Post 33 - April 13, 2020
Day 33…
It’s a cold and rainy day.
We live on the 5th floor of our building in the back, but even so there is a level of city noise that fills in the background and obliterates almost everything else.
This morning, the only sound I could hear when I woke up was the rain hitting against the window and tapping on the air conditioner.
A couple of days ago, I was walking through Central Park and I was really aware of just how many different kinds of birds make their homes there.
I can identify the basic ones by sight- sparrows, chickadees, starlings, cardinals, blue jays - but there are plenty there that I have no idea what they are.
This isn’t news to anyone who lives outside the city, but for the rest of us living here, I have an announcement: They all make their own sounds.
At the same time.
Starlings have this kind of chirping shriek - that’s not a very good description, but until now, I have never noticed it.
I walked through the park, listening to the birds and trying to find new ones whenever I heard a new sound.
I sat on a bench and just listened, and I could pick about ten different bird calls without really trying.
Central Park is an oasis in the middle of New York, a kind of miracle really, but no matter where you went in the Park, in days past, the city was always present. Skyscrapers poke above the tree lines and you were never able to escape the white noise of the steady traffic that was like a thick blanket over everything.
The skyscrapers are still there, but the traffic isn’t.
The birds have taken over.
Just down Columbus Avenue from where we live is the Wild Bird Fund building.
They take in and rehabilitate injured animals from the city.
Pre-COVID, I used to walk past it all the time.
There are always interesting creatures in the windows.
There’s a tank of turtles and a whole flock of white pigeons or doves.
Once there were a couple of swans walking around inside.
My friend Charles Chessler is rolling his eyes as he reads this. He has been taking pictures of birds in the park for years.
He’s an astonishing photographer.
He knew all those birds were there and I suppose if I had been asked, I would have said sure, there are plenty of birds in the park.
I just never really took them in.
As in many places across the country, every night at 7pm our neighborhood erupts in applause for the frontline health-care workers.
It’s become my favorite part of the day.
Whatever we are doing when the crazy din starts, we get up, open the window and make some noise. My noise of choice is an All-Clad frying pan that Michael doesn’t really use to cook with and a wooden spoon.
It makes a great ear-splitting noise.
Every night as I’m banging away on my pan and Michael is yelling, “Thank you!” out our living room window, we take in our neighbors.
There’s the old lady in the red bathrobe. She’s on her terrace in the building next to us to the left on the floor above. She also bangs on a frying pan (she gave me the idea). Sometimes she is late coming out and both Michael and I get worried.
On the other side of 97th Street is a tall building that looks like it was built in the 70’s or 80’s. It’s about 20 stories tall. When this started only a couple of people would come out. Now, all the terraces are full every night. There is a family that always waves an Indian flag - they’ve been there from the beginning.,
To the right there is a young couple who have a terrace a floor below us who come out with their dog, who LOVES the noise - his tail wags like it’s going to fall off.
Above them directly across from us is a guy who has the messiest terrace in the hood. It is packed with crap, stacked up. It’s the one thing we look out on that we’d like to change. Last year that building needed to replace and reinforce all of its terraces, so all of the tenants had to clear everything off. We were thrilled thinking that finally all of that stuff would go. They finished the work, and sure enough, all of the crap came back exactly as it was before.
Until this 7pm ritual started, we had never seen who lived there.
Now, he’s our neighbor and we check in every night.
We lost someone to this virus yesterday.
She wasn’t famous.
She was someone’s Mom. She was someone’s Wife. She was someone’s Daughter.
She wasn’t just a number reported by Governor Cuomo every morning, she was a woman who, independent of her family, led a full, beautiful life.
Dominic Scaglione Jr. played Frankie Valli in various places including on Broadway for many years.
When you get to know Scags, you get to know his ENTIRE family. It’s kind of a package deal.
At his final audition with Bob Gaudio, and he had had quite a few before this, he was approved. He was so excited that he was told in the room that he was getting an offer. (in 16 years of JERSEY BOYS, I think that may be the only time that has ever happened. That NEVER happens.) He asked if he could call his Dad right there and have Bob Gaudio tell him. And that happened.
I'm not exaggerating when I say, you get to know Scags, you get to know the entire Scaglione family.
His brother Patrick, his sister Christina Scaglione, and his Mom and Dad.
I love them all.
Kathy Cusack Scaglione held them together. (Not always an easy job… ahem!)
It’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen them in person, but because of her son, Kathy and I remained Facebook friends. We liked each other’s pictures and commented on each other’s posts right up to a couple of weeks ago.
She is a beautiful soul.
She was SO proud of her children.
My deepest condolences to everyone who knew her, especially her spectacular family.
RIP Kathy - you will be missed more than you know.