So
much depends / upon a red wheel barrel …
My brother and I are in
the television production business. I’m New York based and he’s in Colorado. I
avoid working sporting events, preferring the relative calm of studio shows,
while he works a lot of winter events. He is a ski bum after all. We are techs.
I’m a graphics and prompter operator and he works camera and utility. I
commute…he travels.
I used to travel A LOT
for work. In the beginning it is exciting to be somewhere new, in a new city or
country, but eventually traveling became very exhausting. It doesn’t matter if
you’re in Miami or Milan, Seattle or Sydney, Chicago or Calgary, while on the
road your life at home basically stops and homesickness is a reality and just
the logistical slog through airports and stadiums can become depressing. There
are a lot of severed relationships in my industry.
Live television is
thrilling though! It is fun to be a part of a team that puts it all together to
bring into your homes a flawless broadcast. But “live” also means there are no
mulligans and you just keep going. My brother and I are both freelancers which
means you are only as good as your last broadcast, so mistakes aren’t
overlooked. Add this level of stress to the traveling blues and realize that
while you’re scratching various parts of your body while ensconced on your sofa
fair reader, we’re out there bringing it all to you in living color. It is a
tough way to make a living.
And, I wouldn’t trade it
for anything else.
WORLDS
COLLIDE
Despite all the
misgivings that come with this world of television broadcasting, sometimes
there are benefits. If it weren’t for work we would never see each other. As my
brother and I live nearly on opposite sides of the continent, our business
travel brings us closer at times. For the second straight year he has come into
NYC to work a volley ball match held in lower Manhattan. My ski bum brother is
so out of his element in the concrete canyons of the city, while I look
especially good sitting by a fire in the lodge and not venturing out onto the
slopes.
Staying with a friend in
the bedroom community of Rutherford, my brother takes NJ Transit into the City
for his job. One evening we rendezvous at the Journal Square PATH station in
Jersey City after his day of work ends. I had been working in Secaucus that
day, so it is a short drive to get him.
These places so very
very far away from where we both currently live are still quite familiar. My
brother went to college in Jersey City and we grew up in Harrison, just a
couple of miles west of Journal Square. Still, we marvel at the views and
changes of our hometown as my brother wants to drive around and see the ‘sights’.
He wants to drive by the new High School, drive through West Hudson Park, go past
our old house on Washington Street, although the original house burned down 20
years ago. We ooed and aahed at the places and reminisced about places we’d go
out to eat with Mom and Dad when they were still alive. He wants me to drive up
Kearny Avenue, rising from the flats of Harrison and past all the locations of
the Sopranos television show. Even after living nearly half my life in this
area I too enjoy this little road trip. It’s late in the day and the warm
golden light dispels all the grit that is so pervasive in this area. As we near
the border with North Arlington the spire of my high school’s church, Queen of
Peace is awash in the light and glowing beautifully in soft oranges and yellows.
My brother is excited. “Alpine glow” he calls it. It’s something you see regularly
in the mountains of Colorado. Who knew Jersey could be so beautiful?
 |
| NO.. NOT NJ |
We drive through
Lyndhurst, opting to not drive by Mom’s old apartment and enter the stately
leafy streets of Rutherford. We cross over the roar of traffic of Route 3, that
main artery to the Lincoln Tunnel, and enter the sedate town of William Carlos
Williams, the poet that I had to read in High School. The pediatrician / poet
was part of the Imagist movement and friends with other poets like Ezra Pound. To
this day, “Red Wheel Barrel” and its simplistic powerful imagery remains with
me.
Clustered around Park
Avenue are several restaurants and we choose one, parking near the William
Carlos Williams Center. We soon discover that this is kind of sort of a “dry”
town. There are several scattered through New Jersey, town/cities, though
thankfully no counties! Mainly religious reasons account for a teetotaler status, but Rutherford
in its own way is dry because of zoning... It's a convoluted dance and the crisis was averted when I strolled a block or two from the Sonoma Grill to purchase
a much needed 6 pack and all was right in the world again! I was having dinner with
my favorite brother (my only one) and as I happily listened to him complain
about how his feet hurt from the concrete of NYC, I busied myself with my meal.
I hope he works this
event next year!
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