The woman in the blue coat approached me by the United Nations building yesterday, and said: ‘There is an interesting man around the corner that you should photograph. I don’t know his name, but everyday he stands directly across from the UN, and says ‘God Bless You’ to everyone who walks past. I’ve always sort of viewed him as the conscience of the world.’
'Let's go together,' I said, and she agreed to bring me to where he was standing. When we finally found the man, I asked for his photo, and he cheerfully agreed. But he pointed at a nearby wall:
"Let’s take the photo under that scripture," he said.
The police can go to downtown Harlem and pick up a kid with a joint in the streets. But they can’t go into the elegant apartments and get a stockbroker who’s sniffing cocaine.
I’ve seen more drugs behind the brick walls of my private college than I have ever even heard of back home in my hood.
Before the availability of the tape recorder and during the 1950s, when vinyl was scarce, people in the Soviet Union began making records of banned Western music on discarded x-rays. With the help of a special device, banned bootlegged jazz and rock ‘n’ roll records were “pressed” on thick radiographs salvaged from hospital waste bins and then cut into discs of 23-25 centimeters in diameter. “They would cut the X-ray into a crude circle with manicure scissors and use a cigarette to burn a hole,” says author Anya von Bremzen. “You’d have Elvis on the lungs, Duke Ellington on Aunt Masha’s brain scan — forbidden Western music captured on the interiors of Soviet citizens.” [x]