Category — PD’Antonio

Before meeting Howard Greenberg, my concept of photography was  limited to merely my family’s red point-and-shoot Kodak digital camera; yet as I left in search of a bus stop on Tuesday night, I realized that my knowledge of the art hadn’t increased as much as I  thought it would, rather it was my appreciation of it that certainly did.

If anything that night caught my attention the most, it was Mr. Greenberg’s explanation of his enjoyment of ‘historical photography.’ Maybe it was the whole process, or labor that the photographers back in the day put into printing their work, but one cannot help but to admire the genuine effort filled procedure that went into each initial print and final product. Mr. Greenberg is of course not the only dealer or collector of such art, but his enthusiasm and love for his work are both admirable, and forced me to realize that the photographs surrounding the room all shared a single quality: they were all real.

In an age in which any part of a photo can be photo-shopped, cropped, re-colored, re-sized, or removed, it is comforting to find fantastic photographs that are authentic and were no doubt painstakingly planned and produced from start to finish by the photographers themselves.

At its most fundamental level, a culture can be explained as a group of people sharing several unifying characteristics.  In that sense, a culture can be found just about anywhere. I happened to find one on a train; the 4:47 p.m. Port Jervis bound NJ-Transit commuter one to be exact.

The train ride home from a day of school is hardly the place for one to expect to find a unique ‘culture,’ but lo-and-behold, one was unquestionably present in the back car in which I sat last Thursday night. Initially expecting a quiet ride home, I was most definitely surprised that once the train left the station, it seemed to awaken with a newfound vigor amongst everyone onboard. Chatter began and conversations took place not between a few people, but the entire train car, and seemingly everyone had something to add onto the topic at hand, whether it be the Yankees’ win that afternoon or the impending hurricane Earl; and as each speaker changed, one thing stood out to me the most: they all knew each other’s names.

Now this may be something that only I find to be noteworthy, but one good look at the bunch heading home from work that day would force you to realize that nowhere else in the world would that group of people be conversing with one another, let alone playing cards or talking about family. To say that they were “ethnically” diverse, would truly be an understatement as the car was diverse in many more ways; one look would yield a train filled with everyone from businessmen in suits, to construction workers in dirty bright orange vests and they all were friendly with one another.

Off of the train, each person no doubt leads completely different lives from one another, however it struck me that no matter how different each person is, regardless of race, income, or occupation, each day they spend 80 minutes or so together with their good friends, each other, who they happened to find by chance heading home from work each weekday from New York City.

Growing up in an idyllic little New York town sixty miles north of Manhattan, unquestionably, I have lived my entire life a ‘New Yorker.’  Undoubtedly though, my idea of a ‘New Yorker’ differs from your ‘New Yorker’ and while I have been born into a family whose entire existence in America has been limited to the boroughs comprising New York City, I am quick to point out to all who inquire, that my ‘title’ applies merely to my residence in the state. Perhaps, it is because my ideas of the City have come primarily from watching Eyewitness News in the morning or listening to my dad complain about the traffic going to or from (probably both) ways to work each day. Either way, I figured that once school began I could see for myself what being the other ‘New Yorker’ was all about.

With little more than a week under my belt, the one thing that I have witnessed more than anything else is that New York is different just for being diverse, unique for being inimitable. Sure everything in New York moves a little quicker and sure, I have been to dozens of cities where the residents are friendlier, but what New York lacks in etiquette, it makes up with something more important: a common bond and attitude (like it or not) that surpasses language, appearance, socioeconomic statuses and other so-called boundaries that are supposed to divide, rather than unite. The City is, at least in my estimations (and current limited knowledge) the perfect microcosm of what our country once was, still is and always will be: united not because of our differences, but in spite of them. And while my title ‘New Yorker’ might not be the same as yours, I don’t mind, at the very least, I have it in my genes.

My New York. The train coincidentally is heading to the City.

Photo Copyright- Wikimedia – Daniel Case

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