My Guardian Angel?

Some years back, I made my only journey to New York. (I used to quip that it was the only time I ever left the country.) I was ready to go back South after forty minutes, much less, four days, but it was well worth the trip and my time there was full of adventure and education.

It was an interesting sojourn, filled with museums, fine food and New York cabbies. (Everything you ever heard about them is true.) It was ostensibly a business trip, but, since I quickly discovered that I was only a fifth wheel on this little excursion, I decided my time was better spent out of the way, taking in the sites and sounds of the City That Never Sleeps.

It was great! I saw the Empire State Building, walked the deck of the U.S.S. Intrepid, and visited the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art where I stood inches from “Starry Night.” I even, yes, saw the twin towers of the World Trade Center. (I erroneously supposed nothing less than the finger of God could bring them down.) Most everything I saw was within walking distance of the Jacob Javits Center where the “business” I was involved in was being conducted. Yes, many interesting sights and experiences happened while there, but the one salient, though, almost incidental event was the time I met an angel.

I don’t particularly recall where I was headed at the moment it happened. Was I leaving the Center or returning to it? I do recall walking on the sidewalk when, I noticed a subway. Well, hillbilly me had never ridden a subway before. I had some time to spare, so I made my way across the street, swiftly approaching the entrance that descended into the apparent darkness of the subway access. That’s where this most peculiar, perhaps, miraculous thing happened to me.

While making my way to the entrance, I halted, my attention being caught by an unfamiliar voice speaking behind me. I turned to meet the gaze of a man who had apparently been there on the sidewalk, heretofore unnoticed by me. He stood nearly close enough to touch me.
I truly, and disappointedly, remember next to nothing about him. I would describe him only as Caucasian, no older than what one might call middle aged. Perhaps his hair was dark and he, though I’m unsure if he was suited or not, was definitely not poorly dressed.

I think I said something to the affect of, “Excuse me?”

He responded, “You’re not going in the subway here, are you?”

Well, I suppose I hadn’t thought much about it. I would say that I had been very myopic and tunnel vision ruled my actions up to that moment. It was then that I looked around and realized that, although the area near the dock where the “tourist” area seemed to be was well groomed and pleasing to the eye, the subway side of the street was a grotesque ghetto like you might see in a really bad movie about the gangs of New York. I was so prepossessed by the prospect of riding a “real” subway, that I hadn’t actually noticed my surroundings.

I looked at the man who was staring back at me as if he was expecting something. It was one of the few times in my life I was speechless. I only shrugged my shoulders returning his gaze.

He spoke, calmly, but purposefully, saying, “That’s the last thing I’d ever do!” He then turned and simply walked away.

Well, at that point, I didn’t have to be told twice. I took another swift look around the area, perhaps as a reminder of the potentially grim situation I was facing or perhaps in shear awe of where I was and what just happened. After checking the traffic, I strolled back across the street, finding other, safer, ways of amusing myself.

I’ve often thought about this incident through the past couple of decades. I’ve even related the story on occasion to those who cared to listen. I’ve often pondered the serendipitous arrival of this friendly stranger that day. I certainly am not arrogant enough to believe that a backwoods country boy like myself would have necessarily been prepared for whatever fate might have befallen me there.

Now, I’m not one to go off one crazy mental tangents or flights of fancy. I view myself as being well grounded and even skeptical of the “crazy” stories that I’ve heard many people relate with wide-eyed wonderment. Still, that man and that particular incident have haunted me lo, these many years, and haunt me still.

Was he just a kindly stranger who happened to notice a young man totally out of his environment? Was he a city dweller who happened across me at just a most opportune moment in time? Was he a visitor from another town or city who was there on business when he and I crossed paths that day? Yes, I finally dared to ask myself, “Was he an angel?”

I don’t know. I’ve told people that perhaps he was if for no other reason than to see their reaction when I used the word. (Yes, I’m a little stinker!)

Maybe, just maybe, he was exactly what I have on occasion supposed him to be. I’m not such a “big boy” that I no longer believe in miracles. Even so, I may not know who or “what” that man may have been, but one thing is for sure, he was, to me that day, a friend.