There’s an ambulance and cop cruiser flashing lights several blocks away. Working girls strolling. A few cabs trolling slowly for fares.
Across the street, a crew of nocturnal party animals shuffles off to hibernate for the day. An old man slouches on a nearby bus bench, despite the fact that that route won’t start for hours.
Classical music wafts from outdoor loudspeakers at 7-11 to discourage loitering around the store and payphones. There’s something surreal about watching a drug dealer using a payphone bathed in sounds of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony. Gesturing wildly as he talked on the phone, it seemed as if someone had switched the sound track on a rap video.
A block away, I hear the beeping, grinding and clanging of early morning garbage trucks emptying apartment dumpsters.
Barking dogs announce the passage of some young guys slowly riding their bikes down the back lane. Cats watch suspiciously as I walk up the street. The scent of a recently cut lawn fights a losing battle with the stench of an overflowing dumpster.
I look at windows of houses and apartment blocks as I pass, some open to catch a cool morning breeze. The darkness in most is interrupted by the blinking glow of televisions in a few. I wonder if it’s someone who can’t sleep or just doesn’t have to be at work during the day.
Some people are scared of the dark. I’m kind of fascinated by it. Even the most densely packed city seems calmer and roomier at night. Less people, less cars, less noise.
As kids growing up in the city, we loved staying up all night. Outlasting the dark, greeting the dawn. We imagined it to be more our city – not the city of commuters, authorities, workers, and adults. We could ride our bikes down the middle of streets, Have entire playgrounds and parks to ourselves.
But darkness also makes you more aware of your vulnerability, aware of those who use the cover of darkness to prey on others, to cause grief rather than enjoy solitude.
Last week, we followed news accounts of the largest power outage in North American history. As a native New Yorker, I recalled previous New York blackouts in 1977 and 1965. I anticipated the worst.
Subways, elevators and escalators reduced to useless machinations. Many cell phones and debit cards reduced to useless plastic. Computers reduced to neutered chips, air conditioners actually blocking the flow of air through windows. No microwaves, no electric alarm clocks. Fridges and freezers transformed to salmonella incubators.
No wonder the blackout cost New York City roughly $36 million an hour, or about $1.1 billion in total. The transit system lost about $7 million in subway and train fares. About $250 million was lost in perishable goods thrown out from supermarkets and restaurants. The city paid almost $10 million in overtime to police and other workers.
What got me most, however, was seeing large numbers of people sleeping on downtown streets. Thousands had no luck finding shelter indoors. Others simply chose to escape the heat inside. Forced to commune with the homeless, business people rested heads on briefcases, newspapers and jackets.
For millions of people, everyday tasks were transformed to impossible feats.
Most people dealt calmly with the uncertainties of powerlessness. Maybe it was memories of 9/11, perhaps respectful of their shared vulnerability, or maybe just tired of the heat. Whatever it was, most stayed calm, certain that “someone” would flip the power back on again.
Psychologists commented, "The question comes up about trusting the people next to you, behind you, in front of you. You need to relax so that you're able to focus on what's happening around you. Take in exits, develop strategy, communicate to people closest you, listen for directions."
Another emphasized that taking action helps relieve the stress of traumatic situations. "The essence of a traumatic situation is helplessness. Thinking out strategy can make you feel less helpless."
By morning, the “city that never sleeps” looked pretty tired. But crime was down. People showed a strength of community that transcended planning and power.
Here in Winnipeg, I pondered the blackout as I walked to work in the dark. I was thankful for lights, fridges and electric alarm clocks.
But I wondered... If the lights went out on a hot night in Winnipeg, would the crime rate drop as it did in New York? What would we learn about our reactions to the dark? And how many people would actually sleep on our downtown streets?
Rev. Harry Lehotsky
514 Maryland Street
Winnipeg, Mb R3G 1M5
(204) 775-4929
lehotsky@escape.ca