. I still have it. I also still have my California drivers' license. I have not, however, resided in California for about twelve years.

During this last period my residence has been in Thailand. I travel on a current United States passport. I observe all of the legal niceties, possessing up to date visas and work permits. I own a condominium in Bangkok. I am married to a Thai woman. I have not applied for permanent resident status, and I have no present intention to apply for Thai citizenship. I am trusting, in other words, that I will be allowed to remain in Thailand on one kind of visa or another for the remainder of my life. When the day comes that I am no longer working, I qualify easily for either a married-to-a-Thai-national visa or a retirement visa.

All of this is beginning to feel somewhat problematic. I am beginning to wonder if there is too much trust involved. In my darkest hours I become afraid that I may become stateless. The world in general, and so many governments in particular, are changing very quickly, in ways that do not necessarily favor an individual in my situation. I am lucky to have a few bucks, but I have nowhere near enough money to open all doors with a smile.

I do receive Social Security benefits, so they at least believe me to be an American citizen, and a particular American citizen at that. I lost my Social Security card forty years ago, but they still recognize me. They know where I reside; I get mail from them that is sent to my Bangkok address. My residence is not a problem under current rules. (Underline CURRENT RULES.)

I have no meaningful ties with New York at this point.

I am still on the roles of California lawyers. The California Bar Association also lists my Bangkok address on their web site. That must qualify as a connection with the state, but will it be enough for me to renew my drivers' license?

As so often happens, I am worrying too much about this. I should be fine. I have already renewed my passport at the local American Embassy. I suppose that I can dummy up an address for a California drivers' license when the time comes. I worry, though, because I have never been adept at reading the tea leaves in such matters. I am too often surprised when the ice starts cracking under my shoes. And those are only the potential legal problems. There's an emotional component here as well.

Where the hell do I belong? If you listened to me speak one English sentence, you would ask me, “so, what part of New York are you from?” My accent, vocabulary, and attitude in general are very New York. That's “Noo Yawk” for those of us who know what's up, doc. It's been twenty years since I set foot in the place, though. By now I'd just walk around with my head on a swivel complaining about the prices like some hayseed.

I lived in California longer than I did in New York, and if I were to return to the 'States I'd prefer to live in California, but there's no way that I could afford it. I'd be lucky to sustain life in a trailer up in Death Valley, and between my typical old man medical bills and the need to buy medical insurance for my handicapped Thai wife I'd go completely broke in short order.

That leaves Thailand, and luckily I do like it here. Things are amazingly affordable. My Thai has gotten to the point that Thai people can actually understand most of what I say in Thai, as long as the subject under discussion is simple. That's fine; that's where most conversations live. I've started to study again, wishing to expand my vocabulary and improve my reading skills. There are a great many foreigners here, most with Thai wives and many also having dependent Thai children. We are most often a boost to our local economies. Most Thai people are anything but xenophobic. They tolerate foreigners very well. It's a crossroads country, so they've been inundated with foreigners for thousand of years already. If we, the foreigners, learn to smile, be polite, speak a bit, and respect monks and the royal family, we are probably okay.

I'm starting to feel like a citizen of the world, but I don't think that there is any recognized paperwork for that as yet. I believe that I could make a good argument for that status. My experience of the world has spanned the globe. I speak German, and I have studied German in Germany and on another occasion visited my ex-wife's family there. My German is rusty, but I can still easily speak with German or Austrian tourists or airline seatmates when the opportunity arises. Even my German grammar is still okay. Thai is a tonal language, and I can assure you that the tones will kick your ass for a few years. I've been here fifteen years now, if you include my two Peace Corps years before I finally moved back. Many foreigners speak better Thai than I do, but many more can hardly speak at all. I'm doing okay, and I get a full measure of credit for it. Even my English has profited greatly by my Thai experience. I've done a lot of editing of academic papers to smooth out the broken English and make it read like native English.

Getting through these last stages of life is never easy, but I've got a good chance to make it okay. Just avoid the worst and it'll all work out. Avoid the worst medical results; avoid serious accidents; avoid political upheaval; keep coastal flooding at bay; stay out of trouble.

I just need to pay attention, I suppose. Wish me luck.

New York City: The Worst Weather In The World

My Thai friends are always surprised when I tell them that New York City has the worst weather in the world.  They see these Chamber of Commerce photographs and tourist brochures and it all looks very nice.  Well, they take those photos on nice days, but New York only gets about forty nice days in a year.  The remaining 320 days are problematic.  The problems include, but are not limited to, the heat, the cold, and the rain.  It’s a city of extremes, weather included.  You like hurricanes?  (Typhoons.)  Try a blizzard sometime! 

The Heat

Thailand is hot, but New York is more uncomfortable.  It’s all about the humidity.  Thailand gets high temperatures, but the humidity is generally between sixty-five and eighty-five percent, seasonally.  Humidity in a New York summer can get up to ninety-eight percent.  There’s a difference. 

