Apple & Cheese, A Match Made in Heaven. Who knew?!

My story begins in the spring of 1995. I was in the 2nd semester of my freshman year of college and I was on spring break. My god brother was in his sophomore year of college, studying in New York City. We were very close & I had never been to New York so I thought it would be the perfect Spring Break vacation for me to go and hang out with him. So, at 19 years old, I packed my bags and my excitement, and took a flight out to visit the Big Apple. I was born and raised in Wisconsin, “The Cheese State”, and up until that point in my life, the biggest major city I had seen was windy Chicago. Little did I know just how much this trip would change the course and trajectory of my life in dramatic fashion.

When I arrived to La Guardia airport, I was immediately filled with overwhelm. Although I grew up in a smaller, but major city myself, our city’s airport paled in comparison to the size of La Guardia. When I de-boarded the plane it was as if I was released from the stables and right into a cattle stampede. I had never seen so many people in an airport before, all at one time, trying to catch a flight, moving expeditiously to their gates. I maneuvered through the crowds and somehow managed to end up at the baggage claim. As I looked out into the waiting area on the other side of the partition, there was my god brother waiting for me. When we made eye contact, we smiled from ear to ear like two Cheshire cats. It had, after all, been a year since we last saw each other in person. I collected my luggage as fast as I could and made my way out to where he was standing. “Finally” I said as he laughed while we embraced. We began walking towards the exit to leave the airport building when all of a sudden, an influx of men of different ethnicities started bombarding us like hounds, one after the other, in hushed but thick accents asking “you need a cab”. I stood there in shock but not afraid as that had never happened to me before. Truth be told, I’m a polyglot & it was quite easy for me to identify what countries they were all from based on their accents but I maintained my cool, as to not show my excitement during this abrupt multi-ethnic encounter. I mean, I was in New York so I didn’t want to look like a tourist right off the bat. “No, we’re good” my god brother replied as he encouraged me to continue walking towards the exit.

Once we got outside, there was an immediate orchestra of sounds that reminded me of tv channel surfing, radio station surfing and honking horns, but all happening at once. All my senses were immediately heightened and it was as if I was being audibly greeted by New York itself. I looked to my left and saw the long line of yellow taxis waiting at the taxi stand for new passengers and immediately asked my god brother, “are we taking a yellow cab?” “No, we are going to take the M60 bus into Manhattan and get off in Harlem and take a cab from there. It’s cheaper”, he said. Now, I was all for cheaper, especially as a struggling college student, but I wanted to live like a New Yorker on my vacation and in my mind, New Yorkers took a yellow cab wherever they went. I didn’t say anything though. I was just ecstatic to be there.

When the M60 bus arrived we got on. “M” stands for Manhattan. I paid in change and he paid using a token which was used for the NY MTA transportation system at that time. We went towards the back of the bus and got situated as we were leaving the terminal to get onto the Grand Central Parkway, one of the many highways in NYC. It seemed like it took forever to leave the airport because it was just so big. Once situated, my god brother explained to me why the men back at the airport were approaching us almost in a taboo kind of way. It was because many of them offer illegal taxi services and they compete in trying to hustle un-suspecting visitors, sometimes charging outrageous rates to take you where you need to go. Needless to say I was grateful. It seems I started getting a crash course in all things New York right out the gate, LITERALLY!

When I looked out of the window I was awestruck by the enormity of the city. I was immediately taken in by the glamour of the exquisite, albeit, smoggy skyline. The buildings were all so tall but crowded, like nothing I had ever seen before, not even in Chicago. Everything was really close together, like the city couldn’t fit anything else inside it, but kept on stuffing itself anyway. I could feel my excitement intensifying with every passing mile into the heart of Manhattan. I didn’t feel like a kid in a candy store. It was more like a scratch off lottery winner that had just won a cool 10 million dollars! It was already everything I had hoped it would be and I had only been there an hour. Just as we were about to get off of the highway, we passed the exit for Rikers Island. I remember thinking “wow it’s a real place!” I only knew about it because of the HBO documentary “Lock Up:The Prisoners of Rikers Island” that came out the year before. As we were getting off of the Triboro Bridge, my god brother said “welcome to Harlem”. I immediately sat up straight and felt an enlightening sense of pride as I watched all the melanin adorning the streets walking to and fro, going about their business. It was as if I had returned home to the motherland for the first time. Never had I seen a more beautiful spectrum of brown gathered in one place before as I did that day. At least that’s how I felt as I puffed my chest out, like I was one of them. Cowry shells and (dread)locks, short afros, high top fades and permed bobs were on full display without prejudice. Afrocentric clothing shops and stores, Black and Latino churches on every block, and little hole in the wall soul food restaurants abounded. I couldn’t believe the livelihood of the culture, my culture, that I was seeing before my very eyes. From the people, to the clothes they wore, from the hairstyles, to the buildings themselves, I saw nothing but vibrant color all around and it was giving me LIFE. This is what the famous 125th Street in Harlem was all about. Life. I think it was at that moment that I fell in love with New York City, and boy did I fall hard.

