I moved to New York City a shy country girl…OK, no, but when you come from a smaller city New York makes everywhere else seem like hillbilly country. My first job was a potent cubicle culture. People kept their heads down, darting from desk to bathroom lest we be stopped by a supervisor and asked to turn our attentions from the riveting paperwork that otherwise awaited.
Getting used to Gotham was an adjustment, but I broke onto the scene with the joie de vivre of an ex-con with a stolen Cadillac. I was a true buff, a geek who dove into books about city history and the subway system and walked around gazing up at vertical architectural details. I delighted in my time off, rapturously absorbing and observing my new home. One day at work, our big PR company won a big new an account: the City of New York. They initially put another mindless worker in charge of writing about anything relevant to life below Houston Street…and then three weeks letter she turned in her notice, hanging up her cubi-shackles to open a B&B in Maine. No I’m not kidding.
Suddenly, the beat was mine. For the shiny ‘showcase’ account and new website, hardly a single topic was off limits. The city—specifically the southern tip of the city, where the city really was born—was mine to cover however I liked. History, art, road rebuilding, skyscrapers, businesses, transportation, personalities, events, Tribeca, the Seaport, Chinatown—all mine!
In October 2002 I found myself traversing the cables of the Brooklyn Bridge, interviewing the city’s top bridge inspector. We reached the top of the eastern tower, wearing harnesses that were no longer attached to anything, and there was the city and harbor splayed out before me.
The cubicle that contained me had become a springboard, and I landed on top of the world’s greatest bridge.
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