Men in Black II

New York, New York. Don't let anyone tell you different: It's all about the out-of-towners. No man is an island, but Manhattan is. Key word: insular, meaning a little bit exclusive, meaning the people who live here can be particular about who gets in, and who had better stay the hell out. Ask that friendly cabbie who's driving you around. Go ahead, ask him, about your chances for getting into this smash-hit Broadway musical, or that red-hot nightclub, or even a taping of the David Letterman show. Just ask. He could probably use a good laughright before he says, You wanna do what? Into where? You want it when? Yeah, riiiight. Lotsa luck, Tourist. But hey, don't feel dumb for asking. Nobody expects a lot from an out-of-towner. Psst. Want to know a secret? What the cabbie tells you, fahgeddaboudit. Here's the truth about New York: It's all about the out-of-towners. Always has been, right from the start. Always will be. New York's got a funny effect on folks who come here for a visit. A lot of them wind up spending the rest of their lives. It's like there's something in the water, besides the plutonium. Something that puts a crazy spin on the whole evolution thing, the way out-of-towners manage to metamorphose themselves from tourists, to transients, to the types who act like they've always had their roots sunk deep into New York City bedrock. Like they own the place. That's what you call nerve. That's what you call chutzpah. That's what you call New York attitude. That's why you can kick a New Yorker where it hurts, but you can never keep him down. The first significant bunch of out-of-towners to hit the Big Apple were the Dutch crowd headed by Peter Minuit. He's the man who had the bright idea of buying the is- land of Manhattan from the locals for a bunch of baubles, bangles, beads, and gewgaws, stuff on a par with those "genuine" Rolex watches you can buy out of an attache case in Herald Square, or the Theater District, or somewhere along Fifth Avenue, three steps ahead of the cops. The whole schmear set the Dutch East India Company back a few guilders, which broke down to about twenty-four bucks American after you did the math and allowed for the exchange rate. Sneaky Pete probably figured he'd got a real steal. In a way, he had. As for the Native American sellers, sure, maybe they could've scared up a better price for Manhattan if they'd posted it on eBay, but whaddayagonnado? Right place, wrong time. Besides, it turned out that these Native American guys, New York's first documented real estate moguls, actually belonged to the Canarsie tribe, which meant they maybe had the right to sell off part of Brooklyn, a little of Queens, but absolutely no legal claims to Manhattan whatsoever. Not that it stopped them from selling it to the Dutch anyhow, thus kicking off another grand old New York custom, as both parties in the deal walked away from it, each one convinced he'd played the other for a sucker. Twenty-four bucks' worth of twinkly things may not seem like a heck of a lot these days. That's because it isn't. Twenty-four bucks won't even buy a seat on one of those rolling tourist traps, the double-decker sight-seeing buses. Straight from London, they're ubiquitous in Manhattan: Rain or shine, day or night, summer, winter, spring, and fall they go looping up and down the island, showing off the big buildings and the bright lights for the out-of-towners. The best seats are on the top deck. Sure, unwary tourists are going to get soaked if it's raining, freeze if it's cold, or suffer from sunstroke if it's summertime, but when theyFriesner, Esther M. is the author of 'Men in Black II' with ISBN 9780345450661 and ISBN 0345450663.