tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83888735920119662482024-03-04T22:53:28.303-08:00Nightshift NYCA companion blog to the book Nightshift NYC from the University of California Press by Russell Leigh Sharman and Cheryl Harris Sharman with photos by Corey Hayes.Russell Leigh Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10714201504169830851noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-65906385245491185622009-05-11T11:00:00.000-07:002009-05-11T11:08:56.631-07:00WelcomeIt is May, 2009. We've come full circle with the blog, a year of posts on all things nightshift. If you're just stumbling upon us, wander through the archive to find information and stories that did not make it into the book, and some that did, a few guest blogs, some thoughtful essays, and a few pictures. We're ending our year of blogging on the nightshift on a high note, the American Society of Journalists and Authors just gave us one of their Outstanding Book Awards. For those of you who've been following along, thanks for taking the journey with us. For those of you who've just found us, follow the link to the right and pick up a copy of NIGHTSHIFT NYC. You'll never experience the night the same way again.Russell Leigh Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10714201504169830851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-74246433426254561072009-04-29T17:33:00.000-07:002009-04-29T17:44:56.052-07:00May DayFriday is May first, May Day to those who’ve ever danced their way around a maypole.<br /><br />In New York City this year, it’s the <a href="http://www.may1.info/">May Day Rally</a>, a <a href="http://www.leftshift.org/may1/2009/MayDay2009en.pdf">rally and march</a> for worker and immigrant rights. Organized by the grassroots <a href="http://www.leftshift.org/may1/2009/WhoWeAre.pdf">May 1st coalition</a>, which hopes to win legalization and full rights for all workers, the rally is at 4p.m. and the march at 5p.m.<br /><br />Consider marching for Juan, who used to work at the Cheyenne. That’s not his real name. An undocumented Mexican immigrant, he’s shielded by a pseudonym. When the diner closed, his bosses said he’d gone on to work at another of their restaurants. He didn’t. He’d always hoped to return to Mexico. Maybe he did. Maybe not. Here’s a bit of his story, from Chapter 18 of <em>Nightshift NYC</em>:<br /><br /><br /><blockquote><p>Juan, 43, wears a white chef’s shirt, checked chef’s pants and, when he goes out on deliveries, a navy Members Only style jacket. His short black hair stands up on end a bit, though tonight it’s slicked down with a good bit of gel.</p><p>At 2:30 a.m., he takes a break. He eats hungrily before he returns to the basement kitchen or out into the night for a delivery. His job here is an unremitting cycle of deliveries, dirty dishes, and piles of potatoes to wash before the morning rush. He has worked at the Cheyenne for two years, this time. Like many undocumented Mexican immigrants, Juan has moved back and forth across the border several times in his working life. With a family to support in Mexico, the US provides a good income but it will never be home.</p><p>In New York, Juan has only worked nightshift jobs. As he describes it, “I don’t know what the daytime is like in New York.” He works seven nights a week, 364 nights a year for $4 an hour. “It’s a lot of work,” he says. “I don’t like to work the night, but I have to work to take care of my family.” He’s smiling but he has giant bags under his<br />eyes. </p><p>“I don’t speak English, only the numbers. It’s a problem, because customers ask me questions I don’t understand. I’ve never had the time to study English. I come home only to sleep, I get up to go to work, bathe, and go. That is my life. I am very tired, but I want to save a little more money.”</p></blockquote>Nightshift workers like Juan need advocates. Especially in the current economy, when they are more likely to be laid off or paid even less. In New York City, nightshift workers are often immigrants. If they’re undocumented, they – and their dayshift counterparts – risk being fired, not hired at all, or exploited for cheap labor. As this <em>City Limits</em> <a href="http://www.citylimits.org/content/articles/viewarticle.cfm?article_id=3720">article</a> shows, this increases the likelihood that they cannot pay their rent, will become homeless, and cannot send money to their families back home.<br /><br />The rally and march are not the only ways to support workers. Read more on their plight. Ask them their story. Be a nice customer. Tip well. Donate to <a href="http://www.rocny.org/donate">Restaurant Opportunities Center of New York</a>, which supports restaurant workers and their families.