Yes, New York is hot.  How hot is it, Johnny?  It’s too hot to have the lights on in the house.  If you walked around my town in Queens in the Fifties or Sixties after dark, the houses all had every window and door wide open and the only electric thing that was on was the TV.  It’s too hot to sleep with your head on a pillow.  Too much heat build-up.  You’d sweat to death if it didn’t wake you up first.  Ditto, sleeping on your side, that’s out too. 

There’s a lot of air-conditioning now, but that’s a recent development.  I lived in New York to the age of twenty-seven, and I never had air-con.  Usually not even a fan.  Hot, hot, hot. 

The Cold

New York is slightly less cold than cities further inland, but the dampness in New York compensates nicely.  The dampness intensifies the cold in the same way that the humidity intensifies the heat in summer.  New York is surrounded by water; most people don’t realize that it’s a city composed of islands.  That North Atlantic is a cold ocean, too. 

I remember walking around on days that were so cold that I had to put my glasses in my pocket and cover one eye at a time with a gloved hand.  My eyes were so cold that they felt like they were going to crack open like eggs.  New York is full of skyscrapers like the ocean is full of salt water, and the big buildings create a “canyon effect” that can really drive the wind right through you. 

Snow has one thing in common with war, at least one thing.  Those with no experience of the thing are the most enthusiastic about it.  Snow, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, if I never experience snow again, it will be too soon.  Snow is only fun for children.  Even I will admit that snow was a real treat when I was a boy.  We little brats had a lot of fun.  Then you grow up, and snow becomes a nightmare.  Snow makes it harder to get to work; harder to shop for food; harder to dress your children; snow complicates everything. 

Imagine, for a moment, that you have awoken to find that fifteen or twenty inches of snow has fallen overnight.  Well, get busy Charlie, you’ve got work to do.  You look out the window and see a car-shaped pile of snow where you parked last night.  Digging a car out of a blanket of snow is something that the snow inexperienced never consider.  Here’s how it goes:

First, clear the snow off of the trunk.  In the trunk you have brushes for use in clearing the rest of the car, small pieces of heavy rug to use for traction, one or two ice scrapers for the windows, and a snow shovel.  Snow is a lot heavier than it looks in pictures, and all of this shoveling and brushing and scraping is hard work.  At some point, you need to get into the car, which is also a lot harder than it sounds.

The door lock, of course, is frozen solid, and the key will not rotate.  Now you must have a lighter handy.  Hold the key in the fire for a while and put it in the door.  It will not open the first time.  Wait a moment for the heat to transfer to the lock.  Repeat, many times.  Try to rock the key around as you go.  Eventually the door will open. 

Success!  You’re out of your parking space!  And it only took a half hour!  Now all you need to do is slip and slide your way to work!  Have a nice day! 

Even worse than snow is a freezing rain.  Rain! 

Rain

Rain is a constant companion in New York.  The whole year is the rainy season.  Everyone has several pairs of rubber overshoes, waterproof shoes and/or boots.  Everyone has raincoats, maybe more than one.  Everyone has a collection of umbrellas.  It’s never enough.  The sheer volume of rain and wind will overpower everything.  Some days, you get soaking wet in spite of it all.

The worst weather that I have ever encountered was a day in New York that I call a “Thirty-Thirty-Thirty” day.  You’ll have to suffer through a few of these every year.  It’s about thirty-three degrees outside.  Just above freezing, so it’s not snow coming down.  The rainwater itself is about thirty-four degrees, just this side of being ice, and it’s pouring down like there’s no tomorrow.  Add to this a thirty-something mile per hour wind.  That, my friend, is enough to make a grown man cry.  There’s nothing that you can do to stay dry.  Your pants are so wet that freezing water is running down into your shoes.  Your umbrella, if you can keep it from collapsing in the wind, is only a small advantage, because the wind is blowing the rain right up at you, up, down and sideways.  Water is blowing up under your raincoat; it’s running down your neck and up your sleeves.  I’ve gotten to work or school so wet that I could take a bill out of my wallet and squeeze water out of it.  By then you are miles from home, and it will be a long time before you can get into a change of clothes.

What can you do to protect yourself?  Wool, dear reader, wool is your friend.  One of the natural properties of wool is that it retains the ability to contain heat even when wet.  So woolen hats are a must, and woolen anything helps.  Ever see those pictures of Irish kids playing outside on rainy days, all wearing those nice Irish woolen sweaters?  Warm as toast.

Best advice:  if you can keep your head warm, and your feet dry, you probably won’t die.  (Antibiotics help, too.  It was a Thirty-Thirty-Thirty day that killed my grandfather, but that was before penicillin.) 

And it rains all year!  It’s horrible.  Springtime can be nice, but when that will happen is anybody’s guess.  Either April, May, or June, it will probably rain almost every day for the entire month.  I was a letter carrier in 1972, and in June it rained twenty-eight out of the thirty days.  And hard rain, too, none of this sprinkling.  Up through the teen years none of this really bothers you, but once you are officially an adult it starts to get oppressive before long.  I lasted in New York until the age of twenty-seven; by then my wife and I couldn’t take it anymore.  We moved to Los Angeles and never looked back.  Well, almost never, but that’s another story.  The weather in L.A. is like a wonderful fairy tale with a happy ending, and we enjoyed it very much.  It was like surviving the sinking of the Titanic. 

