Please indulge me again, for a moment, about the loss of my old friend.
In discussing the passing of Danny Choy, earlier this week, with another old, mutual friend, he underscored that Danny -- more than most -- deserved to live the sort of adventurous life that matched his unflappable spirit. The 2011 paralysis Danny suffered seemed particularly cruel, given that he sustained the injury doing something he dearly loved, and his penchant to *do*/*see/*explore*/*experience* was just something that so defined him. That those abilities were largely taken away from him continues to pain everyone who knew him and loved him. At least now, he is hopefully free from that which contained him.
Again, as I mentioned in greater detail on this post (wherein Danny was assigned the pseudonym of "Rocky"), he was able to do things with his bicycle that defied all semblance of human understanding. At the risk of courting further hyperbole, it was simply poetry. The frame-standing I mentioned in that older post can be seen above, but the photo -– respectfully procured from his tribute page on Facebook -– doesn’t entirely do it justice. I cannot even begin to describe both the awe and concern I felt when watching the grace with which he mastered such feats, elegantly ascending his trusty Supergoose with the balance of a scruffier Philippe Petite, as we effectively raced downhill (no less) on that steep incline that runs down the Central Park Drive just north of the Boat House, with Danny striking any number of knowingly ridiculous poses. I couldn’t –- and sheepishly wouldn’t -- have attempted anything of the sort. Given my own practically spastic limitations, it was a miracle I could master my pedals, let alone propel my bike forward. Danny gamely overlooked that, and I feverishly struggled to keep up with him, like a breathless and sweaty Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote.
Beyond our two-wheeled exploits, however, I still largely credit Danny with instilling my cultivated love of exploring all the nooks and crannies of New York City. Whether on bike or by foot or via subway, we availed ourselves to vast swathes of Manhattan, routinely finding new places to investigate, hang-out and make our own. From the darkest, wooded corners of Central Park and the shadiest, back-alley shops of Canal Street to the hidden perches on the stately, imposing edifice of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the broadest, seemingly traffic-free straightaways along every avenue, Manhattan felt like it was ours. And it was.
There is a song that I will forever associate with Danny and this period of our respective youth. I listened to it a few times this week and the memories it still conjures choked me up all over again.
In terms of our musical tastes, Danny and I were more or less simpatico, but with conditions. While we both shared an affinity for the classic stuff like the Beatles, Pink Floyd, Queen, Hendrix and Bowie, I leaned towards harder, angrier punk & metal while he developed a great love of reggae. He turned me onto Peter Tosh, Bob Marley & The Wailers and (early) UB40, whilst I managed to get him to genuinely appreciate bands like Suicidal Tendencies, Dead Kennedys, Bad Brains and -– his particular favorite of the punky stuff, FEAR. That all said, neither of us were immune to the pop music of the day.
On one particular bright, sunny summer morning, Danny showed up at my door brandishing an endearingly imposing boom box (this, once again, was the `80s). That day’s adventure would be on foot and high of decibel.
I can’t recall why we were doing this so early in the day, but the streets felt completely empty, with the music from Danny's boombox echoing off the canyons of glass and steel. As we ambled south down the wide expanse of Park Avenue, we passed through one of those since-closed pedestrian tunnels that lead to the mouth of Vanderbilt Avenue. As we came to the end of it and into the sunlight, the song below -- “Reap the Wild Wind,” by sleek, Euo synth-popsters, Ultravox –- came on, as if on cue, exploding out of Danny’s boom box with cinematic, elegiac expanse.
For me, beyond capturing the sense of endless possibilities with great, histrionic aplomb, "Reap The Wild Wind" so fit Danny's approach to life. It is the very sound of him sailing down an open avenue, effortlessly ascending his bike to stand aloft with impossible balance and poise as the pavement whooshes beneath him. It is the sound of those endless days in the sun with my great friend.
I play it loud and remember Danny Choy.
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