Summer Shortcuts

Today I am reminded of simpler times when the sun is seductively warming the streets of New York and the more informally attired workers are moving a bit slower than usual. I never grew up in New York City, but I am a native New Yorker by way of Staten Island. Not many people took us seriously in the "forgotten borough" even in those days. Or especially in those days.

I did work in New York City as a temporary secretary, moving from place to place throughout the Wall Street area. It was very exciting stuff between college semesters. I would take the venerable Staten Island Ferry every morning, and it really did seem like a cruise ship with accompanying balmy breezes on the outer deck where I invariably sat in the morning and evening.

There are a lot of tourists speaking multiple languages filling these decks now. I don't recall a single foreign accent when I joined my fellow commuters on the elegant mahogany boats painted red outside and that departed at 7:10 AM during my summer forays between semesters. I do remember the uniform of the day for men: seersucker suit, buttoned-down shirt, tie, and the Staten Island Advance or the New York Times tucked under one arm. For women, no navels were in sight. White gloves finished off my discrete dresses, but this was more my Catholic school discipline showing. I do remember my impeccable white gloves touching the pole in the stifling, un-air conditioned subway, where it was unthinkable to remove them, no matter how hot the temperature rose. Come to think of it, that was a good thing.

For the most part, we are happily beyond men wearing suits and ties in the hazy, hot and humid summer months, though Wall Streeters did seem to favor $4000 Armanis just until about a year ago. That would cause scornful looks today, as young executives refuse to wear anything approaching the Gordon Gecko look now. Either that, or they are unemployed and are wearing shorts and tee shirts on the way to the gym.

On a positive note, the Staten Island Ferry terminal has undergone a serious transformation recently. It is immaculately clean with stunning views of the downtown skyline of Manhattan, all soaring glass and sleek silver. The terminal also houses two beautiful 1000 ton aquariums with rare tropical fish. A playful touch. Nice.

It is very surprising to me that Staten Island remains financially independent enough to dismiss any need for visitors to subsidize the expense of the Ferry. If it were up to me, I would make every tourist pay at least $1.00 for the round trip fare. Whoever heard of a free boat ride anywhere in this world? It's not as if the tourists ever venture forth to see the Greenbelt hiking trails, the Tibetan Museum, or all the great restaurants. Nor do they go to my favorite, the Boardwalk. I always head there with my mom and Tess, her rescue dog, when I visit Staten Island as a Manhattanite who never quite lost her ties to this historical and cultural island.

After the Verrazano Bridge arrived and dominated the commuter scene, you couldn't play "Who Do You Know?". This involved mostly giving an Italian, Irish or Polish name to someone and finding out the six degrees of separation between you and them. I don't ever remember getting on the Staten Island Ferry without seeing someone I knew in those days. It was that kind of an island, and that kind of a nautical adventure.

So while Staten Island thrives in new and exciting developments, I am left with sweet memories of a simple childhood that smacked of sophistication just a boat ride away, but also provided a countrified aspect that has gone the way of the old red ferryboats.

I attended an evening seminar last week that featured a well-known economist who is often featured on CNBC. It was an impressive gathering of real estate moguls, bankers, captains of industry, and entrepreneurs in general. I was honored to be invited as one of the boys, since there was a disproportionate number of women present. Not to worry. I am not intimidated by this type of event that inevitably begins with a networking cocktail high above Manhattan with outstanding views of other, equally impressive skyscrapers which used to be filled with employees.

Which brings me to the tone of the evening. A bit of unease pervaded the room. Smiles that were a little less confident than one is used to, with a touch of wariness upon introduction. Though I didn't see any resumes, I did meet some well-dressed people who are out of work.

None of us wants to hear that someone has been laid off, especially if that person comes home to dinner in your house every night. Inevitably though, we all have heard of, or experienced someone close to us who has been "made redundant." Sounds like buying more than 10 items on an express line. Oops...sorry, you have to go to that other line.

There is an excellent book about this sort of thing by one of the best mystery writers of this generation (said by the WSJ). The book is called The Ax and it is by Donald Westlake. It was written in the 1990's last recession and concerns a middle management guy who is fired and decides the only way to get the job he really wants is to kill the competition...several layers of resumes stand in his way. Not an easy task. While the subject matter is macabre, the premise is brilliant and the writing is extremely amusing.

On a bright note and one to increase optimism for the ending of our current recession is a small article that appeared in the New York Times the other day. Ariston Florists, a high-end shop on West 17th Street, boasts a 10% increase in the sale of roses in this recession.

"My customers say a rose means reassurance," said Mr. Barbagianis, owner of the florist. "They are looking for basic beauty. They want something that expresses love and happiness, that reminds them of good times in the past--and, they hope, good times to come."

This is a sweet story, and shows how sensitive we tough-minded New Yorkers really are. I didn't see any roses at the economist's seminar, but there was a strange comfort in knowing that we are all in this together. People I know are reaching out to say they need help, and those of us who are still OK are sincerely trying to help with leads or referrals, or just trying to give moral support.

I intend to buy a rose from the Korean grocer on the corner from time to time. He needs to keep his job,too, and it will be a reminder to wait for the good times to come, one sniff at a time.

Chastened, but Not Bowed Luxury

The Resort at Pelican Hill on the Newport Beach Coast in California has been creating expectations that one could find very difficult to satisfy. Fantasy is a very private affair, thank you very much. This promise of "perfection" made me a bit skeptical throughout the process of the resort being built over the last two years. The pre-opening collateral material was awesome. No, sensational would be more accurate. It was the promise of something that was ego-driven by a multi-billionaire owner, and he obviously got there by himself being a perfectionist.

I can tell you that they weren't kidding. This is the most amazing resort built from scratch that I have seen in years, and it has all come together and opened in October 2008. Yes, just prior to the Great Depression of 2008.

So, what do you do when you have so much money sunk into a resort that would have been just perfect for AIG, Lehman Brothers and Merrill Lynch? You soldier on as if nothing is wrong. California with a touch of the flower child still.

I just wanted you to see this for yourself. Room rates are not astronomical, especially for groups. Tom Fazio has "perfected" the 18 hole course that was in existence prior to the resort being built. Ocean views and Catalina Island frame the course.

Intriguing, how these things have a life of their own. It is the best of times. It is the worst of times. I am betting that the Resort at Pelican Hill will flourish. The group market has already confirmed much more subdued meetings with lower rates than the hotel would have charged in good days. Astonishing how sometimes your imagination can actually work within a budget!