Harlem Jews

"See man, the Apollo! I told you we were in Harlem."

I once lived in upstate New York. It was a town known for its' horse track and the healing powers of its natural springs. There was a street running slightly downhill that was populated by wonderful bars, one of which birthed a popular song. The ideal excursions for long weekends were to be had in "the city." It was only a three hour drive, and the tolls along the way could make you feel as though you belonged.

My roomate was Jewish by birth, and I by faith, so a natural kinship was born when first we met. His mother was Jewish (to them all that matters), and his father was Christian, he was "born to hate himself" as he would often say. I would often make off-colored jokes about an air-fed oven suit located on a shelf at our place of employment. Did I mention he was dyslexic? He was. Often, while driving, he would raise his hands in the way dyslexics often do to tell left from right. In this feature lies the foundation for our story.

As we approached the city from the north, having no idea how to get where we were going, I politely suggested amidst the chaos of traffic that we take the next exit. We traveled up the offramp in his green Jeep. Yes, a Jeep. I directed him to go left. Naturally, he went right. We had only traveled a few blocks when we noticed the color of the neighborhood seemed to darken, and with it the mood.

"Where are we? I don't think this is where we wanted to go." He was nervous and quickly becoming impatient. This was made apparent by his grip on the wheel and the intonations with which he spoke.

"I told you to take a left back there. I think we're in Harlem." I chuckled a little, finding amusement in our plight.

"What! No we're not."

The radio was quickly silenced to allow for better concentration. It was decided that the best course of action lay in making three left turns and one to the right to take us back to the interstate. It was after the first left turn, and I don't remember the street name, that the population walking the sidewalks increased greatly. There were shops on both sides, all of which maintained the standard form of security for seedy neighborhoods- black steel bars. On the right, as we appoached the next block, the next left, was that precise establishment which would confirm our location. The Apollo.

"See man, the Apollo! I told you we were in Harlem." I just shook my head and kindly suggested that he return to raising his hands prior to any turn. I had, at one point, told him that he looked ridiculous doing so, but as conditions change...

We managed, to nothing less than his complete surprise, to escape from the most notoriously dangerous neighborhood in America unscathed. Three weeks later, to the world's astonishment, just 152 blocks away, two planes flew into two towers. I do not recall much from my time in Northeast, but these two memories will remain with me until I give up my last breath.