Hendrix and Miles Row

Today I spent the day on 125th Street in Harlem with one of my favorite vendors, who sells African-American art, prints and postcards. Just as I got there, it started to rain. He thought I brought the rain, since it was delightfully sunny until the moment I turned my bike onto 125. My first moments at his table consisted of me watching his system - covering his prints with a tarp, removing all the removable parts from his stand, replacing those prints that weren't in plastic, putting them into his van.

After around ten minutes of this, his two tables were protected from the rain and we were able to settle in underneath the lid of the trunk of his mini-van to eat strawberries and talk vending. My intention was to conduct a proper interview with him and, like usual, I got caught up in conversation and forgot about the recorder altogether. Needless to say, I didn't get a single sound recorded. But I had a day that made me grateful for this project and grateful for New York City.

Michael's a leader among the vendors; he believes in unity and justice, and has spent half a lifetime as an activist. 125th Street is a vending dream. Sometimes I wish every street in the city looked like this one, from a vending perspective at least. Affordable goods of all types line the blocks: hot dogs; Nuts 4 Nuts; wholesale socks; shea butter and oils; artwork; silkscreened sweatshirts; fruit; ices; and music. People stop and browse, and the presence of the vendors only encourages the bigger economy of stores like H&M and Foot Locker. And even though I think those stores are hideous on this street, and elsewhere for that matter, they co-exist with the vendors pretty well up there.

The rain stopped. Michael, Fred (his partner) and I removed the tarps and ate cookies. We talked about music. We talked a lot about music. About the segregation of music these days, and how in the 70's you could see 5 bands in one night for free in NYC. They know their music, and not just the jazz that they were raised on, but everything that made it to Woodstock, the Apollo, the Bottom Line, Cafe Wha?, Dick Cavett and Ed Sullivan. Fred's a Hendrix-phile; Michael's a Miles-phile. So they call their stands "Hendrix and Miles Row". They play some awesome music at their stands, and I couldn't believe all the music I've been missing as I try to catch up with white, Indie-rock.

Hanging out with these guys reminded me why New York is special. People are friendly. People are agile. People are different from one another, and it can be so beautiful to find yourself changed by those differences. I went up to Harlem today with one intention, and returned with a different idea about why I went up there in the first place. Who knew that standing on the street corner for a day would make the city seem so sensible?

Thanks, Michael, for welcoming me always.