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GRAMERCY PARK

"Riffs", "Yes, boss." Sunglasses, pockmarked face, and an army of guappi framed in front of him as a an army platoon of highly operational, with eyes fixed and focused, ready to listen and eager to follow orders of the head. They are the Gramercy Riffs, the most powerful gang in New York, the gang that has seen its charismatic leader, Cyrus, who was killed at the gathering of gangs "in the Bronx." Throughout the film "Warriors - The Warriors", the Gramercy Riffs coordinate the hunt for Warriors, blamed for the murder of Cyrus, unleashing against all the gangs of New York, to discover, of course at the end of the film in an epic scene (Warriors are loyal, the Warriors do not kill, "says the leader of the Riffs," ... the best, "he says Swan, the leader of the Warriors), who were not their own, honoring the courage on the beach at Coney Island. Walter Hill's film is a clear and eloquent picture of the New York of the seventies, millions of times more dangerous than today's, after all, remains viable in at least seventy percent of its urban area, while at the time and kilometers square kilometers were absolutely not feasible. The Riffs were of Gramercy Park, a neighborhood in Manhattan's East Village to the north (up to Murray Hill, just below Midtown East, fifteen blocks in Grand Central Station) near the East River, and extends from the river to 2nd Avenue. Today, the year of grace 2005, turn Gramercy Park is absolutely harmless and pleasant, some thirty years ago, however, was much more problematic. The area between 2nd Avenue and Franklin Delano Roosevelt Drive, between the 18th Street and 30th Street, was the unquestioned bastion of peddling heroin, haunted by petty crime and where the police have not set foot except for pocketing bribes. The scourge of Gramercy (and also the example of Hell's Kitchen, a place ugly, disastrous and dangerous Midtown West, but never got as an "example" of evil to be eradicated, perhaps because the crime was all white-skinned and Irish) is always was semi-hidden by the mainstream media, there was no "monster" by banging on the front page (as in Harlem, where the "monster" were African-American misfits), and delinquency was not flashy and dramatic, as in other districts, so few people, except of course the New Yorkers knew about the infamous and dangerous place. Then with time and with the government with an iron fist, the neighborhood has slowly healed, slowly becoming what it is today, a respectable and quiet little apartment, with normal buildings, or dilapidated nor glitzy, populated by "normal" people, without any apparent illicit trafficking in light of the sun, as it was thirty years ago. From regular visitor to the East Village, one day I moved a little out towards the north, reaching up to Stuyvesant Square, cozy little park is divided in two by 2nd Avenue, practically in the neighborhood Gramercy. A few blocks north on 2nd Avenue, there are two playground attached to one another, divided by an isolated and extremely different from each other. The nearest subway stop is the green line number 6, on 23rd Street. You exit the station, it is on Park Avenue, the massive highway undisputed King of the East Side. Take the 23rd Street to the east, you pass Lexington and 3rd Avenue, on 2nd Avenue until you arrive. Two blocks south, on the left is the Peters Field Playground, which occupies the space between the 21st and 20th Street, and one block further south, is the Augustus Saint Gauden's Playground, on 19th Street, always on the left side of the road. Two playgrounds, a distance of one block of each other in the same neighborhood, without borders and ethnic groups in conflict. Nevertheless, the human resources of both the basketball court are diametrically opposed in every way. Peters Field Playground: pitch surrounded by a children's playground, surrounded by gardens, well maintained and cared for. The ballers who delight here have a special characteristic, that are all white. Widening further analysis of the players Peters Field Playground, we see that the people who handle the ball into wedges tend to be older, around thirty or more, are in good physical condition, with good fundamentals and with a good attitude to the game, also careful to make good blocks and maybe a little too soft in rebound. A bit too soft in general would add, the contacts are not hard to play trying to run, but not the most agony. Another four or five characters of the same stack are chatting on the sidelines, a little less physically fit but in basketball attitude, waiting to enter the game. Augustus Saint Gauden's Playground: three billboards on the corner of 19th Street, on crumbling asphalt and without any green space. The ballers who play on three baskets are all African-Americans, Tignosi and muscular young men in his early twenties with aggressive eye of the tiger. The pitch is also characterized by the proverbial posse on the sideline, a dozen Homiez playful and rowdy, a perpetual motion of jokes and shoving, punctuated by ovations to enhance the play of good ballers. The three, three against three on the three boards of this playground are real battles to the death, electrocuting one on one, level crossings as rain and terrifying elbow to rebound, many micro-guerrillas in each pair and a single and single purpose: to win the game. No frills and no inclination to show, just great and unparalleled intensity. Gramercy, 2nd Avenue, two playgrounds in the space of fifty yards, two opposite ways of approaching the game from the street.
Daniele Vecchi, Playground in New York