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-27723868998919818902009-04-21T21:03:00.000-07:002009-04-21T21:14:31.103-07:00Guest Blog (Again!) ... Michael Arthur<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; line-height: 20px; "><span style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A few weeks ago we posted some late night sketches from artist Michael Arthur. Michael is the archival artist at Joe's Pub and a</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">ll of his drawings are done directly in ink </span></span><span style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">with no pencils and no rough drafts</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. We liked his sketches from his commute home to Brooklyn so much, we decided to post a few more. Check out more of his work at: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://www.michaeldarthur.com/">www.michaeldarthur.com</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://www.inklines.blogspot.com/">www.inklines.blogspot.com</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">.</span></span></span><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2OiBWhkzimlokZ5wV8P7eIu8Gzn3i7eNL4_D0Yre-jRGgLxZaBYz5aRsL6dnPplQhCiSLlcAp4GsByRdzYAgteBadMbuILQAcxk9On4RNJkONEOiKZfTC_ABZfdF2yclxheMq-oXTsHf/s1600-h/Yankees+fan.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2OiBWhkzimlokZ5wV8P7eIu8Gzn3i7eNL4_D0Yre-jRGgLxZaBYz5aRsL6dnPplQhCiSLlcAp4GsByRdzYAgteBadMbuILQAcxk9On4RNJkONEOiKZfTC_ABZfdF2yclxheMq-oXTsHf/s320/Yankees+fan.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327363362728053698" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YddlGooMBdEkzi4-atMc0RuYNZvvaksHjZHyTyVKeHPzErDPxhHuMOpwCOpHadSzm5wiDBc_ugEhWMh-olxdDkmqCRSyL6OWURxgQgVL0JkvwWsAbfFfU6CSElaqBBzcpvpfK91DCSXT/s1600-h/train+platform.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1YddlGooMBdEkzi4-atMc0RuYNZvvaksHjZHyTyVKeHPzErDPxhHuMOpwCOpHadSzm5wiDBc_ugEhWMh-olxdDkmqCRSyL6OWURxgQgVL0JkvwWsAbfFfU6CSElaqBBzcpvpfK91DCSXT/s320/train+platform.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327363360790380514" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvo_14GOXhvZtJ2CmFob2OVAO9C1mmbu6CCfHYJY9o2rAW5dbl2bWwPTNtUHiCmlcuQhhyOZXsKpigo3YqwWGjHppgDUjxn8rgme5_Wv1ZYlm5xrwuIA9YtS3ndd-1oI39w7DMQAYOx5h/s1600-h/Train+Face.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvo_14GOXhvZtJ2CmFob2OVAO9C1mmbu6CCfHYJY9o2rAW5dbl2bWwPTNtUHiCmlcuQhhyOZXsKpigo3YqwWGjHppgDUjxn8rgme5_Wv1ZYlm5xrwuIA9YtS3ndd-1oI39w7DMQAYOx5h/s320/Train+Face.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327363356549324610" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1aRMU4lSA9GvNSSMfxsI-4g7dDwxgo7xLvlw-k7YdwFVOdYM0pxaTHbkynpsSf1jCG-DERdPjCfHGhkv9_rtfSlydfNHIIeCosksSJcOaWSRRy_78nZisLH1z_61csa_EWslbnDTGe4j/s1600-h/page+16.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 287px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1aRMU4lSA9GvNSSMfxsI-4g7dDwxgo7xLvlw-k7YdwFVOdYM0pxaTHbkynpsSf1jCG-DERdPjCfHGhkv9_rtfSlydfNHIIeCosksSJcOaWSRRy_78nZisLH1z_61csa_EWslbnDTGe4j/s320/page+16.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327363356507610578" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic; line-height: 20px;font-family:'Trebuchet MS';"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53Vzj5eFwThIP4hKeYLOpPunBXu1RKm5g_B7q9a0RqJ_pLus9y9-4BLEiCLEp8uKLl36Iua0ou8itEgNIhyg3j33TLZRlf2oUkFXZzwdi6Tnhd51ZhUgXmS9UQsUCTUc4eZ1K4dX_M_A0/s1600-h/long+train+face.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 191px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53Vzj5eFwThIP4hKeYLOpPunBXu1RKm5g_B7q9a0RqJ_pLus9y9-4BLEiCLEp8uKLl36Iua0ou8itEgNIhyg3j33TLZRlf2oUkFXZzwdi6Tnhd51ZhUgXmS9UQsUCTUc4eZ1K4dX_M_A0/s320/long+train+face.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327362456694059154" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic; line-height: 20px;font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:48px;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: italic; line-height: 20px;font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:48px;"><br /></span></div>Russell Leigh Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10714201504169830851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-63266773728971350052009-04-14T12:21:00.000-07:002009-04-14T12:33:12.618-07:00Food and ShelterThis month, the federal stimulus bill (or, the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act) will start affecting real life. Some have already seen their paychecks notch up a little.<br /><br />For others, part of the <a href="http://www.bls.gov/news.release/pdf/empsit.pdf">12.5 million people out of a job </a>right now, the perks will take longer.<br /><br />If they (or you) were already enrolled in the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) – the renamed food stamps program – each family member will receive an extra $18/month for groceries. That’s nothing to spit at these days. In many neighborhoods, families can use that money at farmer’s markets and CSAs. (If you’re feeling energetic, make sure this option exists in your neighborhood and fight for it if not.) And, according to this <a href="http://www.citylimits.org/content/articles/viewarticle.cfm?article_id=3722">City Limits </a>article, the Department of Agriculture estimates each $1 spent on food puts $1.84 back into the sluggish economy.