August 15, 1935- No, New York Is Not For Me–Some Day It’ll All Tumble Down
The Washington Daily News—Thursday—August 15,—1935
No, New York Is Not For Me–Some Day It’ll All Tumble Down
By Ernie Pyle
GOING EAST ON BOSTON POST ROAD— So that was New York, was it?
New York City. The biggest in the world. The city they write about; the city where almost every young American dreams of going. Why? Don’t ask me. I don’t know. For I hate New York.
And my dislike for this greatest of all cities is no casual impression either. For I lived there two years and two days.
The two years were a decade ago. The two days have just ended. And this short visit brought back all my old repulsion for New York, like a bad dream remembered. I do hate New York. Giddyap, little car! Wheels, roll faster– going east!
It is hard to sit down and intellectually analyze a fervor against a city, for you get all mixed up. Truthfully, some of the things about New York which antagonize the principles really give you a thrill.
COMPENSATIONS
For instance, the principle of hurrying is seldom a sound one. Yet I love to ride the subway trains as they roar and sway and clash thru the black tunnels.
Gaudiness and artificiality are revolting, yet when you stand at 47th and Broadway at night, and look up and down the brightest street in the world and watch the lights that bind and spell, the breath stops a little as it does at the first sight of the Grand Canyon.
But enough of that, for I hate New York. Eight years away from it had dulled my perception of its inhuman tempo.
I had forgotten what New York does to people's faces, how zoo-like they look: I had forgotten the deafening clash of the elevateds; I had forgotten that you can’t walk a block without getting dust in your eyes: that people rush staringly along all day, bumping and dashing, and for what?
I had forgotten how frightening and unnatural are the piled-up skyscrapers; I had forgotten the squalor of most of the 7,000,000, the filth of the rivers, the rudeness of the crowds, the pitiful clamor of the fun-seekers, the tawdriness of the beach mobs; I had forgotten all about the phonies and the freaks, and the distrust and the fear in the hearts of the people. I had forgotten all this, but one hour in New York brought it back like a slap in the face.
BACK HOME IN INDIANA
In my native Indiana town they tell a story about a young fellow who went away to the big city– and didn’t make good. But he stayed and stayed, years passed, and finally one day, I don’t know why, he came back for a visit. And his classic remark to the home folks was that he would rather have a leaning-place against a lamp-post in New York than any 200-acre farm they could give him.
Apparently there are some 7,000,000 people who can understand that, but I can’t. And I’m not crazy about farms, either.
But if a successful life can be made up of that idealistic triumvirate of peace, friendliness and accomplishment– tell me, what are most New Yorkers living for?
No, New York is not for me. Some day, i am very sure, the whole business is going to come tumbling completely down all over those 7,000,000.
Carburetor, eat that gas– let’s get away from here.
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Great article, Ernie ! And Mike