A few mornings ago, I was a character in a beautiful New York scene: A group of about twenty schoolchildren poured onto the Columbus Circle station platform and danced their little hearts out to the tune of Duane Holmes's jazz standards. These kids, all colors of the rainbow, wore sunny smiles, skipping, hopping and boppitty bopping to the music. At once, they linked arms and took turns twirling and twisting their bodies to the infectious rhythms. Their energy lit up my whole being with glee.
It was one of these New York moments that assured me I was at the right place, at the right time. Often I wonder if there isn't somewhere else in the world I should be, but that morning, I did nothing but smile from 59th Street to Herald Square.
I talked to Duane the next day and we both wish I had taken a picture of the children dancing. "They really felt it," he said, somewhere between a laugh and a smile. But I was too afraid of being intrusive and taking a photo of 'other people's kids.' So I'm writing about it to remember the sweetness that befell all onlookers that day and to honor Duane's contributions to making New York a vibrant place to be. Duane's music breathes life into an otherwise dull morning commute and forces subway goers and comers to just stop. And enjoy the sounds of the City.
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