<br /><br />If they (or you) have housing but cannot afford it, take note of another acronym: HPRP. This is the new Homelessness Prevention and Rapid Re-Housing Program. It offers an unprecedented $1.5 billion for homelessness prevention, diversion, and re-housing programs. During other slumps in the economy, or deindustrialization (e.g., a local economy flush with factory jobs turned into one full of internet jobs), the near-homeless quickly became homeless. Operated by the federal department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), charities and other “third parties” apply for grants. (Applications are due May 18; more information <a href="http://www.endhomelessness.org/section/prevention">here</a>.) Individuals who meet strict guidelines are eligible for assistance from those organizations. They won’t pay mortgages, but they might pay up to 18 months of rent and utility payments on current housing; security and utility deposits on new (cheaper) housing; motel vouchers up to 30 days between the current and new apartments; and various other case management benefits.<br /><br />If they (or you) were already homeless, however, things still need to improve a great deal. In New York City, the Department of Homeless Services (wait for it … DHS) recently reported yet another decrease in street homeless people, according to their annual count, the Homeless Outreach Population Estimate (with the sunny acronym HOPE). These counts began after HUD required cities receiving federal assistance for homelessness to supply data. At the time, Mayor Bloomberg’s plan, “Uniting for Solutions Beyond Shelter,” sought to end chronic homelessness.<br /><br />In 2005, the first year it was held in all five boroughs, the count turned up 4,395 individuals. In grad school at the time, focusing on chronically (or street) homeless men in New York City, I found that number highly suspect. Researchers and some advocates were saying the number and the survey methods were deeply flawed. Many other advocates, silenced by the federal and city funding they receive for their programs, admitted – off the record – it was flawed, but publicly said it was at least doing something about street homelessness.<br /><br />Soon, Bloomberg’s goal morphed: not to end chronic homelessness (why not if there’s only 4,395?) but to decrease “street homelessness” by two-thirds by 2009. I decided to volunteer to lead a team for the 2006 count to see its survey methods up close. Lo and behold! Though my 2006 HOPE team was forbidden to wake up anyone; had to walk around with police escorts; went out on a weather-advisory night in January; and thus all the homeless men I knew were, on this night at least, indoors, DHS estimated, in their e-mail to team leaders, that there were “3,843 unsheltered individuals … a 13 percent year-to-year decrease from HOPE 2005.” A few days before, still wanting to be a believer, I’d asked one of the homeless men I’d been shadowing for a year what he thought of HOPE. He’d been living on the streets since the 1980s. “That will never work,” he said. “You’ll never find them. First of all, it’s cold. You can’t do something like that in the winter. And then you can’t be waking them up in the middle of the night. But mainly you’ll never find them. They have their places but you’ll never find them.” I asked one of the two police officers with us that night what they thought. “Call 311, call DHS, call your congressman,” he said. “You have to tell them this isn’t working.”<br /><br />In 2007, we encountered a team leader, Will, during our nightshift research; he’s in the book. We spent a night walking around with Barry, a formerly homeless man; he’s also in the book. Various advocates from <a href="http://www.hwupdate.org/update/2007/02/hope_2007_hopel.html">Housing Works </a>went out on the count and, as this link shows, found it flawed. They literally called it “flawed.” DHS, meanwhile, issued a <a href="http://www.nyc.gov/html/dhs/html/press/pr020808.shtml">press release </a>in February 2008 that said opaquely, HOPE 2007 found “a 15% drop in the number of unsheltered homeless people from 2005.” That’s 2% since 2006.<br /><br />In 2008, I skipped it. So too 2009. But DHS keeps issuing their press conferences. In 2008, they <a href="http://www.nyc.gov/html/dhs/html/press/pr030408.shtml">reported</a> a 12% decrease from the previous year, and a 25% decrease since 2005. This year, they <a href="http://www.nyc.gov/html/dhs/html/press/pr030409.shtml">announced</a> there were now only 2,328 “unsheltered individuals living in New York City,” down 47% since 2005.<br /><br />It’s not a lie. Many chronically homeless individuals in New York City have been housed via Housing First models and other innovative programs. (Here’s an <a href="http://www.pathwaystohousing.org/Articles/PTHPress/NewYorkPreparestoTackleHo.html">article</a> I wrote on some of them, including Care for the Homeless and Pathways to Housing.) And numerous advocates give thanks that at least the city is doing <em>something</em>. <br /><br />But as the safety net struggles to hold up under more and more people who need help, <em>something</em> isn’t enough. Spring is here. When it’s hot out, DHS officials should go into the parks after midnight. Then their count will be accurate. Then maybe every New Yorker will have their own home.