I recently visited Paterson, New Jersey, to see the Great Falls and the restored Hinchcliffe Stadium, a trip that included a layover between trains in Secaucus. Around the naturally-lit central atrium of the station, there hung a series of vertical banners celebrating recent inductees to the New Jersey Hall of Fame. The one honoree I mentioned by name was Connie Chung.
I took a picture of that banner and sent it to my friend of longest standing in Oklahoma, and got an immediate delighted response. He and I had a memorable encounter with Ms. Chung when he came to visit me a few years after I moved to New York. Not that she had a correspondingly memorable encounter with us, but that’s the way it is when you cross paths for a moment with famous people, right? You feel like they briefly stepped into your world but have to keep in mind you didn’t really step into theirs.
__________________
It was a dreary, rainy late afternoon and we were at Jimmy Armstrong’s Saloon in Hell’s Kitchen, 10th Avenue and 57th.
I suspect that similar scene-setting lead-ins are found in most of Lawrence Block’s Matt Scudder novels that take place before Armstrong’s closed in 2002, albeit more evocatively written. The Scudder books were favorites of ours, and Armstrong’s was the regular hangout for Matt, even after the character gives up drinking. We’d already walked by other important Scudder locations nearby — the two hotels he’s lived in, Roosevelt Hospital where he goes to AA meetings. Ultimately, we’d stop at the Flame Diner, where Scudder and others in recovery go for food and coffee after those meetings. The number of classic 24-hour diners in the city is dwindling, but I’m happy to confirm that the Flame abides. It’s a convenient pre- or post-performance option when going to something at Lincoln Center.
In addition to its dark comforting atmosphere, Block pays particular attention to Armstrong’s menu, which, while offering the expected bar and grill favorites, was predominantly Spanish/Cuban: sausages, rice and beans, caldo gallego, ropa viejo, like that. When Scudder is in Armstrong’s, both before and after he commits to AA, he’s usually having their black bean chili. That’s what we ordered and why, and it was delicious, perfect for that chilly rainy day. But as I recall, it certainly tasted more of Havana than Oklahoma, where the chili was never vegetarian and quite often completely bean-free.
And then in came Connie Chung.
Her appearance in that place wasn’t as random as it might seem. If you’re familiar with Manhattan you’ll know that Armstrong’s was right across 57th Street from CBS’s New York Broadcast Center, Ms. Chung’s workplace. She was anchoring the CBS Evening News from there at the time.
Prior to that moment, if my friend and I had made lists of famous New Yorkers we’d like to come across, I doubt that Ms. Chung would have been included. Now she’s someone we brag about seeing. To lean on an old cliché, she really did light up the place — perfectly dressed, hair-styled, and made up, ready to go on the air. Which, it seemed, given her urgency, was supposed to happen fairly soon.
She went straight to the bartender, but wasn’t there to toss back a pre-broadcast shot, or have a quick bowl of chili. She was there to bum a cigarette, and by the look of it, this wasn’t the first time this bartender had provided one for her. It will probably be our one and only time to see Ms. Chung in person (so far), but it obviously wasn’t his.
This happened back before you could position a phone discreetly and snap a photo without disturbing the subject. My friend was an avid photographer with an excellent camera, but there wasn’t enough time to get the shot he wanted — of the handoff of the cigarette from the bartender to Ms. Chung. We didn’t try to find an angle through the window to get a picture of her smoking under Armstrong’s awning out of the rain. That would have been too paparazzi-sh, like we were trying to expose her habit with no concern for her privacy.
Connie didn’t deserve that.