Here are the first two winners of West Side Rag mugs for their contributions to our new UWS Encounters series. You, too, can drink your coffee or tea from one of these beauties by jotting down and sending us your UWS stories—150 words or less, real names required. If we post your encounter, one of these cups will come running over.
Back Pocket Blues
By Elaine Berg
My husband, on his way to Citibank on 72nd, popped his checkbook into his back pocket and proceeded. He came home a half hour later dejected. He had somehow lost the checkbook, including the priceless register.
As we contemplated the complexities of closing our longstanding account, figuring out our automatic payments into and from that account, etc., the phone rang. It was Citibank, informing us that a woman had found the checkbook on West End Avenue and 73rd, and returned it to the bank.
She left no name.
Stoop Solace
By Laura Farb
Walking with my dog across Broadway. My dog spots another dog and lunges to play. Down I go, holding onto her leash. Bystanders help me up and I continue. A woman sitting on a stoop asks if I’m okay. I reply yes, but I’m mad at my dog because she made me rip my favorite pants. The woman laughs and says don’t worry, you’ll buy another pair.
And I did!
Send your UWS Encounters to westsiderag.com or post them in the comments.
A WEST SIDE ENCOUNTER:
The 20th Precinct, on West 82nd Street, has a small open lot which is used for fueling and storing police vehicles. One warm, beautiful day during the height of the AIDS epidemic, I heard the unlikely skirl of bagpipes and, passing the lot, saw a young man, presumably a police officer, in a kilt and undershirt, marching up and down the concrete as though practicing for a parade. Chanter and reed and drone played on and on: The Minstrel Boy, Garryowen, Stars and Stripes Forever. He glanced at me for a moment and must have seen something in my face, for he launched into the most haunting piece of all: Will Ye No Come Back Again? — a lament for the defeat of Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden. I walked away, followed by the music, dreaming of lost companions.
That’s a great story Barbara
Your pants were probably worth more once they ripped!!!