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-54213620571971162172009-04-06T20:36:00.000-07:002009-04-06T20:48:16.231-07:00Voice of the PeopleOne year ago today, on April 6, 2008, the Cheyenne Diner closed.<br /><br />NIGHTSHIFT NYC opens with a modern recreation of a diner, the Skylight, and closes with the real thing, the Cheyenne. An excerpt from the penultimate chapter:<br /><br /><blockquote>“No one is normal who comes in at night.”<br /><br />Fatima, 33, smiles slightly and steps back from the cash register at the Cheyenne Diner, easing her small, curvy frame against the counter. She wears a uniform of a red short-sleeve shirt with an American Indian on the back, black long-sleeve t-shirt underneath, black apron at her waist, black pants, and black shoes. A tight ponytail contains her black, curly, shoulder-length hair and highlights her face. Her contagious smile reveals slightly crooked teeth and the smallest of dimples on either side of her mouth. “Anyone on the streets at 3 or 4 in the morning is not regular,” she continues, her words tumbling out in a lyrical Dominican English. “They can be crazy people. That’s why you have to be sweet and sour. You have to know how to manage people.”</blockquote> We’d finished the book by then but it still hadn’t appeared between hard covers. We stopped by on that sad last day and found that Fatima, Mr. Gerry, and Juan had jobs elsewhere. NPR stories, articles and blogs started appearing on its demise, most sad, some cynical of nostalgia for old New York, but all of them impassioned.<br /><br />Before long, we heard that a real estate developer bought it and planned to move it to Brooklyn. Red Hook, to be exact. While we generally view real estate development as synonymous with gentrification, we recognize it’s not always a simple story. Thus we were at least glad the Cheyenne would live on, and thrilled that its new life would be in Brooklyn. Some in Red Hook even laud the developer who bought it, Mike O’Connell, and his father, Greg O’Connell (think Fairway).<br /><br />However. O’Connell could not, did not, would not find a way around the problem of transporting the Cheyenne to <a href="http://curbed.com/archives/2009/01/09/red_hooks_isolation_may_have_doomed_cheyenne_diner.php">Red Hook</a>. It wouldn’t fit on the Manhattan Bridge. It was too expensive to travel via barge on the canal. Up on the auction block it went, in January, with a demolition deadline slated for a few weeks out. The chair of the Committee to Save the Cheyenne Diner (seriously), Michael Pearlman, issued a <a href="http://www.recentpast.org/attachments/099_CheyenneDinerToRetireSouthInItsGoldenYearsPressReleaseJan14,2009.doc">press release</a> on Jan 14.<br /><br />For an “undisclosed sum,” the release said, owner George Pappas sold the Cheyenne to the head of an investor group, Joel Owens. It will resurface soon in … Birmingham, Alabama.<br /><br />But how can they get it to Birmingham if they couldn’t get it to Red Hook?<br /><br />According to Pearlman’s press release, the 2,000 square-foot diner (15 by 96 feet) will travel in two sections on flatbed trucks. M&M Rigging will do the job. They’re the ones who took that other iconic NYC diner, the <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/08/nyregion/08diners.html?_r=1&partner=rss&emc=rss">Moondance</a>, to LaBarge, Wyoming in 2007. It reopened in LaBarge in January.<br /><br />This year, we decided to do our part to keep a neighborhood institution, well, in the neighborhood. Though nowhere near as old or iconic as the Cheyenne, the struggling <a href="http://www.voxpopnet.net/">Vox Pop</a> in our Brooklyn neighborhood of Ditmas Park was about to<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/16/nyregion/16ditmas.html?fta=y"> go under</a>. Vox Pop, which means “voice of the people,” was a chief reason we moved here. They hosted one of the first events for the book. We heard via the local <a href="http://ditmaspark.blogspot.com/">blog</a> that they were selling shares to the community, to save it from closing permanently, and to make it a truly community space. As with the Cheyenne, stories, blog posts and comments appeared immediately, most sad, some cynical, all impassioned. Though our little contribution won’t make us rich, or at least that’s not why we did it, we’re excited to be part of a grassroots team that helped at least one NYC establishment stay open, and stay in NYC.<br /><br />So the Moondance is in LaBarge and the Cheyenne will be Birmingham. But Vox Pop, at least, remains in Brooklyn.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-70907176732054235582009-04-01T16:21:00.000-07:002009-04-01T16:31:51.261-07:00NIGHTSHIFT NYC in the NYTimes<span style="font-style: italic;">Last week, the New York </span>Times<span style="font-style: italic;"> ran this very positive piece on NIGHTSHIFT NYC. It's from Sewell Chan at the City Room Blog. Here's a bit of what he had to say: </span><br /><blockquote>The graveyard shift. The lobster shift. Burning the midnight oil. In the city that never sleeps, ways to describe the 24-hour life of New York City abound. But probably no book has ever examined the nature of nighttime work in the city — and of the often forgotten, faceless people who do it — in as great depth and descriptive power as “Nightshift NYC,” a scholarly but readable book recently published by the University of California Press.