The next day I arrive at the Embassy Suites Hotel. There’s a man, with legs extended, sitting on a chair, holding a cane. I see a hearing aid in each ear. I see a bulge underneath his shirt. I’m thinking. “It’s a pacemaker.” I introduce myself. He looks at me. He tells me he was robbed the day before at the nearby McDonald’s. “All I did was put my wallet on the counter so I could look up and read the menu. The next thing, it’s gone.” Then he smiles and says, “Those New York City policemen gave me more attention than any policeman would in Witchita.” He touches his shirt. “This is a pouch I have wrapped around my neck. Its got my traveler’s checks and my passport.”

He gets up. I weave my arm into his. We take small steps on our way to the R train. He tells me he’s a retired salesman from Dillards, which is now Macy’s. Then I ask him what he wants to see. He says, “Anything I did not see yesterday on my bus tour.” I ask him what he saw. He says, “I don’t remember.” We agree to see the Brooklyn Bridge. Then he tells me he has a dog. His daughter has it, but when he phones her and tells her he was robbed her sugar escalates and she’s rushed to the hospital. A neighbor now has the dog.”

We walk down the stairs. He stops and takes short breaths. He wipes his forehead with his hand held handkerchief. As he’s buying his Metro Card he turns. “I had a son you know. He died in a car wreck in 1973. Then I got a divorce. I married again. I got another divorce. She was one of the women murdered by the Witchita Serial Killer. They were both younger than I am. So’s my present girlfriend. I’m never without a woman.”

We get out of the subway. We’re facing the Brooklyn Bridge. He finds a men’s room. He returns and waves his hand around, “I’ve seen all this yesterday.” So I ask, “Did you go on the Staten Island ferry yesterday?” He shakes his head ‘no.’ We take the subway and then an escalator to the ferry entrance. He finds another men’s room. On the ferry I tell him about the harbor. We sit on a bench next to a family of four. They are turned towards us. I’m talking loud. He announces, “She’s my tour guide.” I add, “He’s deaf.” He finds another men’s room. We take another escalator to another subway.

We’re going back uptown. He’s wiping his face with his handkerchief. I ask, “Are you okay?” He says, “To hell with my body. All my life I wanted to ride on a New York City subway. Here I am. I’m happy.” Riders to the right and left lean in our direction: I’m talking about the history of the subway. The woman next to me smiles. I ask her where she’s from. “Oklahoma” she says. Then the man with the two hearing aids, who walks with a cane, who has two artificial knees and two artificial hips declares, “I’ve played most of the jazz and blues clubs in your state. I’m a drummer. I got a gig in Tulsa in a few weeks. I bring my dog wherever I go. I’m the most requested drummer in four states. When I get back home I’ll be packing my bags again. I’m going to New Orleans. I don’t think I’ll be working, but you never know. I’m going to see Pete Fountain, the clarinetist. He lost everything in Hurricane Katrina. I’m going there to give him a boost.”

Then I look at him, really look at him. I see a man venturing forth, ignoring his limitations. I wonder, just who is showing whom around and who really is the guide?

I told the escort from the company who got me the job, yesterday at 4, when she met us when the tour was over,  ”My style and the teachers are misaligned .” She said “I can’t read the male teacher, the one in charge, neither can the coach driver. He never speaks. He just sits there with his arms crossed over his chest, with no expression on his face, looking straight out.”

She telephoned me later.”I asked him how things were going and he asked ‘Is SHE going to be there tomorrow?’ I told him you had been contracted to do a four hour tour, but this is your call.” Then he said, ‘I can handle the tour.’  So you are relieved from the job.”

When I introduced myself to the group two days ago, the first day of the tour, I kept on repeating my name, ‘Jane’ and said several times, please do not call me ’she’ or ‘her.’ It is rude to use a pronoun when you know a person’s name.The male teacher kept on referring to me in front of me and the students as ’she’ or ’her.’

I gave everyone a map. After I asked them to open the maps up, and I talked about the five counties, no one looked at the maps thereafter. The male teacher kept on asking me, “Where is Times Square?” I kept on saying, “It is where Seventh Avenue and Broadway cross between 42nd and 47th Streets.” He announced to the students,”We will have free time on Times Square and it is on 53rd Street.” The coach driver said it was not; the male teacher said, looking straight ahead, “That is what ’she’ told me.”

