A New Yorker's Stories by Philip Gould Page B

found signs reading “stage entrance.” I took that path and found myself shortly within the church facing the raised platform that would hold the orchestra. I approached a lady usher and asked if I could have a seat. She was so accommodating. “Just wait here,” she said, “I will look for a place.” She came back in a minute and escorted me to an open seat.
    I couldn’t be choosy at that moment. The seat I was offered was between two rather well endowed people. I managed to squeeze into the place. The lady on my right was from Glouster, England, and of a cheery disposition. She smiled and said I could lean upon her if necessary. I didn’t need to do that, instead I regaled her with the architectural history of the building. Since we were seated in the crossing we could see the Romanesque choir, the Gothic nave, and the Byzantine dome overhead. My neighbor was fascinated by my narrative but at that point the kind usher reappeared to tell me that she had found a better seat. I extricated myself from between the pinched position and followed my escort once more. I was placed in the second row directly in front of the podium: it could not have been better. I had a ringside seat to see better and to hear better. Hearing better was an important feature because the musical program began with Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony. The opening chords by the violin section were barely audible in the vast open space of the Cathedral. The conductor was athletic in his manner and practically balleted his way through the two movements. The second part of the program, Mendelssohn’s Symphony No. 4, the Italian Symphony, was a welcome rowdy affair compared to the moody Schubert. The audience gave the conductor David Robertson and the New York Philharmonic Orchestra a rousing three rounds of appreciative applause for the free concert.
    That wasn’t the end of the evening for me. On the way out I made a point of finding my usher for a third encounter to tell her she was my angel. To my surprise she said that she knew me, that we had a relationship some years ago. It took some time for me to remember the actual circumstances of our original meeting but finally that history came to me and we had a revival moment. We will get together again, for sure.
    As I continued my exit I spotted the Dean of the Cathedral. I recognized him because he opened the evening’s program by greeting and introducing the orchestra to the audience. I accosted him to propose on the spot an exhibition of African art in the Cathedral for next February to celebrate Black History Month. He was definitely interested and asked me to get back to him with the specifics. What a coup! What an evening! What a day! Memorial Day, 2008, was also a memorable day.

AN ALL TOO TYPICAL FULL DAY
    This day was another one of those remarkable New York City days. I planned a rather ambitious agenda which did not work out as I had hoped. Another plan had to be improvised as the day wore on.
    I requested an Access-A-Ride for twelve noon today. I should explain that I am eligible for this service because I have been deemed unstable on my feet and in danger of falling. We all know that elderly people suffer more from falls than any other affliction, so the riding service is important. Well, the van came on time but the driver needed to pick up another rider. The next rider required the van to traverse Central Park and go to the far east side of Manhattan, or way out of the way for my destination. Naturally, I arrived too late at the Fashion Institute of Technology to deposit my gift textile and to return uptown to attend an aerobics class. I was going to return to FIT later in the afternoon to meet a professor there. As it turned out the professor in question was already in the building, so our transaction could be effected on the spot, and once that meeting transpired I would be free for the rest of the day. The meeting with the professor at FIT was