<br /><br />The book, based on a year of ethnographic and journalistic examination of the lives of more than 100 nighttime workers at dozens of sites across the city, is based in social science research but opens like a novel:<br /><br />After the tour buses disgorge their tourists into the sleek hotels of midtown Manhattan, and after the day-dwellers lock themselves in against an accumulated fear of the night, the city slowly slouches into its own skin, revealing a vulnerability and an occasional mean streak to those who brave its darker side. This is the “other” New York, the city as bleary-eyed insomniac that replaces the manicured tourism of daylight.<br /><br />The writers are a couple: Russell Leigh Sharman, an associate professor of anthropology at Brooklyn College, and Cheryl Harris Sharman, a writer and journalist. The book is illustrated with a series of haunting black-and-white images by the photographer Corey Hayes, whose work evokes the melancholic mood of Edward Hopper’s “Nighthawks.”<br /><br />Embarking on what they call an “ethnography of the night,” the Sharmans devote their study to those “souls who sleep too little and work too much.”<br /><br />They describe the night shift of the book’s title as “a social space that is highly structured and inherently subversive, as transnational as it is transgressive, and shot through with inequalities of power.” Yet they take pains to avoid describing the workers of the night as merely oppressed or exploited, instead sketching a remarkably diverse panorama of characters with different backgrounds, beliefs and aspirations.</blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">To read the entire, rather LONG, piece - <a href="http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/03/25/a-year-on-the-nightshift/">click here</a>. And don't be shy, comment on the City Room Blog!</span>Russell Leigh Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10714201504169830851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-42770194512230587052009-03-28T08:19:00.000-07:002009-03-28T08:27:25.726-07:00Guest Blog ... Michael Arthur<span style="font-style: italic;">Michael Arthur is the archival artist at Joe's Pub. He specializes in </span><span style="font-style: italic;">drawing the intimate rehearsals and performances of musicians, dancers </span><span style="font-style: italic;">and theatre performers. All of his drawings are done directly in ink </span><span style="font-style: italic;">with no pencils and no rough drafts; each drawing is a live reaction </span><span style="font-style: italic;">to the moment. He made the drawings below on his late night commutes home to Brooklyn from Joe's Pub. Check out more of his work at: <a href="http://www.michaeldarthur.com/">www.michaeldarthur.com</a> and <a href="http://www.inklines.blogspot.com/">www.inklines.blogspot.com</a>.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJu8mK6kki2jocbBRl45SkbgVVD2g9zhJ_i9CUXHkIYfEevNZ_y4hyC0dHOWBqv4cwVEiU67zq3KKQb1vLhC2wIFRgSr9MS_Ln8P1cJjPkuthxtBhoVMoBAIodnVCHLSsy10pFCugXZ_3l/s1600-h/late+night+5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJu8mK6kki2jocbBRl45SkbgVVD2g9zhJ_i9CUXHkIYfEevNZ_y4hyC0dHOWBqv4cwVEiU67zq3KKQb1vLhC2wIFRgSr9MS_Ln8P1cJjPkuthxtBhoVMoBAIodnVCHLSsy10pFCugXZ_3l/s320/late+night+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318259652803501266" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjya9yKUjSnSRZgBCyGoxJouL3mnpGr9SQ_Uj1fTBpt90fs1oexzp77mPgGLucR0IGxHJd9i_YlB5uns_5Hg2f2bsDlxgh7i2032k98IPuHcvWf0MoqvbYesLRRdn6xfKcRWhiSHXXLzAc/s1600-h/late+night+4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 312px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjya9yKUjSnSRZgBCyGoxJouL3mnpGr9SQ_Uj1fTBpt90fs1oexzp77mPgGLucR0IGxHJd9i_YlB5uns_5Hg2f2bsDlxgh7i2032k98IPuHcvWf0MoqvbYesLRRdn6xfKcRWhiSHXXLzAc/s320/late+night+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318259651877342850" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickkp0YZ1knULXL9ImwNm2A-LpKzvKrWYmb3JRZT7zr2qvRkkTrWog6vBNydxkEIkDsknQYzn-_K9BjaEy9tCn2muiFIhovKsdJLE4Lol6Ea4V3GZ8q6mlMxpyOPLiyzRAULqlUjBdV94X/s1600-h/Late+Night+3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEickkp0YZ1knULXL9ImwNm2A-LpKzvKrWYmb3JRZT7zr2qvRkkTrWog6vBNydxkEIkDsknQYzn-_K9BjaEy9tCn2muiFIhovKsdJLE4Lol6Ea4V3GZ8q6mlMxpyOPLiyzRAULqlUjBdV94X/s320/Late+Night+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318259647519433026" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQWM1dP9qS0r4TXkgOvLA0cLt2VzzfjJjW_lNze9eoS6BIfIP8JBqWAtZKv-4i7S2eJ0NO3YXtAq8i2YNy2KyRTCGjNpR1DHhhmdJ7685GgA4qEGjnHyCMn0Qaj5f9foXGmdcYfQYyCaY/s1600-h/late+night+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQWM1dP9qS0r4TXkgOvLA0cLt2VzzfjJjW_lNze9eoS6BIfIP8JBqWAtZKv-4i7S2eJ0NO3YXtAq8i2YNy2KyRTCGjNpR1DHhhmdJ7685GgA4qEGjnHyCMn0Qaj5f9foXGmdcYfQYyCaY/s320/late+night+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318259637499200978" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIhMHNJmWL_0vxys3xHX8N8iiO2lcWEBq_Wed4pUNvBv1dncfC5LQ5pp_cmZ-LrrJHOGFH-6owGfMgSFnmqArvJx_SFYpL4KFOMFZk_ayfBr2tjWAhpqCUHPyAjhofF7yYtvAfJmfzPk7/s1600-h/Late+night+1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIhMHNJmWL_0vxys3xHX8N8iiO2lcWEBq_Wed4pUNvBv1dncfC5LQ5pp_cmZ-LrrJHOGFH-6owGfMgSFnmqArvJx_SFYpL4KFOMFZk_ayfBr2tjWAhpqCUHPyAjhofF7yYtvAfJmfzPk7/s320/Late+night+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318259628943665682" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>Russell