It's funny Megan wrote about the Beekman Towers. That hotel and that entire area of NYC is imprinted in me, it's my first impression of Manhattan. Those exciting trips into the city when we rode in taxis laden with shopping bags, where we got dressed up and went to fancy dinners and shows, sometimes even went to the apartments of fancy friends of yours and Mom's. NYC around the UN and the Beekman, that is the NYC of my childhood, the NYC of you and Mom dressed to the nines and treating us like princesses.
One time, you let me go up to the top of the Beekman with you so you could sit at the bar and sip a martini. I was way too young to be in a bar, and I was thrilled at being up there on top of the world with you, looking out of the skyline from the wrap around balcony. I can still feel the air in the lobby, in the suites, hear Megan shushing me whenever I made a single noise while she was trying to sleep in our shared sofa bed.
The Beekman is where I learned about good tipping, from you. Michael the bellhop was your favorite, and he always called you by name (Mr. Dempsey) and you in turn referred to him by name. I want to say that Michael was actually a cousin or something of the Mendelsohn's, but I can't remember exactly; I just feel like there was some vague connection there.
Anyway, tipping etiquette -- then, as now -- stressed me out immensely. I've never figured out how to be a smooth tipper, like you were. I would watch every time Michael or one of the other bellhops did something for us to see how you handled tipping. One time I noticed you didn't tip when someone brought our bags to the room. I asked you about it and you told me that you saved all the tips up for the end of the stay, when you would hand a nice big tip to each of the bellhops. I worried that since they didn't know this was your plan that they might secretly hate us and think you were cheap. You were not worried about this at all -- I don't know if it was experience, or our history of staying there, or what, but they knew that they'd be well taken care of by the end of our stay. I've always thought of this, your smoothness with tipping, and never been able to replicate it. There's not a slick bone in my body! But you could be really slick sometimes, and picturing you in the Beekman always makes me think of this young, handsome, sharply dressed father, hiding a $20 bill in his hand as he smoothly handed it over to an equally discreet bellhop.
My worldview was shaped so heavily by those trips to the Beekman, those early visits to NYC. Wandering into that area is like wandering into the past. Sometimes I can't believe it's the same city I live in, the city from those trips. What a joy they were, always.
love a
One time, you let me go up to the top of the Beekman with you so you could sit at the bar and sip a martini. I was way too young to be in a bar, and I was thrilled at being up there on top of the world with you, looking out of the skyline from the wrap around balcony. I can still feel the air in the lobby, in the suites, hear Megan shushing me whenever I made a single noise while she was trying to sleep in our shared sofa bed.
The Beekman is where I learned about good tipping, from you. Michael the bellhop was your favorite, and he always called you by name (Mr. Dempsey) and you in turn referred to him by name. I want to say that Michael was actually a cousin or something of the Mendelsohn's, but I can't remember exactly; I just feel like there was some vague connection there.
Anyway, tipping etiquette -- then, as now -- stressed me out immensely. I've never figured out how to be a smooth tipper, like you were. I would watch every time Michael or one of the other bellhops did something for us to see how you handled tipping. One time I noticed you didn't tip when someone brought our bags to the room. I asked you about it and you told me that you saved all the tips up for the end of the stay, when you would hand a nice big tip to each of the bellhops. I worried that since they didn't know this was your plan that they might secretly hate us and think you were cheap. You were not worried about this at all -- I don't know if it was experience, or our history of staying there, or what, but they knew that they'd be well taken care of by the end of our stay. I've always thought of this, your smoothness with tipping, and never been able to replicate it. There's not a slick bone in my body! But you could be really slick sometimes, and picturing you in the Beekman always makes me think of this young, handsome, sharply dressed father, hiding a $20 bill in his hand as he smoothly handed it over to an equally discreet bellhop.
My worldview was shaped so heavily by those trips to the Beekman, those early visits to NYC. Wandering into that area is like wandering into the past. Sometimes I can't believe it's the same city I live in, the city from those trips. What a joy they were, always.
love a
Michael, the cousin of one of the Mendelsohns, worked at the Palace, not the Beekman, and he often got Mom and Dad upgraded to a suite on their weekends in the city without us.
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