Talking the “tawk”

The neatest thing happened tonight. As Ilsa the wonder dog and I waited in the lobby for the elevator to take us up to our apartment, a young cop who was talking to the doorman stopped to watch Ilsa play with her leash. (Ilsa likes to carry her leash in her mouth on the way home from our walks, to the delight of anyone who has witnessed this stunt.)

The cop leaned over, held out his hand and began to approach her, whereupon she crouched, front paws spread out, and started barking through clenched teeth. The cop paused, and in the coolest New York accent since the Bowery Boys, said, “Oh, I see…you’re afraid of ewe-ni-fawms, huh?”

There have been many imitators, but no one can peg a “New Yawk” accent like a native New Yorker. And I’ve heard more New Yawkese in Lower Manhattan than anywhere else in the Big Town in the almost 13 years I’ve lived here. That’s probably because Lower Manhattan—what with the New York Stock Exchange; city, state and federal office buildings; the Staten Island Ferry, and other potential terrorist targets all in close proximity—has what has to be the most intensive NYPD and security protection in the five boroughs.

Seeing this blue-uniformed omnipresence was a little unnerving to me when I moved down here last year. I mean, every weekend, returning to my apartment with a Mini Cooper full of groceries, I have to stop at a security checkpoint, tell the guard why I’m there and then wait for one of two mammoth pickup trucks parked diagonally to back up and make room for me to pass. That brings me to another area where I have to shut off my engine, unlock all the doors and wait for a bomb-sniffing dog to be led around my car. Once that’s done, the dog’s handler signals the driver of another mammoth pickup truck parked diagonally to back up and let me through.

What can I say? You learn to live with this new reality. And you take comfort in little things, like hearing all of these men in uniform speaking New Yawkese. The lingo was not exactly unknown to me growing up on Long Island. Several uncles and horse-playing friends of my father all talked the “tawk.”

Last Sunday, again returning to my apartment with a Mini Cooper full of groceries, one of the guys at the checkpoint started asking me about my car, and for all the world it could have been my cousin Pat, another fella who likes cars and talks the "tawk." Except this guy was in uniform, and he carried one big-ass gun.

Endnote:

And the best commercial to air on Super Bowl Sunday is…

Leonard Nimoy on his cellphone with his manager. “I can’t do it.” Then he takes Aleve, an arthritis pain reliever. Cut to Nimoy walking out on stage. A crowd of nerdy, costumed Trekkies waits in silent anticipation. Nimoy holds up his hand, smiles and gives the Vulcan “live long and prosper” hand sign. The audience goes wild. Advertising perfection.