Honorable Mentions

Ice Storms.  These are very dangerous, and very beautiful.  Overnight the temperature is just above freezing and there is a mist falling.  Not real rain, but mist.  As the mist settles on the surfaces of the world, it turns to clear ice.  Clear, smooth, shiny ice.  The ice covers every contour of every tree, every building, and yes, every street.  It’s hell to try to drive in, but it’s swell to see. It’s always gone by about nine a.m.

Atmospheric Inversions.  These are supremely uncomfortable and annoying.  Some kind of bubble forms over the area, like a hundred miles in diameter or something, and the air doesn’t move in or out for about a week.  For all of that time the sun just makes the air get hotter and hotter, and it always seems to start out hot to begin with.  There was a good one in June, 1973, and it was as hot as I’ve ever been in my life.  It was almost 100 degrees, and almost 100% humidity.  And zero movement in the air, for days!  I’d sit under a tree reading, and not one leaf moved one millimeter.  There wasn’t a single sound coming from the trees.  Boy, June really is like a box of chocolates . . . you don’t know what you’re going to get.

Sudden Developments.  Another terrible feature of the weather in New York is the profound unpredictability of it all.  No one on the earth has a clue what the weather will be tomorrow.  The worst thing about this is that they try, and they guess, those TV weathermen, those so-called meteorologists.  It’s a mischief. 

How many times did I hear them predict that the next day would be a beautiful day, a perfect day, mild and clear, only to be subjected to a barrage of terrible weather.  Before bed, the weather man says:  great day tomorrow, great weather.  When you wake up, the radio weather guy says:  perfect day today.  And when you look out the window, it does look perfect.  So you go to work in shirtsleeves, wearing your good shoes.  You go to work by taking a twenty-five minute bus ride, followed by a forty minute subway ride, and a couple of long walks are involved.   All morning it’s a beautiful day, and you might even have lunch in the park or something.  But during the afternoon, something happens.

By two p.m. it’s cloudy.  By three p.m. it’s dark, and a wind has come up.  By four p.m. it’s raining.  By the time you leave the office at five p.m. it’s like Noah’s Ark out there, you’re walking in a driving rain and the temperature is fifteen degrees lower than when you came to work. 

It gets worse.  You’re soaked to the skin before you get to the subway, and you stand there dripping wet on the train for forty minutes.  Now you have to catch your bus.  Traffic is a mess, and there are fifty people on line for the bus, which will hold about thirty of them, if you’re lucky.  (People are on the bus already.)  More people are coming out of the subway all the time, and getting on the line.  If you try to hang back, under an awning or in a building, the line keeps getting longer and you never get on a bus.  So you must stand on the line in the rain, for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, in the pouring rain, in your shirtsleeves and you good shoes, with no umbrella, trying desperately to get home from work.  Oh yeah, New York weather is a blast.

It’s crazy how the weather comes up so quickly.  When I was sixteen years old I had a summer job working in a defense plant in our town.  I walked to work.  One morning, one beautiful morning, when the weather prediction for the day was “perfect,” I got to the gate and the guard was looking at the sky.  Somebody said, “nice day, eh?” and the fellow said, “okay now, but it’ll be fucking murder later on.”  Wait now, what do you mean?  “See that?”  He pointed at the sky.  “Pink at night, sailor’s delight.  Pink in the morning, sailor’s warning.”  We didn’t think too much about it.  The fellow at the gate had sailed the seas of the world for twenty plus years with the merchant marine and it turned out that he knew his weather.  At about two p.m. it started to storm around like nobody’s business.  Rain and wind like we thought that the windows would be smashed, and black as night. 

Anything can happen in New York, weather wise, and it probably will happen, too.

The Blizzard.  And now, the coup de grace, ladies and gentlemen . . . The Blizzard!  If you think that you like the hurricanes of the world, the typhoons, well just try them with sub-freezing temperatures, and snow instead of rain, but with the same high winds and all of that lightning, too.  Now that’s a party! 

There’s nothing like trying to make your way home by car after work, and having the time stretch way out as the snow piles up, and having to cross huge suspension bridges while periodically having to get out of the car and join a group of drivers trying to push abandoned cars aside to make a pathway, and all the while it’s snowing like mad, blown by a strong wind, and there’s brilliant lightning flashing in the sky, in the clouds and the snow, and everything is punctuated by terrible thunder.  If that’s your idea of a party, maybe you should move to New York. 

New York is a great place, no doubt.  Best museums in the world, best restaurants, best pizza.  It’s a great place for music and art of every kind.  It’s a tough place, though.  It’s very stressful, and the weather is only part of it.  “If [you] can make it there, [you’ll] make it anywhere.”  Try it if you want to.  Good luck!  I handled it okay when I was young, strong and foolish.  I wouldn’t even try it again at this point.