August 20, 1998

There are a lot of bicycle riders in Manhattan. I think they're mostly bicycle messengers. To me, it's insane to glide along on a Schwin in the midst of dense urban traffic. They dodge cars and pedestrians. They run red lights. And they grab onto back of moving trucks and smaller automobiles to get a free tow.

Bikes just don't belong in midtown Manhattan during the work week. (Neither do in-line skaters or horse carriages.)

And it was in midtown that I saw my first bicycle accident. It just happened a few minutes ago, outside my office on 53rd and Broadway. A pedestrian was crossing Broadway from East to West. A bicyclist came barreling westward along 53rd and turned South on Broadway, running smack into the pedestrian. For some odd reason, the man on foot was not hurt. But the helmet-less woman on the bike took a nasty spill.

A crowd (including myself) quickly gathered around the downed rider.

"Don't touch her! She could have a neck injury!" a homeless man shouted. He was right.

"Give her some air!" I shouted. "Back off! Give her some air!"

I knelt down by the woman's head and told her she was going to be okay.

"Who's got a cell phone?" I demanded.

One guy in the crowd said he did.

"Call 911!" I barked.

Then I returned my attention to the woman.

"Can you move your fingers?"

"I don't know" she wailed.

"Try" I ordered.

She wiggled them a bit.

"Good" I reassured her.

"The ambulance is on its way" the guy with the cell phone piped in.

"Good! Thanks!" I said without looking at him. "You hear that?" I said to the woman in a soft, reassuring voice. "Help is on the way."

She wasn't listening. "I can't feel my legs! That man took my legs!"

"She ran into me!" the pedestrian protested, with fear in his voice.

I looked down at the woman's legs. They were sprawled out as if she were running.

"Can you feel this?" I asked as I grabbed her thigh.

"No! I can't feel nuthin'! He took my legs!"

"She ran into me man!" the pedestrian again contended. "I swear to God!"

I reached down to the woman's ankle, but this time, I did not ask her first if she could feel my touch. Instead, I just grabbed the skin on her ankle and pinched it as hard as I could.

"Jesus Christ fucking shit! What are you doing?" the woman shouted.

"You're fine" I said sternly. "Stop pretending."

"Somebody help me get her up" I said to the crowd. Somebody did.

Then I looked at the scared pedestrian. "Don't worry sir, there's no lawsuit here."

Just an ordinary day on the mean streets of NYC.

Broadway Jim Jenkins