Veneer of Their Lives

From time to time, I need a reality check to put things in perspective. At one time, I occasionally turned to a good friend who had moved to the West Coast. He had a very worldly perspective, having traveled extensively to all corners of the globe. See Weather Means Whether here.

As I have written in stories like The Dark Ages, New Yorkers often have to tolerate very poor living conditions, even when paying substantial rents or purchase prices for apartments. Among residents, this is often a source of humor, jokes and sarcasm. The non-resident or visitor often sees displays of wealth in New York, but these glimpses of the city are just a veneer and often do not give the full picture.

The single biggest factor in living in this city, regardless of whether a person owns or rents, is that with little exception, the vast majority of residents live in multiple-unit dwellings, i.e. apartment buildings. In this environment, you lose control. Tenants above, below, and to the sides of you are a perennial concern and often a source of noise etc., frequently with little recourse.

On one occasion, said friend was in my apartment when I was feeling particularly shut in and frustrated by my various living conditions. Having a sense, however, that things could be much worse and that perhaps I was rather an ingrate, I asked him his honest assessment of my abode. After a moment or two of thoughtful contemplation, he said that in the scheme of things, I had a pretty good situation.

Romanticizing the past can also be a case of seeing only a veneer. In Better When, I discussed the illusory sense that times were better in the good old days.
Strolling through St. Luke's Cemetery, on Arthur Kill Road in the Rossville section of Staten Island, provided the reality check I needed. A photographer friend who accompanied me pointed out how many grave stones of children there were. (If you click to enlarge the photo, you can read the inscriptions). As we strolled the graveyard, I found it quite sobering, particularly the family of Morris and Eva Dixon, whose many children lived only some months to 3 years. I was heartened by their own headstone (lower right photo), noting that they were born 3 years apart (1855 and 1858) and died within one year of each other (1929 and 1930). I hope the Dixons had their joys as well as misfortunes and that these headstones serve only as a veneer of their lives...