A Baldwin and the Bronx
Looking vulnerable, or mad?
This first article is actually the reason that this whole series is being written. My friend, whose name appears below, mentioned his own treasured memories of Camp Summit on Facebook yesterday and that triggered my own thoughts.
After camp in 1995 was over, I had two interesting/memorable experiences in this region of New York City. I was going into the Bronx to stay with a friend of mine called Rommel Vigne who lived on Andrews Avenue. I was going to stay with Rommel for a few days prior to flying back to London.
A Weird Train Journey
I had to get on a tube train from Central Park, change train on the journey and then travel on into the Bronx. I got on a busy train in Central Park with my 100 litre Vango rucksack on my back and then waited until it rattled into the changeover station. When I got off the train, I ended up on a deserted platform in an underground station that for the life of me I can’t remember the name of. Standing on the platform in silent tube station in the middle of a morning was a decidedly eerie experience – I started having those end of the world thoughts (think about the London scene at the beginning of the zombie flick, ‘28 Days Later’).
For a while I was the only person on the platform and then after a few minutes a group of lads appeared at the other end of it and started messing about. To be honest, I felt a little vulnerable at this point – there were four of them and one of me (and I was carrying everything I owned at that point on my back). Fortunately these chaps weren’t interested in attacking me and I was able to get on the next tube train without incident.
When I got on the train, I was the only person in my carriage – once again things felt weird, where was everyone? As the train rumbled on, more people climbed in at subsequent stations until the carriage was full. My next bizarre observation was that I was the only white person in the carriage and that once again I was sticking out like a sore thumb. This was a non-threatening situation but nonetheless an odd one.
Eventually the train arrived at my stop and I got out and went looking for a cab to take me to Rommel’s house. When I arrived, I was pleased to get the rucksack off my back and feel properly mobile again.
The Shot Gun Incident
The second unusual event took place a couple of days later – in fact it was my last night in New York! Rommel and I had been out until late at night (well early hours of the morning really) drinking coffee in Manhattan. At the time I remember thinking how remarkably cosmopolitan the whole experience was, I mean coffee around midnight, no wonder it’s regaled as the city that never sleeps. You couldn’t replicate the event in Stoke-on-Trent let me tell you.
We made our way back from Manhattan into the Bronx and arrived back at Rommel’s place. We had only been in a few minutes when we heard glass smashing. The glass it turned out was the near side front door window of Rommel’s dad’s old car. We rushed to the front door to investigate and found out that the broken window had been smashed with the butt of a sawn-off shot gun that was now being pointed at us by the two scallywags that had presumably been intent on stealing the jalopy.
Whilst I looked on a little vacant, Rommel didn’t hesitate, he bundled us both down the hall, shut the door and called the police. Who knows, maybe he saved our lives! Meanwhile the outlaws legged it and the car stayed in its parking spot.
The squad car turned up a few minutes later and Rommel went off with one state trooper to search the neighbourhood. Whilst Rommel was gone in the car, I got chatting to the other trooper and I mentioned my original train journey in – his response “anyone that saw you with a rucksack on around here would have thought you were a nutter and steered clear of you”. Nice!
To my relief, I haven’t had a gun pointed at me since; well except for the paintball, laser quest and Nerf varieties! Rommel on the other hand subsequently made his living in the US military, his familiarity with guns no doubt significant.
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After camp in 1995 was over, I had two interesting/memorable experiences in this region of New York City. I was going into the Bronx to stay with a friend of mine called Rommel Vigne who lived on Andrews Avenue. I was going to stay with Rommel for a few days prior to flying back to London.
A Weird Train Journey
I had to get on a tube train from Central Park, change train on the journey and then travel on into the Bronx. I got on a busy train in Central Park with my 100 litre Vango rucksack on my back and then waited until it rattled into the changeover station. When I got off the train, I ended up on a deserted platform in an underground station that for the life of me I can’t remember the name of. Standing on the platform in silent tube station in the middle of a morning was a decidedly eerie experience – I started having those end of the world thoughts (think about the London scene at the beginning of the zombie flick, ‘28 Days Later’).
For a while I was the only person on the platform and then after a few minutes a group of lads appeared at the other end of it and started messing about. To be honest, I felt a little vulnerable at this point – there were four of them and one of me (and I was carrying everything I owned at that point on my back). Fortunately these chaps weren’t interested in attacking me and I was able to get on the next tube train without incident.
When I got on the train, I was the only person in my carriage – once again things felt weird, where was everyone? As the train rumbled on, more people climbed in at subsequent stations until the carriage was full. My next bizarre observation was that I was the only white person in the carriage and that once again I was sticking out like a sore thumb. This was a non-threatening situation but nonetheless an odd one.
Eventually the train arrived at my stop and I got out and went looking for a cab to take me to Rommel’s house. When I arrived, I was pleased to get the rucksack off my back and feel properly mobile again.
The Shot Gun Incident
The second unusual event took place a couple of days later – in fact it was my last night in New York! Rommel and I had been out until late at night (well early hours of the morning really) drinking coffee in Manhattan. At the time I remember thinking how remarkably cosmopolitan the whole experience was, I mean coffee around midnight, no wonder it’s regaled as the city that never sleeps. You couldn’t replicate the event in Stoke-on-Trent let me tell you.
We made our way back from Manhattan into the Bronx and arrived back at Rommel’s place. We had only been in a few minutes when we heard glass smashing. The glass it turned out was the near side front door window of Rommel’s dad’s old car. We rushed to the front door to investigate and found out that the broken window had been smashed with the butt of a sawn-off shot gun that was now being pointed at us by the two scallywags that had presumably been intent on stealing the jalopy.
Whilst I looked on a little vacant, Rommel didn’t hesitate, he bundled us both down the hall, shut the door and called the police. Who knows, maybe he saved our lives! Meanwhile the outlaws legged it and the car stayed in its parking spot.
The squad car turned up a few minutes later and Rommel went off with one state trooper to search the neighbourhood. Whilst Rommel was gone in the car, I got chatting to the other trooper and I mentioned my original train journey in – his response “anyone that saw you with a rucksack on around here would have thought you were a nutter and steered clear of you”. Nice!
To my relief, I haven’t had a gun pointed at me since; well except for the paintball, laser quest and Nerf varieties! Rommel on the other hand subsequently made his living in the US military, his familiarity with guns no doubt significant.
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