Lower Manhattan

With the neon and hyper-activity of Midtown Manhattan, it's easy to overlook the historical significance of Lower Manhattan.

For most of the latter half of the 20th century, Lower Manhattan was simply "the financial district." Wall Street, the New York Stock Exchange, World Trade Center, Woolworth Building, Federal Reserve. Commerce was the main draw. When the banks and exchanges closed in the late afternoon, everyone went home. The streets that were lined with (literally) millions at noon were empty at night and on weekends.

My most vivid memory of Lower Manhattan was seeing a ticker tape parade honoring the astronauts who first landed on the moon in 1969. It was an incredible event. Millions of onlookers, tons of confetti and ticker tape (who knows what that is any more?), and an hour after the parade passed by my building at 25 Broadway, the streets were clean and there wasn't any evidence of the event.

The only historical significance to me was that during the 2 years I worked in Lower Manhattan I watched the construction of the World Trade Center Twin Towers.

Then came the tragedy.

In its aftermath the focus changed. People were drawn to Lower Manhattan, particularly to the site of the former Twin Towers. For whatever reason, the area became known as Ground Zero not just as a geo-militaristic term but also as a geo-tourism term.

As Mayor Giuliani encouraged visitors to come to New York City, to support the City, to help the City rebuild economically, tourists arrived in droves. They stayed in Midtown, but for the first time that I know of, they wanted to visit Lower Manhattan. They needed to see, to pray, to pay respects, to seek closure, to get mad, to cry, to blame, to ask questions for which there were no answers. Regardless of their motives they converged on Lower Manhattan and Ground Zero.

Our company, New York City Vacation Packages, was (and still is) 100% invested in New York City tourism. For several months following the tragedy visitors who responded to the Mayor's plea asked our help in getting them to Lower Manhattan.

In March of 2002 we decided to hire an experienced tour guide, Tony DiSante, and operate a FREE tour from Midtown Manhattan to Ground Zero and Lower Manhattan. Tony, himself a resident of Lower Manhattan, had familiarity with the area both before and after the tragedy and conducted a respectful mission to the scene of the tragedy, as well as to many of the other sites in Lower Manhattan.

On our first such tour on that sunny but chilly Saturday morning in March 2002, we were accompanied by a reporter and photographer from a New York newspaper, a CNN film crew and reporter, and about a dozen or so tourists who paid nothing for the tour - it was after all a FREE tour.

CNN ran a mostly factual 8-minute feature on the tour later that afternoon.

The newspaper, however, never quite got the story right. According to the article in the newspaper, we were charging $1,900 for the tour! And since the incorrect story was picked up by the wire services, I got plenty of emails and phone calls when the story appeared in USA Today and many local papers.

I spent the next several months explaining the true story to newspapers and on radio talk shows. "No," I'd say, "We're not charging $1,900 for a tour. It's FREE. Tourists are asking for help getting to Lower Manhattan and we're arranging it for them AT OUR COST."

My most trying time was responding to questions from author, sports writer and radio talk show host Mitch Albom. "We are not profiting from the tragedy," I told him after he accused us of doing what we knew our hearts would never let us do. But he has an audience to entertain.

His last remark to me was, "The market will decide if what you are doing is right."

Mitch, the market decided. We still operate the tour. In fact, not long after appearing on Albom's radio show, I had the pleasure of escorting three private tours for the entire staff of the City's convention and visitors bureau.

I learned a lot about the media from that sunny Saturday in March. I learned a lot, too, about Lower Manhattan from Tony DiSante. I'll share that knowledge with you soon.

42nd Street

It was a pleasant drive in those days, from our home in Pennsylvania to the Big City. My father had bought his first brand new car, a 1954 Plymouth Savoy, which replaced his 1946 Pontiac that he had bought a few years earlier for $200, almost 2 weeks' salary.


The Plymouth made it to New York City in about 3 hours, its 4-40 climate control operating at full blast (that's 4 windows down at 40 mph - we didn't know from air conditioning in the '50s).


Traversing the Pennsylvania mountains and the New Jersey farmlands, the ride was certainly less than spectacular; that is, until we entered the Lincoln Tunnel. My mother kept an eye out for the markings on the tunnel wall - "There it is, there it is!" as she pointed. Indeed, there it was. Written on the wall, just as she had told us for weeks, building our anticipation for this epic journey. The vertical line with "New York" on one side and "New Jersey" on the other. It was everything she had promised. For that fraction of a second, that miniscule moment of our lives, we were at the precise spot where New Jersey became New York. We discovered the secret of fire. We harnessed the atom. We cured measles. We were in New York.


