It was the summer of 1986, I didn’t know it then, but I would soon meet a woman named Stephanie, she touched my life in ways I’m only now beginning to fully understand, more than a quarter century later.
I’d been working at Morgan Stanley since late March. My new sublet was just off Broadway on 78th, about 4 stops on the #1 line. Mid August in Manhattan can be oppressive, hot and humid. As I stepped out of my apartment on a Saturday afternoon, all I wanted was a cold beer, a burger and to catch the last few innings of the Mets versus Philly’s. I might have headed for Dublin House on 79th, a dive bar I would only frequent in daylight hours. Not that day, not ever again. A few nights before two guys got into a fight outside the bar, one guy was a black belt in marshal arts. It was over quick, a kick split the other guy’s head open. Someone told me chalk marks were still on the sidewalk.
At the corner I headed down Broadway, past the pizza by the slice spot daughter Hilary and I discovered. You folded your slice, grease dripping from the fold. One of the best parts of my move to Manhattan was having Hilary visit during school vacation. Little by little she was becoming comfortable wandering around on her own when I was at work. A few years later she was accepted at NYU. Many years later I would learn, from those first visits to the City, she knew where she wanted to be. I wouldn’t make mention of Dublin House on her next visit.
A few blocks away I walked into a small restaurant, a single seat left at the bar, game tuned to the Mets. I’d been there maybe twice, Jake greeted me like I was a long time regular, “Shiner Bock”? “Sure, add a burger and fries.”
Hard for me not to make some assumptions about the gal seated to my left. She was glued to the game, Darryl Strawberry was coming to the plate, the crowd chanting “Daaaaarrrrryl, Daaaarrrryl”. I interjected, “sweetest swing in baseball”. A smile, but not even a slight glance in my direction. That perfect fluid swing, the crowd erupted, my neighbor took a deep breath, but eventually the ball was caught just shy of the right center field wall.
Over the next few innings I learned a first name, “Stephanie”, and many of my assumptions were correct. Stephanie was a local, obviously a Mets fan, college educated and attractive, but in an approachable way. I was, always will be, a Yankees fan, but those ’86 Mets were, without any doubt, taking over the city that season. Although they lost to the Philly’s that afternoon, they’d go on to defeat Boston in the World Series, in 7 games. That team had as many, probably more, off field stories as on, but they live forever in the hearts of a lot of die hard Mets fans.
Not much else happened that day, Stephanie did allow me to buy her a coffee. Jake delivered it with a whiskey glass full of ice, a few cubes immediately added to the coffee, black. Most of the talk was baseball, but it was obvious Stephanie was a fan of and very knowledgeable about celebrities in general, not just baseball stars. We had both seen Woody Allen’s Hannah & Her Sisters, she had spotted Woody and Mia Farrow earlier.
A few days later I was catching the #1 at 72nd. I noticed someone looking at me, we both stared for a few moments, then realized we had met watching the Mets game. Stehpanie asked where I grew up. I told her she would never have heard of the village, it was on Lake Champlain in the Adirondacks. She said, “yes I would, I grew up in Port Henry”. Holy crap, the same little village. “Who are you?”. Stephanie was a woman named Stephanie Easton? A few years behind me in school, she was one of my sister Susan’s besties. At one time, when she first moved to Port Henry, she lived on the next street. Her dad was a dentist, hard to imagine a small town like ours supporting 2 dentists, but they stayed until her dad’s eyesight caused him to abandon the practice.
Over the next 11 years, my entire time in NY City, Stephanie and I saw each other on again/off again. To say we each have idiosyncrasies that can drive someone else nuts is an understatement. Still, we shared time together at movies, baseball games, playing some tennis and otherwise loosely dating. I would buy an apartment several years later in the Ansonia, a historic building on Broadway, stretching from 73rd to 74th. Stephanie had, still has, an amazing rent controlled apartment on Broadway and 76th.
Riverside Park, 2022
For may years, after I left NY City and sold my apartment in 1990, Stephanie and I were mostly out of touch. Over the past few years, both of us have had health issues, Stephanie’s cancer left her in the hospital a year or so ago for months. Those challenges, I feel, have somehow brought us back together. All those once irritating quirks? They no longer seem so annoying, in fact, I think most are what we love about each other.
We’ve remained uniquely ourselves. Not a care in the world about what we haven’t accumulated in material wealth. A woman named Stephanie became a friend in that special way that defies understanding.
