Category — WBXie

To be honest, I thought that Howard Greenberg truly portrayed a man who followed his dream passionately and had the will to make it as a successful photojournalist and collector. I especially admire the fact that Mr. Greenberg was never in it for the money. When he mentioned working for the Woodstock Times making $15 a week then slowly working up to $50 a week, it surprised me in that his persistence paid off tremendously and now the art community recognizes him as a prestigious member of their world. Additionally, I found it interesting how his car accident in Europe changed his life forever. That unfortunate incident led him to photography.  He quickly immersed himself in its history and grew all the more interested in Mid 20^th Century prints. In conclusion, I found Mr. Greenberg’s lecture not only stimulating, but also informative.

Waiting for the elevator on my way downstairs to the community center, I see none other than my Peruvian friend, Walter. On other occasions, this encounter would be awkward but today he was in a happier mood than usual. We were not merely conversing, but laughing and joking as we waited for the elevator. At that moment I realized that this elevator ride together would be quite enjoyable and could possibly change our relationship forever.

As we enter the elevator, I quickly look around and recognize an odd situation. Besides the other neighbors that I share this lovely Ludlow dorm with, I see a maintenance personnel with a ladder possibly three times his size. When Walter enters the elevator, he takes a quick glance and couldn’t help but communicate with the personnel, who was Ecuadorean.

After Walter began the conversation with “Hey man, what floor you working on today,” I could barely make out what they were saying. Since I don’t speak Spanish, I waited for Walter to switch back to the English language so I could finally follow this peculiar conversation. After a while I got my wish when Walter finally said to the Ecuadorian, “you know that Peruvians and Ecuadorians are enemies right.” At that moment, I thought the mood in the elevator would immediately worsen, but instead, laughter erupted from both Walter and the maintenance personnel. At this particular juncture I realized that this was New York City, the biggest melting pot in the world. I learned that New York City is the place where enemies would become friends, and that nationalities rarely affect how we make those friends.

I love this city.

Dyker Park. The place where I learned to play the game of basketball.

Growing up in New York City has been an enriching experience. Not only have I enjoyed myself; I’ve also learned to adapt to the often-hostile environment.

I moved from the suburbs of New Jersey to the streets of Brooklyn at an awkward age. During my adolescent years, I had a difficult time connecting with my peers. A series of small happenings built up and exploded into a particularly heated situation. I was alone at a local park playing basketball when a couple of African American kids came and wanted to play with me. I was hesitant at first, but being the nice guy that I was, I begrudgingly invited them to join me. After a few plays I knew that I had made a  terrible choice. Not only were they twice my size, but they were manhandling me as well. At that moment, my self-esteem was shattered. I started to hate the game of basketball, and most importantly I started to hate those who were a different race than me.

Five months later, I attended a high school where I met and befriended a culturally diverse group of classmates. It was at that time in my life that I finally realized skin color does not define a person. I was no longer restrained by my fears and anger towards those different from me. Also, I learned to keep an open heart and mind and not to judge future acquaintances solely by recalling past experiences.

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