by Mark Curtis Filstrup
December 4, 1994

Do you ever get insomnia? Cause one night this fall, I was a little peeved and I just couldn't fall a sleep. By 6:15 a.m., I was so frustrated that I decided to go for a walk to simmer down.

Since I was feeling saucy and had a desire to visit some place that wasn't on the 1/9 line, my first impulse was to cross over to Amsterdam. Though I was copping that "don't mess with me" attitude, I was banking on the fact that all the bad people had gone to bed for the night. I found a Latino groceria and bought a pack of smokes. Though I had never made such a purchase before, it seemed appropriate for the moment and it had to be done. Clad in my beat up bluchers, my red plaid shorts, and my Yankees cap (oriented backwards), I shuffled down Amsterdam and attempted to light my first cigarette.

By 88th, the scenery began to look safe and I had finally ignited that damn cigarette. Determined to fulfill my reckless mood, I jumped over to Columbus. Of course my bitter condition was severely agitated when I realized that I was standing in Upper West Side Yuppie Central. Immediately, I recognized the Mackinac Bar & Grille and Isabella's, restaurants that I had frequented during my big Columbia romance of a year and a half. While they were both quality eateries, they were now memories in a non-permeable past, and that was sad.

Knowing that I had to move forward, I made a left and headed east along 79th past the Museum of Natural History; though I had never seen the dinosaurs, I had checked out the North American exhibit for some seminar on the Art of Public Display a couple years back, and I was supposed to sing there in a week or two for the Hamilton Awards Dinner.

I made a right onto CPW and followed it for seven blocks. At the Dakota, I remembered the tragedy of John Lennon, petted the funny iron Spaniard guys on the railing, and headed into the park. Though it was cathartic to see all the early morning activity of the cyclists, joggers, and speed walkers, I felt kind of pathetic with my saunter and my newly acquired habit. Around 7:03 a.m., I arrived at Emma Stebbins' Bethesda Fountain, the heart of Olmsted and Vaux's Central Park. In addition to being the final scene of Tony Kushner's Angels in America, Part II, it was the final stop on a walking tour of West 72nd Street that I had written for Professor Jackson's History of the City of New York class last spring. Moreover, it is one of the few serene havens in NYC. After enjoying the solitude and another Camel, I exited the sea of spandex (past Sheep Meadow where I had actually done The Fisher King thing) and emerged back into the empty asphalt streets of the city.

As I strolled down Fifth Avenue, I remembered how I had purchased a beanie at FAO Schwarz during the happy-go-lucky days of freshman year. Though the propeller had long since broken, a picture of me wearing the silly hat had survived in at least two editions of the Face Book; perhaps it was some reminder of the beanies that our class never received or maybe they were just warning the first-years that I was a whimsical freak...

I continued southeast past Sony Plaza and the Waldorf-Astoria, two venues where I had performed with the Kingsmen every holiday season during my four year tenure. By 42nd Street, I had made it all the way over to the First Avenue where I spotted what must have been the United Nations. I knew that it was in New York and had even read about it for some architecture class, but I had never actually seen it before. Disappointed with Le Corbusier's execution, I decided to visit something worthwhile (i.e. I would continue my death march to the Brooklyn Bridge). As I had already covered 72 blocks and 7 avenues on zero hours of sleep, I really don't know what I was thinking. However, I had spent a year reading David McCollough's The Great Bridge and I had photographed the bridge countless times, including once for the cover of that 1993 Kingsmen album.

Determined and possessed, I staggered onward and discovered among other things that the Futon District runs the entire length of Manhattan, NY has a lot of hospitals on the Lower East Side, and that we also have a Polish town. As I pushed on, I said "hi" to many of the buildings that I passed. Granted, I was kind of delirious, but on this painful morning on which I felt abandoned by the people of the world, I found comfort in structures that rose from the bedrock of Manhattan. At 34th St., I looked west and waved to the Empire State Building. I smiled recounting the various times I had taken friends to the top and photographed the New York City skyline. Then I laughed hysterically when I realized the same firm that had designed this art deco wonder in 1931 went on to design Carman and FBH in 1959. The point being, on this surreal Sunday morning, these massive skyscrapers that had been my enemies on many a final examination, were now my friends.

I wandered through the dripping fire hydrants of Alphabet City, cut east along Houston, and blazed through some Robert Moses projects. Around 9:24 a.m., I reached the East River just north of the Manhattan Bridge. As I rounded the corner, a man who was sweeping the sidewalk greeted me with a joyful "Good morning, sir." I smiled at the stranger, caught a glimpse of my destination, and felt the morning sunshine on my face; I knew that the big guy upstairs was watching.

The bridge in sight, I crossed over to the viaduct beneath FDR Drive and pressed forward with a new energy and elation. After passing a few joggers and a community of homeless who were completing their morning cleaning chores, I reached the giant anchorage of the Brooklyn Bridge. I walked west along this huge abandoned mall in the forgotten underworld until I found the entrance to the promenade.

At approximately 10:10 a.m. (make a wish), I reached the base of the New York tower; I hugged the masonry and kissed the historical plague that cited John, Emily and Washington Roebling for their contribution to this 1884 cable bridge. Then I sat down under one of the giant gothic arches-I figured I was entitled to that. As I looked back at the city from my mid-river perspective, I reflected over my walk and of my years at Columbia. While both were physically and emotionally painful at times, the experiences were spiritually enlightening. Though I had probably walked every foot between 116th St. and the Twin Towers at some point or another, I had never done it all in one shot. Though I felt like a cross between Forest Gump and a Paul Simon song in that I had "walked, and walked, and walked" and that I had "Blisters on the Heels of My Feet," I was proud of my accomplishment and at ease with myself. The walk had collected all of my thoughts and memories from my years in New York. From my singing, dating, architectural, and photographic pursuits, I've gotten to know this town pretty darn well.

I lit up one last smoke and headed home.