EAST 30TH STREET

Our story begins on East 30^th Street, over which we go down to the sea to get ships, helicopters, the seaplane to the Hamptons, the ferries to the outer boroughs and the Mets and tennis games, gasoline at one of the few stations in lower Manhattan, parking for the desperate and chintzy. For a narrow, one-way street, it does a pretty good job of getting people out of the city. I cross it every day on my Citibike commute to work. Neither snow nor rain, you know. Not much chance of gloom of night; I’m out of my office like a shot.

A random timing of the lights from the East 29^th street bike lane to the mighty uptown-headed Third Avenue, formerly under the Third Avenue EL—we scrapped it, and sold the steel to Japan in the 1930s; they sent it back to us on December 7^th, 1941—caused me to notice a gleefully smiling one-legged man in a snazzy Drive wheelchair in traffic on the west side of East 30^th. After another few yards, I saw the cup. The Bible tells us that when someone asks for food, give it to them, or give them money to get it. The Talmud expands this; if someone is begging, they have humbled themselves and have created a debt from the begee to the beggar. This holds even if it is likely that the panhandler has a Section 8 housing voucher, disability checks, and Medicaid and is fishing for money for smokes or whisky. I gave him a buck; he thanked me profusely and wished me to “Be safe out there.” I waved and said, “And you as well” and saw him resume holding his cup to as many as possible of the cars stopped for a red light, most of them app-ride vehicles, most of the drivers Middle Eastern, who have a similar charity paradigm similar to the Hebraic. Some of the drivers would listen intently as the disabled man, Isaiah, as I would learn, spoke with deliberation into their car windows.

After six weeks, I finally learned the secret of the red-light conversations. As I handed Michael a fin—I was out of singles—he told me to take 47^th westbound, that the docking station closest to my office was full and would remain so for a few hours. How did he know where I worked, which docks I used? It was a pain in the ass, on top of the ordinary pan in the ass of riding a bike 45-pound bike with nitrogen-filled tires, to stop and use the app to pick the best station. Did Michael’s phone have the Citibike App? Was he giving traffic information to the drivers as well? Take Second down instead of the FDR? 

Every working day I would give him something. When I volunteered to take over Thursday bagel duty for my office, I’d give him a buck and a hot, fresh-out-of-the-oven New York bagel. Everyone I passed sufficiently strapped to beseech alms got a Bagel on Thursday. It became a routine with Isaiah.  I would ring the bike bell and he would swivel from the traffic lane to the sidewalk so I could duke him without stopping. Expiation of sin, accumulation of Karma, or just being human, we were both happy.

One day, I needed a quick equipment adjustment while at the same time 30^th was empty due to a tractor-trailer totally blowing the turn from Lexington. Once, I had been in a cab heading across 30^th, Michael probably didn’t recognize me without my bike outfit. I clearly heard him tell the driver to take the Willis avenue bridge instead of the RFK. I approved the change of route with the driver. Twenty minutes after the light turned green and we headed uptown, 880 CBS traffic had a “Breaking News, This Just In” about major collision on the Triboro, what they’re now calling the RFK. Spooky. I spilled the beans to my wife. Harmony told me that I absolutely had to invite Michael over. If we had taken the RFK, the cab would have been in or near the collision. She said he might have saved my life. And that there would probably be a value to my friend’s talent. She was right, of course, but every value has a cost.

Harmony was likely the cause of the major uptick in GrubHub’s stock price. Well, her and maybe the Corona Virus. We didn’t know what Michael liked, so we got some of everything. We put the middle leaf in the dining table, cleared the clothes off of the conversation pit in the sunken living room—yup, we had a pre-war Art Deco apartment in Manhattan. Moorish arches and everything. Fortunately, the recent building renovations required the co-op association to put in a ramp near the outside stairs; Michael didn’t have a problem coming up. After all was said and done, Michael had two Po’ Boys from Double-Wide for his supper. He thanked us profusely and materially. He sat down at our little spinet and serenaded us with show tunes; everything from South Pacific to Fiddler on the Roof, with Porgy and Bess and Man of Lamancha thrown in. This was one time that a sung-for supper was worth more than the meal. 

Comfortably seated in the pit with brandy, exotic vapes, and rugelach, Harmony began her pitch. 