Leigh Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10714201504169830851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-65259895339520132302009-03-25T19:32:00.000-07:002009-03-25T20:01:40.675-07:00Cancer CompensationLast week, the <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/7945145.stm">BBC</a> reported that Denmark is paying workers’ compensation to about 40 women nightshift workers who’ve developed breast cancer. It follows a ruling by the World Health Organization’s cancer arm that lists nightshift work as a probable carcinogen.<br /><br />Since then, there’s been a firestorm of concern, comments, blog posts, and articles. They all basically say the same thing; if not precisely the same thing (many sites have simply repurposed the BBC story). In the UK, there are original articles from <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/mar/17/night-shifts-health">The Guardian</a>, <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/women_shealth/4999116/Denmark-pays-compensation-to-night-shift-women-with-cancer.html">The Telegraph</a>, <a href="http://www.newscientist.com/article/mg20127004.000-cancer-compensation-for-nightshift-workers.html">New Scientist</a>, and <a href="http://news.scotsman.com/health/Staff-to-sue-over-nightshift.5077811.jp">The Scotsman</a>. Real rather than recycled reporting has been rare in the US, but a story has been filed from <a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/03/16/cancer.nightwork/index.html">CNN</a>. In Canada, there’s this story from <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20090320.wldoses20/BNStory/specialScienceandHealth/home">The Globe and Mail.</a> In Australia, this from <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/stories/2009/03/18/2519028.htm">ABC</a>. And in New Zealand, this from <a href="http://www.radionz.co.nz/news/stories/2009/03/18/1245a44642c6">Radio New Zealand</a>.<br /><br />While it’s great that this topic has gone viral, and that workers receive compensation, it’s not time to quit your nightshift job.<br /><br />First, most of what’s been written in the past week focuses on the lack of melatonin, and increased estrogen, resulting from working the nightshift, but that’s not the whole story. If you’ve been following the posts here on this blog, you already know that it’s a more complicated story about circadian cycles and there are ways to mitigate the harmful effects. If you’re new to this blog, check out <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/05/bodys-clock.html">The Body’s Clock</a>, <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/07/daysimeter.html">The Daysimeter</a>, <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/07/watch-out.html">Watch Out</a>, and <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/12/nightshift-chicago.html">Nightshift Chicago</a>.<br /><br />Second, the World Health Organization’s cancer arm, aka The International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC), listed the nightshift as a probable carcinogen in <a href="http://linkinghub.elsevier.com/retrieve/pii/S147020450770373X">2007</a>. That ruling followed years of research claiming that there was a cancer link, and other research claiming that there wasn’t. This does not negate its importance as a risk factor for cancer, but shows that research remains inconclusive.<br /><br />Third, Denmark’s National Board of Industrial Injuries, the government agency awarding claims, only awarded 38 out of 75 submitted claims. That’s only half. So while it’s supremely laudable that they’re paying claims, it’s important to keep calm and remember that half the women who submitted claims were not awarded compensation. In fact, their 2007 <a href="http://www.ask.dk/sw25474.asp">annual report </a>states that “there is only limited scientific documentation of a correlation.” <a href="http://www.bmj.com/cgi/content/extract/338/mar18_1/b1152">The British Medical Journal</a> reminded readers that the nightshift + women does not necessarily = cancer. “Women in Denmark who developed breast cancer after many years of working night shifts have received compensation despite only limited research supporting the link,” they wrote. Perhaps the most balanced story, comes from Jeremy Laurance, Health Editor at <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/health-and-wellbeing/health-news/the-big-question-does-working-at-night-cause-cancer-and-should-shift-patterns-be-changed-1646478.html">The Guardian</a>.<br /><br />Fourth, the IARC has yet to issue a full report on the subject; until then, don’t quit your night job.