Times Have Changed In 40 years

Very often, I reminisce about the day I got my first job in New York City. At the age of 23, I wasn't at all overwhelmed by the world's greatest metropolis, but I was a little excited about the unknowns I was facing. I was a lone immigrant from Chicago, with just one second-party friend who attended school with my mom. She let me stay with her until I could find a job and a place of my own. (During that three-week period, my car was vandalized.)

My job turned out to be very exciting, indeed. It was with a major photo studio on Third Avenue in midtown. I was a lowly assistant to several of the hot photogs in the mail-order catalog industry. Come to think of it, I was somewhat overwhelmed at the sight of models strutting around in their negligee. I learned to "be cool" after noticing how the other workers were handling the landscape.

The most important part of this experience was the recognition I received for my hard work and willingness to learn new skills of the trade. As the sole African-American neophyte on the premises, I was never ever asked to perform any menial task not assigned to other workers.

I remember, distinctly, a seamstress who worked in the wardrobe department. She was from the Caribbean and seemed to resent me for being ambitious in my position. She would often remind me that she thought I had very little chance for advancement in the company. I wouldn't remember her name if you put a gun to my head.

After working at the studio for eight months, I was promoted to the creative department with an increase in salary. The new environment consisted of a more sophisticated population of artists and directors who probably thought of me as a novelty, as I look back in retrospect. I enjoyed the stimulating atmosphere where the language was more superficial than normal. I found myself 'going with the flow' at times, in quest of acceptance. I grew out of it, eventually.

My new status became a passport to new adventures, such as finer places to eat and exclusive haberdashers where I developed a taste for designer sports coats. One of my peers seemed to be entertained by escorting me to shops where he bought his clothes. He dressed impeccably (can't remember his name, either), but I soon discovered he was gay, and our relationship faded. Meanwhile, I was already able to find my way to key merchants around town.

I don't remember exactly how I met Bernie, a British extract who was an architect with a firm near where I worked. Don't forget, I am referring to the life and times in the late sixties in midtown New York. Bernie seemed to be intrigued by my appetite to learn and experience extraordinary venues in the City. He was ten years my senior and an inexhaustible resource of information about architects and their influence on the New York's imposing skyline. Bernie also was a jazz aficionado. I think we met at a tennis court which was also near where I worked. He dressed "cool". That meant instead of wearing designer labels, he wore plaids and chords. He introduced me to chukka boots. I knew immediately that I wanted his friendship.

We walked the city streets late evenings, observing the individual characteristics of buildings around town, including the Seagram's Building and St. Patrick's Cathedral; and we hit the hot jazz locales together. He is directly responsible for my meeting Gloria Lynn, Kenny Burrell and Bobby Short, a reflection of Bernie's extensive entertainment budget.

Suffice to say, my earliest experience in "The Apple" was enriched by a point of view that I was entitled to the rights of any human being, and I did not engage in any ostensible campaigns to pursue these liberties. Just a few years later, I started my own company in Manhattan, servicing some of the largest corporations in America. (For details, please see other blogs or read my novel, "Stock Power".)

For lack of a better way to describe my attitude toward society, I acquired the perspective of an ordinary citizen without adding the burdens of scepticism and self-imposed bias. In retrospect, I did what I believe any courageous, adventurous individual should do, which is to be one's own person - with total acknowledgment of heritage - and focus on an immediate goal or two.

Here I am, forty years later, enjoying a brand of clarity on what has happened in America during the past year. I can appreciate the advancement of a man who has a fabulous skill, who also happens to be an African American: Barack Obama. He has parlayed his education, political experience and belief in himself into a status that could not be achieved by members of another race. THAT'S HOT STUFF!

I salute Mr. Obama and his partner, Michelle. In my view they should be included in a select group of African Americans endowed with more vision than bias, more courage than doubt, more pride than insecurity and, certainly, more skills than the competition. I like placing the Obama's among the ranks of achievers such as, Jackie Robinson, Martin Luther King, Jr., Arthur Ashe, Michael Jordon, Oprah Winfrey, Kenneth Chenault and Colin Powell. If you look really closely, none of these dignitaries needed a political platform or activist movement to support their missions. On the other hand, one common denominator was vision and determination.

My hope is that more individuals of all races can find reasons to abandon the pedestrian tendency to be envious and critical of our fellow man. If, indeed, you believe that all men (and women) are created equal, then go ahead and become the reflection of that tenet to the best of your ability.

Break a leg!

Hudster