“So, Isaiah . Paul tells me you have a unique talent for prognostication. And that talent may have saved his life, or at least our car and his time. How did you come by it, may I ask, if you know?”

“Now, I’d hardly call it prognostication, Miss Harmony. Just impressions of where to go and where not to. I never seen an accident in my head. Never nothing in my mind’s eye. I just know where folks should or shouldn’t go. It’s that simple, Ma’am. I’d say it started with Emir. He was an old-fashioned cabby; owned his cab and his medallion. He could do as he wished, and he wished to drive around town with people.   He had three friends who lost limbs in the Iran-Iraq war. The four of them were barely out of childhood. When Emir would pass my corner, he would say a prayer for my leg. After the first prayer, my grant for a prosthetic leg was approved. After the second prayer, a nice apartment owner accepted my Section 8 as rent in full. Then there was the grant for a motorized chair. “

“But you stayed on the corner despite your good luck.”

“That’s right, Miss Harmony. People need to feel good about themselves, and I was giving the folks an opportunity to feel good.

 “And then he stopped passing by.  I found out that he was heading back to the garage and swerved to avoid a bunch of kids skateboarding in the middle of Columbus Avenue. He wound up with his cab stuck under a beer keg truck. He didn’t make it. After I found that out, that’s when it started.”

“You know, Isaiah, a lot of other people could be helped by the information you tell individual drivers. Maybe some lives saved as well, don’t you think?”

“A noble thought, Ma’am. I’m not in control of the visions. I don’t know how I can help,” Isaiah said, genuinely sincere, not that phony kind of sincerity.

“You can leave that to me. I’m a professor of Management at Baruch College. If I know anything at all besides knowing that Paul would never cheat on me, it’s how to manage things. How about this. I’ll give you a donation of a thousand dollars. Just keep doing what you do. You’ll be miked, and three of my friends will be nearby. Then the five of us will see what’s what. No obligation on your part, if there’s something you don’t like, I’ll pull the team, you get to keep the money either way. Deal?”

“As a fellow alum, how can I decline. Do you remember Tony the elevator guy?”

Harmony looked at Isaiah in a new light. “He was before my time. But I passed his plaque every day. Tony Koziolek, Doctor of Vertical Transportation.”

I made sure Isaiah got downstairs and I waited till there was a wheelchair cab.

“You know, or I guess you don’t, when Harmony gets an idea, she’s balls to ya, partner, ass against the wall.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that means. But a thousand clams is enough to convince me it’s a good thing.”

“Listen, Isaiah, let her do her plan, but I think we should have a back channel, just in case. Tuesday afternoons at the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park? It’s not all that far from you.”

“Hmm… Let me check my social calendar. Alrighty. Nothing on any Tuesday for the next year. And it’s I-Z. Eye Zee. Deal.”

Harmony had the pages of her Filo-Fax spread out on the ABC Persian carpet and our landline was right next to her. She only used it for outbound calls when she wanted to make sure she was being understood. She would tell me, “Nothing cops like copper.” It meant she was serious. She called her grad students first and then set off a bidding war among three venture capitalists.

“Imagine what could have been if you were you during the dot com boom. How does it feel to use OPM?”

“Feels great. They’re like horse players, like craps players. They get a rush from placing the bet. Profit is secondary. And remember, they're dealing with me. You do recall ‘Smart Money Bets Last,’ the horse race software, don’t you? Our kids are driving around in cars paid for with that money. We could have bought this whole building if the lady at the hundred-dollar window hadn’t figured it out. Give me a little kiss, will ya, Hon? Back to the ward for me.”

My wife did have a track record with any indeterminate math. I fell asleep and dreamed of the paranormal.

“So what’s for lunch, Paul?” I noticed my new friend was wearing was wearing an Armani shirt, flashing some bling, and sporting a $75 dollar fade. It had taken him a little while to get that check cashed; he deserved some treats.

It was a green, leafy day in the park. The impeccably weathered statues of Chester, Roscoe, Bill, and Jim seemed to glare at each other across the fountains and the central lawn. The dogs in their little piece of the park gleefully caught tossed balls and sniffed each other’s butts. I thought I saw William Seward frown at the experimental art installation, a bunch of day-glo, human-sized hamster cages in the plaza across Broadway.

 “Shakes, I-Z. A couple of burgers a few dogs, and some fries. Pull up a bench. Maybe I should have told you not to spend that money all in one place.”