<br /><br />Finally, for Nightshift NYC, we interviewed over 100 nightshift workers, always asking them detailed questions about their health. We’d read all the research, and continue to read it. To be sure, there are health effects (as well as <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/07/watch-out.html">errors, injuries and accidents</a>), but most people we interviewed said the benefits outweighed the risks.<br /><br />Nightshift workers shouldn’t quit their jobs or sue their employers, but they should be paid a <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/06/normal-life.html">night differential</a> and allowed <a href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/chi-ap-ia-xgr--caucuses,0,883114.story">flexible scheduling</a>; they should have a workplace with <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/07/daysimeter.html">appropriate lighting</a>, perhaps even a nap room and time to <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2009/02/nap-time.html">nap</a>; and, if they have a family history of breast cancer, other health issues, or if they’re <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/09/night-work-for-women.html">pregnant</a>, a dayshift.<br /><br />What’s your take on the subject? Best response gets a free copy of the book.<br /><br />(NB: Thanks to Megan Feenstra Wall, Derek Steele, Laura Piquado, & Shannon Haragan for sending some of these links.)Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-75989331847371897782009-03-20T17:14:00.000-07:002009-03-20T17:24:30.831-07:00Guest Blog ... Jennifer L.W. Fink<em>Jennifer L.W. Fink is a freelance writer and mother of four young boys. Her blog, Blogging ‘Bout Boys, is all about boys – raising them, educating them and learning with them. Visit her at </em><a href="http://www.bloggingboutboys.blogspot.com/"><em>www.bloggingboutboys.blogspot.com</em></a><em>.</em><br /><br /><strong>Blessings of the Night</strong><br /><br />Many years ago, as a Registered Nurse, I worked the night shift. Actually, I rotated between day and night shift – some days working 7 am – 3 pm, others working 11 pm – 7 am – and let me tell you: nothing messes with the body like switching between nights and days.<br /><br />The first day on nights was always the toughest. It was such a surreal feeling, to leave my comfortable, cozy home in the dark of night and drive to work, past other comfy, cozy homes. I’d peer inside the windows, those squares of golden light, and feel somehow slighted. <em>They</em> were getting to spend the night winding down, enjoying each other’s company, and I was off to work.<br /><br />And yet, there was something magical about those nights. During the day, the floor buzzes with activity. Nurses, doctors, physical therapists, researchers, social workers, visitors, dieticians and more bustle around, caring for patients and checking off tasks. At night, it’s just us and the patients.<br /><br />During those quiet, dark nights, I was privileged to witness some intensely personal moments. I cared for a Roman Catholic priest who’d just received a kidney transplant over the Christmas season. For whatever reason, his new kidney wasn’t yet working and he was mad at God. At night, in the dark, he felt free to talk of his spiritual crisis and I often listened, providing a sounding board for a man of God who was all too human.<br /><br />Another time, I held the hand of an elderly woman who lay dying. She asked me to pray with her, and I did. In that moment, I felt an awesome power. Instead of being upset about having to work, I felt blessed to share such an intimate moment with a woman who so desperately needed <em>someone</em> by her side.<br /><br />I’m reminded of those moments over and over, now that I parent my own four sons. Although I no longer technically “work nights,” parenthood is a 24/7 proposition that includes its fair share of night duty. And just like in nursing, I often dread those nights on duty. I’m a person who needs sleep, so the idea of being up all or even some of the night does not sound like fun to me, ever.<br /><br />Yet when the call comes – when the sick or lonely child cries out – I am instantly awake. I fly to their bedside and fight through my own tiredness to tend to their needs. And inevitably, I am reminded of the blessings of the night. Tired as I may be, the night is time to experience my child in a whole new way: time to snuggle with the toddler who no longer likes holding, time to comfort the tween who’s slowly outgrowing his need for Mom and Dad, time to simply appreciate and reflect on the beauty and wonder of these children that are mine.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-11863004818483275602009-03-10T18:14:00.000-07:002009-03-10T18:33:27.403-07:00An Hour of Light for an Hour of NightIt’s Daylight Savings Time again. The adjustment, while routine now, was not always so easy to accommodate.