"From East Elmhurst to the Epicenter: My Times Square Adventure"
Stepping off the 7 train into Times Square, I'm immediately swept up in the electric atmosphere of early 80s New York. As a young man from the quiet streets of East Elmhurst, Queens, the sensory overload is both thrilling and overwhelming.
I adjust my Green Le Tigre shirt and smooth down my green colored Lee jeans, feeling fly in my freshest gear. My name-belt buckle holds up my pants, and my shell-toe Adidas with fat laces complete the look. This is hip-hop fashion at its finest, and I'm proud to be representing.
The sidewalks of "The Deuce" - our nickname for 42nd Street - are a chaotic dance of hustlers, dreamers, and street performers. I can't help but stop and stare as a group of Brooklyn cats throw down, their boombox blasting Kurtis Blow's "A.J. Scratch". They are doing the electric boogie, their robotic movements perfectly synced to the beat. I toss a couple of dollars into a Kangol hat on the floor, caught up in the moment.
As I navigate the bustling streets, I'm acutely aware of the dangers lurking in every shadow. A lot of people were getting jewelry chains snatched, and your wallet could be taken from your back pocket if you weren't careful. I keep a watchful eye on my surroundings, my hand instinctively checking my pocket every few minutes. The Deuce isn't just a playground; it's a gauntlet where only the street-smart survive.
Suddenly, a shout pierces the air – "5-0!" In the blink of an eye, the 3-card Monte game on the corner vanishes, the dealer's nimble fingers making the makeshift table disappear as if by magic. I think of my brother, how he lost a cool hundred in seconds to these street magicians. The memory keeps my hand firmly on my wallet.
The air is thick with the scent of danger and excitement. Every store seems to be hawking Spanish fly and condoms, a stark contrast to the family-friendly atmosphere of my home neighborhood. I make a mental note to grab a slice from one of the Italian-owned pizzerias later - their za is unbeatable.
If you were looking for weed and coke or prostitution, plenty of them were lurking down that street. The air is thick with more than just excitement; there's an undercurrent of illicit activities that both thrills and terrifies me. It's a stark reminder of the raw, unfiltered nature of Times Square in this era – a far cry from the sanitized version I'll see decades later.
If you wanted to catch some video games, there was a big arcade located in the Times Square section. The flashing lights and electronic beeps draw me in, a stark contrast to the gritty street scene outside.
But first, I'm here for the kung fu flicks. "7 Grandmasters" is playing at the grindhouse down the block, and I can't wait to catch it. As I make my way there, I sidestep a junkie sprawled on the sidewalk, his glazed eyes unseeing. It's a stark reminder of the darker side of this electrifying scene.
The theater is dark and musty, but alive with anticipation. As the kung fu action explodes across the screen, I lose myself in the fantasy, momentarily forgetting the gritty reality waiting outside. The crowd cheers and gasps with every spectacular move, and I find myself swept up in the collective energy. This is more than just a movie - it's an experience, a temporary escape into a world of honor, skill, and impossible feats.
As night falls, the neon signs burn brighter, casting an otherworldly glow on the streets. I watch as X-rated movie houses fill up and working girls strut their stuff. It's a world away from the quiet life in East Elmhurst, and I'm here for every minute of it.
I decide to get my picture taken by one of the Polaroid photographers scattered throughout the square. While waiting my turn, I watch a group of guys hamming it up for the camera, striking superhero poses. It's hilarious and awesome all at once, and I can't help but join in when it's my turn, throwing a kung fu pose inspired by the movie I just watched.
As I board the train back to Queens, my mind is already racing with plans for my next visit. Times Square in the early 80s is dangerous, exhilarating, and utterly unforgettable. It's our playground, our battlefield, our home away from home. And for a kid from the suburbs of East Elmhurst like me, it's the ultimate adventure, filled with kung fu dreams and hip-hop beats.
Decades later, Times Square has undergone a dramatic transformation. The gritty, edgy atmosphere of my youth has given way to a sanitized, family-friendly tourist mecca. Where once stood peep shows and grindhouses, now towering billboards and themed restaurants dominate the landscape. It's safer, cleaner, and more welcoming to visitors from around the world. But as I walk these streets now, I can't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for the raw energy and danger that once defined this iconic intersection. The Times Square of today may be a far cry from the one I knew, but the memories of those wild nights in the early 80s will forever remain etched in my mind, a testament to a New York that no longer exists.
By Ron Lawrence