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by
William L. Benzon
Jersey City, NJ, USA
8.20.2003
It was Saturday evening, two days after the blackout that shut down most of the Northeastern quadrant of the country. I decided to take a walk down by the shore. For me, living in the Hamilton Park area of Jersey City, the shore means the west bank of the Hudson River at the point where the Holland Tunnel crosses into lower Manhattan, an area given over to a concrete walkway, buildings of various sorts, some deserted tracts of scrubby land, and the Newport Marina. I first set foot in this area some five or six years ago when I went to meet Bill Doyle, an old friend and, at that time, a business associate in a small software company. He was sailing his boat, a 55-foot Freedom, up from Baltimore and docking it at the marina.
At that time there were perhaps three or four high-rise apartments at Newport (as the area was called), two office towers, a parking garage, a fitness club, several shops, and, a couple of hundred yards back from the shore, the Newport Mall, with a Sears, a J.C. Penny, a Sterns (now Macys), a multiplex theatre, food court, and assorted shops, stands, and kiosks. Now the number of apartment towers had more than doubled, there were five or six office buildings, a half dozen restaurants (American, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, Mexican, Indian), several bars, two hotels, more parking, a florist, a large drug store, and a (private) primary school will be opening in the Fall. One of my colleagues, Xiaohui Wang, from the (now defunct) software company lives in one of those apartment towers. He tells me that his young son, Eric, can recite 20 ancient Chinese poems.
There were, as one might expect, a lot of people out that evening; there usually is. Judging from the languages they speak and their appearances, most of them are not native to America. The majority of them appear to be from Asia while some appear to be of African descent. There are some, but not many in overall proportion, Caucasians of European heritage.
Most of the people are relatively young. Many are walking with infants or toddlers. All are relaxed.
The evening is a pleasant one. But I cannot forget the recent blackout, though it had been quite mild in this area, nor could I allow myself to completely forget the political climate. In fact, the immediate context, being surrounded by Third World professionals living in America, kept that climate bitterly in mind. I cannot imagine that these people came here to participate in The Last Stand of the White Nations Against the Rising Tides of Color. They came to work, to raise families. Indeed, I suspect many came for freedom. Xiaohui is one of the students who had demonstrated at Tiananmen Square. He came to this country to study, then to work. Now he and his wife have two children.
As I continue strolling along the shore, with all these people, such thoughts haunt me. The buildings are, at best, nondescript modern towers, bland, faceless, sterile. The people too are thoroughly modern, but they are not nondescript nor, on the evidence, were they sterile. To the contrary, they dressed in clothes of many lands and were happily fertile. Those fearful thoughts were in stark contrast to these people and to the New York skyline, one of the Great Wonders of The Modern World, across the river.
At some point I angled inland from the shore, cutting across the north edge of the apartment complex to Washington Avenue. I then turned left and headed south along the very broad sidewalk in front of the office towers. There, a football field away, was a curious sight, an unexpected bright patch. It was outside one of those new bars that had been settled in the area. People had gathered, most of them seated, behind a low railing demarcating an area of the sidewalk for use of the bar's patrons. At the far end of this area I saw a small white canopy with decorative gold filigree on its supporting pillars. The seated people were well dressed, the men in suits, the women in elegant evening wear.
As I drew near, it became clear that this was a wedding. I concluded that it must be a Hindu ceremony, though I have never seen one, or even read a description of one. The (veiled) bride and groom wore Indian clothing, maroon for him, gold-trimmed crimson for her, both in silk. The officiating priest wore Indian dress as well (white slacks and a maroon closed-neck jacket) as did many others. The couple stood in front of two ornate chairs placed at the back of the canopy. There were flowers and flower petals scattered about and several people wore garlands of flowers around their necks. That seemed Hindu, as did the small altar--a rectangular tray a few inches off the ground--near the front of the canopy. A small flame flickered in a dish on the altar, and the priest would occasionally throw some powder on the flame--incense perhaps? But the tip-off is a jar near the altar. Its label said "ghee". Ghee is a clarified butter that is often used as an offering in Hindu ceremonies, that much I remembered having read.
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Comments
Ricky | Oct 12th, 2004
A great story about culture!
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