As the bus crossed each street, 1st Ave, 2nd Ave, 3rd Ave, I could see a long vertical yellow and red sign of a building that was coming larger and larger into view. By the time we reached 5th Ave and 125th Street, I knew exactly what it was. It was the monumental Apollo Theater of Harlem, “the place where legends are made”. I lit up like a Christmas tree because I had grown up watching the late night “Showtime at the Apollo” on TV. In the 90s it was the next best thing to watching “Soul Train” with Don Cornelius. Every Saturday night I watched the latest R&B artists perform on that stage but my favorite part of the show was amateur night with Kiki Shepherd and Sandman Sims. I couldn’t believe that I was approaching it. Tourist visitor or not I had to take out my camera and take a picture. By now the bus was pretty crowded and I didn’t have much room to get a good shot. Then the bus stopped in front of this tall building on 7th Ave (which I later found out was the Adam Clayton Powell State building,) and it seemed like everybody emptied the bus at the same time. There were people standing in front of the building hanging out, listening to music, dancing around in front on the large square, carefree, just living life. This spot on 125th seemed to be the heart of Harlem so of course I took a photo of them. Then, I got the perfect shot of the Theater right afterwards and hurried to put my camera away before someone found out I was a tourist.

A few stops after was our stop, and so we got off on Amsterdam. My god brother hailed a yellow cab which I thought was so cool because we didn’t do that in Wisconsin. We took it to 72nd street and my god brother said “ you can let us out on the corner here”. He paid and we got out of the taxi and he said “welcome to my dormitory”. When I looked at the building, it looked like an apartment building and I was jealous of how upscale it looked on the outside compared to my college dorm in Wisconsin. When I told him I was jealous he said “don’t be, wait until you get inside.” We entered the building and it had a lobby with a small reception area, like a hotel concierge! I couldn’t believe how “posh” everything looked, but I kept silent. When we got to his room and he put his key in the door to open it, I GASPED! It was the size of a CLOSET! I’m not exaggerating. It was the tiniest dorm room I had ever seen and had nothing more than a twin bed, a small dresser, a sink, and a small closet for storage. He had a small television on the dresser. There was definitely NO room for dancing or exercising. You had to go down the hall to use the bathroom and shower. THAT part, I was accustomed to in my own dormitory, but the sleeping quarters? I’ve seen animals and pets have larger accommodations! He looked at me and said “I told you, don’t be jealous” and we both laughed it off. To be honest, I didn’t care. I was just happy to see my god brother. We had known each other since we were kids and our bond could never be broken, not even over a closet for a dorm room. Needless to say we made the best of the sleeping situation, alternating nights on the floor.

Over the next 11 days I would have the time of my life. I saw Julliard, Central Park, Rockerfeller Center, the Empire State building, Time Square, I ate real New York pizza from the local pizzerias around town, experienced different neighborhoods and cultures and so much more. He showed me around everywhere he could think of and there STILL wasn’t enough time to see everything. By the time my visit ended, I had made up in my mind that I would live in New York City one day. For the first time in my life being there felt like it was where I belonged and where I was destined to be. I always kept the memory of that trip in the forefront of my mind. Fast forward to 1999. I was a Spanish and Music teacher for a charter school that was started by my local church in 1998, back in Wisconsin. My god brother had moved to New Jersey upon graduating college to be in a steady relationship with someone he had met while in school. In May of 1999 he called me and said he is moving back to New York and he wants me to move with him. Without hesitation, I said, “ok, let’s do it!”

I told my family and friends and they all thought I had lost my mind to give up everything I had already accomplished in Wisconsin to move on a whim but it wasn’t just a whim, not for me. I felt a magnetic pull that I couldn’t escape. New York was calling me back, back where I belonged and there was this “knowing” that said I had to get there by any means necessary. So, at the end of the school year, I turned in my notice at my school and my church. I gave notice to my landlord that I wasn’t renewing my lease in the fall. I gave all of my furniture to my younger sister who had just given birth back in March. I gave my old beat up car to my college best friend who needed one because I wouldn’t need a car in New York. I was ready to go and I was excited for this new change that was about to occur. All summer long all I could think about was, I’m moving to New York.

My god brother and I had decided to move back at the end of August. About two weeks before moving there, he called me up and said, “sorry, change of plans. There is a job opportunity for me and I’m moving to California!” I said “you are lying right?” Well, it turned out he wasn’t lying at all. I gave up everything but now I was stuck. What was I supposed to do next? Stumped and afraid, I prayed and said “God I can’t do this on my own” and all I heard in response was “You’re Goin!” And THAT is where this story really begins….

stay tuned for pt. 2!