“An indulgence. It’s been so long since I felt like I was earning money, ya know, like at a job. I bought my ‘meeting’ a fresh case of 30-day chips and a box of pamphlets. I’m trying to hold onto the rest.”

“Harmony says the accuracy rate started dropping after the control group runs. Oh, wait. You didn’t know about those, did you? Her Grad students kept themselves hidden; two of them would drive by in cars. You were spot on. But lately, the results are only a touch better than chance. Any ideas?”

“Mister Paul. I told you and Miss Harmony right up front, I don’t control the visions. You’ll have to ask the Higher Power about that.” 

My next two meetings with Isaiah went about the same as the first meeting after he cashed the check. Perhaps in an attempt to show he wasn’t blowing the money wastefully, he told me about buying 28 Slim an expanding foldable luggage carrier so he could easily move the deposit bottles he collected to the We Can facility, or getting an honest-to-God preacher outfit for  The Right Reverend I Nigeria. 

It was three park lunch meetings later that things started to click. Harmony packed me up with a home-cooked meal for two in an actual wicker picnic basket. She also armed me with he news that Isaiah’s numbers were heading back up. I-Z and I found a clear spot by the fountain. Harmony made catfish Po’ Boys and jimmy cakes with rhubarb cobbler for dessert. While washing down our meal with some Pepsi Colas, I-Z told me about buying a prom dress for Fast Fanny; at 47 she had decided to finish the last few credits she never took to get a High School diploma.   And with the diploma, a rip to the prom in two weeks. With her date, Isaiah Warfield. 

“Well, Paul, that’s it for the check. I hope your lady got her money’s worth.”

“I think she did. Your numbers are way back up. The team estimates that you saved 200 person-hours in commute time in the last seven days and at least one collision, possibly fatal. Harmony wants to start the commercial feed to Google Maps. It’ll be a steady paycheck for you. Being on the corner will be a steady job. You won’t have to worry about how much the drivers give you. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good. But I’d be a fraud, wouldn’t I? I’d be panhandling when I don’t really need the money.”

“But you would be doing good for a lot of people, right? Saving time, saving money, saving lives.”

“I’m not saying no, Paul. But you’re starting to sound like your wife, so confidant of the ways of things, how they be. Remember, I still have no control over what I see.”

I came home with flowers, the twenty-dollar Full Monty bouquet, and a full pound chocolate assortment from Two Beans. Harmony is tough as AP Physics, but I was afraid I would come home to a lachrymose lady lying in a fetal position on the floor. Boy, was I wrong.

“Sorry your backers shut the spigot off. It was fun while it lasted.”

“Oh, Honey. Thanks for the candy. And thanks for remembering to put some chocolate-covered orange peel in the mix. Put the flowers in a vase, eight inches of water and two aspirins, then come back and let Momma tell you the facts of life.”

I did as Mistress instructed and found my true love in the conversation pit. I stepped down into the living room and joined her, prepared to be edified, educated, and possibly entertained.

“The license plate camera hack was from Marcel. The traffic, red-light, and school zone cameras are open to the public. Google paid for the Isaiah overlay on the mapping software themselves. I think the audio hookups for the Grad students, rental car fees and gas was maybe three hundred bucks. The rest of the first draw is in an account for us to keep I-Z in his little indulgences. It’ll take another two weeks of monitoring, but I’m quite sure I have the answer. When he’s flush, it doesn’t happen for him. He’s gotta be really down and out for it to work. That’s why it’s no more cash from us. And we’ll have 14 discontinuous weeks of data, enough for journal article analysis complete with charts and graphs. Tenure, here I come!”

“Is research ethical if one component of it is a hack you got that the guy you had the affair with stole?”

“Hey, gimme a break, buster. Affair. You could’ve put a ring on it any time,” she told me, showing precisely which finger she meant. “And as for the backers, I told you. No difference between them and any other degenerate gamblers. They get off with a win, they get off bigger with a loss. And the project is still alive. When Huey, Louis, and Dewey get through with the data, we might get a working application yet.”

I claimed the right to give I-Z the first indulgence from the first-draw fund. I bought a black suit and one of those hats, rented a white limo, and smiled as I drove I-Z and Fanny to the prom. I had the greatest time hanging with the other drivers, smoking cigarettes, and betting on which car is going to have a blood stain on the back seat the morrow morn.