To the editor:
On Oct. 31, a group of artists met with each other and a wonderful artist leader to draw, paint and study. We met in Van Cortlandt Park’s “quiet zone” on West 261st Street and Broadway. Did you even know it existed? And wouldn’t you hope it was, well, quiet?
In the time we were there, on the few benches, sitting on boulders or on the lawn, I heard 56 — yes, I counted them — non-mufflered vehicles, zooming bikes and motorcycles, leaf blowers, and accompanying ba-boom “music” I didn’t wish to hear. Doesn’t anyone care that some of us might be unreceptive to someone else’s noise? That it unnerves us?
This is now a part of living in the Bronx, probably in the whole city. Eating outside. Inside. In our apartments. We hear the noise. Night and day. It is more than intrusive. It is an assault, and an insult.
When I was a kid, my radio was glued to my ear. My car radio was played with car windows closed. My “outside” voice was hushed and respectful. So what’s going on? And what can we do about it?
There are better ways to protest, if in fact this is a “protest” of one or another type. I doubt that the noisemakers are protesters.
During the summer, I got rid of — with help — a screeching rooster down the street. I have complained about noisy neighbors, and they have become less noisy. But this? This is too much. So much is wrong with our world. This intrusion adds to it.
So what can we do? And while on that subject, has anyone noticed we now have camper vans on many streets, especially the service roads of the Henry Hudson Parkway, east side, between West 246th and West 250th streets? And elsewhere.
We also have cars from all over the city parked in areas where they do not have to be moved for the season. We have an antique show of cars, too. They take our precious few parking spots. Some are even covered for the winter.
There is a law — the “storage law” — that somehow not too many know about. After seven days of being seen by police patrols, the cars are supposed to be ticketed and ultimately towed. Ha!
I’ve given up on little doggie yappers, and the oftentimes mess left by them. The many and varied masks all over I try to ignore. Garbage is all over.
I’m tired. I’m older. These are hard times. “Colder” ones are coming. Let’s complain, make noise, call those folks who want our vote. Listen and learn, now.
And happy holidays, by the way.