The Column: Miniature metropolis comes through big-time
There once was a newspaper in Albany called the Knickerbocker News, a jaunty little afternoon daily that competed with the much larger morning Times Union.
In 1966, the Knick’s editorial staff — like those in most places — ranged from a couple of greenhorns like me to a collection of steely veterans furiously pounding out the daily report and whose force field extended several feet in every direction. Entering could be perilous.
Some of the older reporters and editors were straight out of central casting — guys who smoked cigars and wore fedoras; an obit writer who began every phone conversation with the bereaved by saying “sorry for your trouble”; a crusty city editor who told me never again to use the noun “author” as a verb. Women were few but I do remember one outstanding female reporter — eager and intrepid as Lois Lane.
I was “general assignment” — an insignificant infantryman dispatched by city desk sergeants to cover house fires, auto accidents, zoning board meetings or whatever demanded attention in the endless battle to exalt truth and preserve democracy — and, sometimes, tackled religion, too.
In one breakthrough case, I wrote a story about a preacher who grew a 113-pound pumpkin that placed first in a county gardening competition. No Pulitzer was forthcoming.
The business was more apt in those days to hire a variety of itinerant practitioners — vagabonds who joyfully bounced from paper to paper, assorted free spirits giving journalism a try, dour souls chased by unmentioned demons — and others grateful for regular pay while working on the next great American novel or waiting for a bid from the big time. The Boston Globe, New York Times, Philadelphia Inquirer, Chicago Tribune — dream, dream, dream.
Covering Albany for the Knick, I grew to love the place — a miniature metropolis alongside the mighty Hudson. It had real neighborhoods — Arbor Hill, South End, Delaware Avenue, Eagle Hill — and real people, working-class folks, mostly, who spoke without pretense and seemed strong and settled.
State capital, yes, but for all the imposing government buildings, and well-dressed politicians who breezed in and out of town, Albany remained resolutely down-to-earth, a rich and resilient riverside settlement.
With a bit of the vagabond spirit, myself, I left the Knick — long out of business, by the way — after a year or so and, stopping here and there, arrived, finally, at Newsday, also a big-time outfit. S’long Hudson, hello Long Island Sound.
All this comes to mind — if you’re wondering — because of a fortunate Albany intervention on a return trip from upstate Rochester, where my wife and I recently visited relatives.
At the exit for Interstate 87 and Route 9W, we lost an alternator belt — exceptionally bad news — on our 2009 Subaru hatchback. It was 3 p.m. Sunday. Repair? Same chances as me making the Mets as a walk-on.
We called one garage after another. No luck.
A final, hopeless stab and:
“We’ll try to help,” said Kevin, manager of a shop still open — unbelievable — on the other side of town.
Just after 5 p.m., AAA dropped our car at Kevin’s. Closing time was 6.
Kevin consulted his computer for the part number. He hurried to the shelves and checked stock. I watched as he looked through a dozen belts. And then a few more. Nada.
Unbowed, Kevin opened a crate of newly arrived parts. More belts went by — six, seven, eight. Nine, 10, who knows? Our persistent hero at last reached elbow-deep into the container and — yowza! — there it was. We hit the jackpot. Made an old Lutheran want to sing “Amazing Grace.”
A mechanic named Dave went to work and before long, bingo, we were ready to roll.
“I don’t like to say no,” Kevin said, refusing a tip when I paid the bill.
Might have happened anywhere, sure — Ronkonkoma, Cleveland, Santa Fe.
But it seemed to me pure Albany, the blue-collar town I remember from my tour at the Knick covering plus-size pumpkins and endless public hearings. It’s a solid, unpretentious, don’t-say-no sort of place, constant and consoling as the Hudson.
Likely, we’re on Long Island to stay but if there is ever a move, Albany’s a contender. A guy could do a lot worse. And I already know a good garage.