I told him I did not. I said, “You need to write things down. You are tired. You are not absorbing what I am saying. When all the information is new you only remember 12%.” He looked directly into the windshield. The female teacher took out a pen and started writing.

When the coach driver suggested a diner on 9th Avenue and 45th Street, an inexpensive place where the group could eat today, since they had so much ‘free time.’ I asked “Who told you it was on 9th Avenue and 45th Street? The diner I know, the Galaxy is on 9th Avenue and 46th Street.” The driver said, “I know where it is. I’ve eaten breakfast and dinner there.” He drove us to the diner to get menus for the group and it was on 11th Avenue and 45th Street. When we passed the Galaxy, the female teacher said, “Here’s the Galaxy. Who recommended the Galaxy?I forgot.”

I told the male teacher that the diner on 11th Avenue was too far west. He said “I have a photographic memory. I remember everything I see. Tht’s how I learn. At least this is a ‘go-to’ point.”

The coach had, at least, 49 seats. We had fifteen people including myself. The students were all spread out and a few were way in the back. I said, “Wherever there is an empty seat there is a dead space, with dead air and no energy. Please move up. We are a small group and we need each other’s energy to have a spirited tour.”

Both teachers said nothing. They kept their back packs and their carton of water in between “us” and the students. The students moved up once and then retreated to their original seats.

I discovered one student liked history. The group identified him as a ‘nerd.’ I said I liked nerds. No one else admitted to being one. He asked a couple of questions and then faded out.  The rest of the tour we lived in silence.

They all crossed at the corner. When the light was red and there was no traffic they stayed at the corner until it was green. When the light was blinking red for eleven seconds, they all stayed at the corner until the light was green. I explained how “we all jay-walk, even the police. If there is no traffic, it is fine. Quality of life crimes drop to the bottom of enforcement when there are other more violent issues, like murder and drug addiction.  You can cross when there is no traffic.” I crossed and they all stayed behind.

On the second day of the tour I got on the coach and announced, “I am not going to blow air into your lungs like yesterday. Please show me you are alive by asking questions, being curious and showing some energy. Your spirit is your age. When you’re dead you have no life. We are alive and I am the liveliest and I am at least twenty years older than everyone.”

The teachers said nothing. Finally the female teacher asked, “Are those flags always outside those stores?”

When we visited Ground Zero I stood close to the site, passed the poles. I said to the students, “You can stand here.” A few came. Both teachers stayed behind the scaffolding with some students. The female teacher said, “I am a rule follower. I don’t break the rules.”

I said”All history is riddled with people who break the rules. Those are the people we remember.”

They stayed firm.

Todays’ tour was visiting the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Then there was a one-way trip on the subway to Fifth Avenue and 59th Street. There was over five hours of free time after the tour was completed. The coach driver needed to sleep; he was driving them back home.

“We live very close together. So, our prime purpose in life is to help others. And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.” The Dalai Lama

You’re going to talk about the history of the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, Governor’s Island, Staten Island, the waterfront, the bridges, and when Brooklyn was a separate city.

You are a tour guide in New York.
You work for yourself, mindful this does not preclude staff problems.

You say aloud as you sit in the subway car, “I hope this is one of the first five cars. We’re going to an old station. It has room only for five cars.”

A stranger to your left responds, “Yup. You’re okay.”

You turn. You smile.
“Thank you. That’s an advantages of speaking loud. Some one hears you. Someone helps you. ”

“No problem ” he says.

“I should pay more attention. I’m a tour guide.”

Lacy asks, “What are we doing after?”

You look at her.
You remember her mother saying, “No history. Lacy just likes to shop.”

You say, “We’re going to visit my contact near Wall Street, buy some marijuana and resell it on Broadway. ”

Lacy’s eyes widen.

You hear, “Be careful what you say. Someone might hear you.”

It’s the stranger talking.
You tell him you’re kidding.
He tells you someone might not think so.
You ask him where he’s going.
He tells you he’s going home after a twelve hour shift.
You ask him if he’s a cook.
He says he works for the city.
You ask him if he’s a marshall.
He says he works for the city.
You ask him if he’s a prison guard.
He says he works for the city.

Nellie Sue says “Be curious. It keeps you young. But he’s still polite if he does not want to answer.”

“That not very New York like, ” you say.
“We ask each other questions all the time.
We answer each other’s questions all the time.
We have no sense of privacy.
We have no space.”

The stranger smiles.
He cups his hand over his mouth, “I’m a cop.”

I say, “Stay safe.”