| Issue #40, January 12, 2007 |
Getting the Message
An Errant Skywriter in a Bi-Plane Over Lexington Ave. Tries His Best
By Dan Rattiner
The streets of New York were packed with people on the last day of 2006. Most of them, including me, buzzing around buying last minute things for upcoming New Year’s Eve parties.
There’s an old rule in New York that if everybody is looking in a certain direction, you should, too. At 11 a.m., on the northwest street corner of Lexington and 76th, in the sunshine, a group of people were looking up. So I stopped and looked up. There was skywriting going on, very low and very large, and you could see a tiny man in a tiny yellow biplane up there turning on and off the white smoke as he swooped around. At the point where we first saw him, he had spelled M U O, or maybe it was O U W. It depended how you looked at it, and how, given how you looked at it, which way you thought he was spelling it.
Those looking up included a woman and a man with a camera, a doorman, a workman the doorman had been talking to, an older man with a dog on a leash, and now me.
“I think it’s WHO,” the doorman said.
“That’s not an H. It’s an N,” the man with the dog said.
Frequently, Boeing 747 jets heading for LaGuardia flew silently alongside the bi-plane and through the letters being created. They seemed to be the same size as the bi-plane, an illusion created by the fact that they were much higher up above all the goings on.
“I think he is spelling this back to front,” I said, having given the matter thought.
We all stood this way for a while, but then the man with the camera and the woman with him decided they had to press on. “Happy New Year,” the man said, waving goodbye. “You, too,” said the doorman. They walked off.
Next there was the letter I. But it was a lower case i. A line and a dot. Then a single long strip, which might have been a lower case L. Then another one.
At this time, I decided to walk on too. So I wished everybody remaining the best and pressed up Lexington.
“I think it’s WHO and then ILL,” the doorman said, giving me his best parting advice.
“Who is sick?” someone asked.
As I walked, I continued to try to figure this out. It was a sunny day, but as there was a brisk wind, the whole thing up there was moving quickly east to west. That’s a pretty slow airplane, I thought as he slowly swung around. He’ll have to hurry if he wants people on the ground to be able to read it at all.
The next letter was an S. I was at Lexington and 78th.
Saddam Hussein had been hung just two days ago. How could Homeland Security let a skywriter do this this low in the sky over New York City? The next letter was an H. A lower case h.
At 79th and Lex I stopped to cross the street next to a young Japanese woman and another couple who were also looking up. At this point, I thought I had a pretty good idea of what was what up there, and it was not good. The flier had forgotten the apostrophe. It was Who I’ll Sh…….
My eyes met those of the Japanese girl. She seemed concerned.
“This letter is very important,” I said.
“I know,” she said.
Who I’ll Shoot?
Who I’ll Shut Up?
Nothing good was going to come from this. The flier wrote the letter J. But upside down, I thought. I looked at the girl. She shrugged. The light changed.
After I crossed the street, between 79th and 80th, I thought I ought to be writing all this down. I fumbled in my pockets. I found a piece of paper, but no pencil. The flier wrote the letter O.
I went into a store, an art gallery, and interrupted the clerk there who was waiting on some customers.
“Could I please borrow a pen or pencil? I asked. “There’s somebody writing something in the sky out front.” He handed me a small ballpoint pen. And I ran back out.
The flier made another O. So now there were two Os in a row. But with the wind, everything was moving behind a tall building on 83rd Street. I went down to the corner at 82nd Street to get a better look, and I did but I couldn’t figure out how the Os fit in. Then I thought to go the other way down the sidewalk and ran into the clerk from the art gallery, apparently concerned about his pen, who had come out of his store to see where I went.
“Here,” I said, handing it to him.
There is a big hole in the ground between 83rd and 84th for what will shortly be, I believe, a very tall building occupying half a city block, and it was here that I had a clear view again.
Who ill she Cjoose. There was no apostrophe. He’d left out a W. Make the j an h and you had it.
WHO WILL SHE CHOOSE
It’s New Year’s Eve.
The bi-plane was now swooping to make a very large and very plaintive heart, right over 86th Street and what was probably First Avenue.
Best of luck, sir.
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