Oh, how little it took to excite us then.


The Empire State Building. I don't remember any long lines; I don't remember the elevator; I don't remember if the weather was nice. I just remember walking around the Observation Deck in absolute awe. Looking down at the TOPS of big buildings. Seeing for miles in every direction. Could I see Pennsylvania? Dad said no, but I thought I saw my house. Past New Jersey.

Times Square. So many people. We stood on the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street. My Mom told me that if we stood there long enough we would see every famous person in the world. At the time I don't think I was interested in standing there long enough to see every famous person in the world, but I was absolutely fascinated by the signs in Times Square, particularly the Camel cigarette sign that blew smoke rings. While they scoured the crowds for famous people, I just stared at the smoke rings. Sadly, I learned how to blow smoke rings just like that sign did (but I'm now smoke-free for 145 days).


I recall that 42nd Street in the '50s was mostly movie theaters. Maybe there was more to it, but that one block between Broadway and 8th Avenue was so brightly lit, with every marquis dancing for attention. It seemed to me that the whole movie world must have started on 42nd Street and then moved around the corner and up Broadway. The lights of Times Square were bigger and brighter, but their fuse was lit on 42nd Street. To me, 42nd Street was the center of the New York universe. Even my favorite Camel sign was positioned so the best view of it was from 42nd Street.


All these memories came back to me last weekend. For perhaps the first time since the early '70s (the movies were "unique" in the '70s; the lights danced but the dance was a lot different) I walked on 42nd Street between Broadway and 8th Avenue. So much has changed that remains the same. The lights are even brighter but the fuse is elsewhere. The movie theaters are there, a monsterplex of 25 theaters on 11 floors. The obligatory gift shops and fast-foodaurants. 42nd Street has evolved but there's still one constant: 42nd Street is still the center of the universe.


There are attractions like Madame Tussaud's and Ripley's. There's the old New Amsterdam Theatre, the only remaining remnant of the 1990s disneyfication of the Street. Dave & Buster's sole New York City location just opened. BB King's Blues Club hosts some of the best musical acts in the City. And stuck in the middle of it all, somewhat hidden in the neon and color of the Street, is a Hilton hotel.


Maybe it's not what we'd call pure New York. Maybe it's gentrified and disneyfied and McDonafied. But it's glitz and glamour and neon. And it took me back 50 years. What's wrong with that?


The best resource on the web for planning your next New York City vacation - www.nyctrip.com!

Watch my Travel Agent Training Video - Best of New York - on youtube.com.

My Daughter's 16th

First published in May 2003 Travelsmart:

As I sat in the Nederlander Theatre waiting for the musical Rent to begin, I knew my 16-year old daughter Marley was excited about seeing *NSync’s Joey Fatone live on stage. She and I had, just a year earlier, camped out overnight at Rockefeller Plaza so she could see her favorite group perform for The Today Show.

Fatone has matured from boy-band to movies and Broadway stage. So has Marley. It wasn’t the presence of her pop idol that was memorable to her. It was the storyline and the music of Rent, a long-running show with undercurrents of homosexuality, Aids and other subjects that Dads don’t always like to talk about with their 16-year old daughters.

This day and this musical were special to me, more special than Cats or Grease or Blue Man Group. This day marked the transformation from childhood to adulthood. Not for Joey Fatone. Nor for Marley. For me.

Broadway has a way of doing that. A stimulating show. A late dinner, then a stroll through the crowds, past the sidewalk vendors, all the while talking about what we’ve just experienced. No doubt it was a memorable time for Marley. For me, an epiphany. I’m not the father of a kid anymore.

We’ve seen Urinetown, the Musical too. A surprise winner of multiple Tony Awards, it surprised me also. First, no bathroom jokes. Second, Marley understood the show’s allegory and appreciated its subtle humor.

There’s something on Broadway for everyone. Musicals, plays, dramas, comedies, dance … and each one will challenge your emotions and change your life in some way.

Newest Photos

Thought I'd thrill my loyal fans with my newest photos from my weekend in New York City July 18-20. Top to bottom:

1. World Trade Center area, now primarily a construction site.
2. 30 Rockefeller Center (30 Rock). It's not just a TV show, it's ... it's ... it's ... no, it's just a TV show.
3. 42nd Street. Not your father's 42nd Street. Not my father's 42nd Street.