<br /><br />In 1942, a mother sought to re-set her infant son’s clock incrementally, about a minute per day. The February 28, 1942 <span style="font-style: italic;">New Yorker</span> reported that by February 9th she’d tweaked his schedule by an hour. Not until she saw her husband set the clocks an hour ahead did she realize her mistake. She’d set his schedule back an hour, not forward. “She figures she’ll have him set right by May.”<br /><br />The initial attempt to shift our clocks an hour twice a year came from England. Railways, farmers, scientists and other critics kept William Willett from tampering with time. He first envisioned the scheme in 1905. Only after Germany tried it during WWI, after Willett’s death, did the British set their clocks ahead as a war-time economizing measure in May, 1916.<br /><br />A week or so later, in the US, explains David Prerau in <span style="font-style: italic;">Seize the Daylight: The Curious and Contentious Story of Daylight Saving Time</span>, a group convened in New York City. They formed the National Daylight Saving Association. In Boston, a group including A. Lincoln Filene of bargain clothing fame issued a report, “An Hour of Light for an Hour of Night.” Their argument for Daylight Saving Time included reasons like more accidents occurring under artificial lighting, that is, at night.<br /><br />Weeks after the US entered WWI, in 1917, a Daylight Saving Time bill came before Congress. The American Railway Association fought it (millions of clocks would need changing, among other logistical logjams) but conceded traffic was lightest at 2 a.m. It took another year to pass but clocks started their spring jump at 2 a.m. Sunday, March 31, 1918.<br /><br />Critics abounded, but there were celebrations apace. In Manhattan, people watched the change of the clock on the Metropolitan Tower on Madison Square. People gathered in nearby hotels, in Madison Square Park, in the streets. The Boy Scouts paraded. So too the NYPD Band. In Brooklyn, an equally festive scene occurred at Borough Hall.<br /><br />Thus 2 a.m. has been the time to spring forward or fall back ever since.<br /><br />While 2 a.m. seems a fine time to shift the clock to those of us who are asleep, the stretch and shrink of light and dark affects those who work nights. In winter, they hardly see the sun. In the brighter months, it creates the strange sensation of starting the nightshift when it’s still light out. On a movie set, this means less time to get those night shots, well, at night.<br /><br />In England, writes Prerau, nightshift workers at the Devonport Dockyard wanted to be paid for the hour that sprang them forward to 3 a.m. in 1916. Two years later, in the US, nightshift workers were told their shift would extend an hour, till 9 a.m. instead of 8 a.m.<br /><br />But even those who don’t work nights feel the effects of changing clocks twice a year. (That is, unless you live near the equator, or Arizona, or Hawaii, or any of the other places in the world that don’t follow Daylight Saving Time.)<br /><br />In one curious example, <span style="font-style: italic;">The New Yorker</span> reported on July 17, 1926 about a woman who lived at the Plaza Hotel on a nightshift schedule. The relatively new Daylight Saving Time kept her oversleeping past her normal waking time of 5:30 p.m. She ate breakfast at 7, a.m. And lunch at 12, midnight. At 2, a.m., her chauffer took her for a drive in the park. “After this she writes letters until dinnertime, just before dawn. We hasten to add that this must not be lightly put down as an instance of metropolitan depravity. The lady’s habits are regular and she rarely stays up later than eight or nine A.M.”Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-31151821364890238812009-03-03T19:22:00.000-08:002009-03-03T19:36:45.120-08:00So Many ThingsI’ve written quite a few posts here about some of the wonderful people we met who work nights in New York City but whom we ultimately couldn’t include in the book.<br /><br />One of my favorites was a taxi driver from Guinea, in West Africa, our fourth night out. He was the first to educate us about the intricacies of driving a taxi in New York. Soon enough we learned his story was a familiar one. He only worked nights and he drove a taxi owned by a broker who owned both his taxi and his medallion.<br /><br />The medallions are private property, and can be bought and sold like any other commodity. There are over 13,000 of them these days, and each one is worth more than $300,000. Most of the city’s 24,000 active yellow cab drivers cannot afford to own a medallion. Instead, they lease one, through brokers, who often own as many as fifty at a time.<br /><br />That West African driver we met early in our research was like so many of the taxi drivers we met preparing for the book - trolling the city streets after dark, hoping to make at least enough to cover the lease to the broker.<br /><br />Yet his story was also unique in ways I’ll never forget. First, he hated working nights.<br /><br />“The reason I do it,” he said, “is because my wife passed away and I don’t want to be in the house at night.”<br /><br />We let that hang in the silence for a while. Second, he told us one of the first stories in what we’d come to know as New York As A Small Town. We’d asked him the best thing that had happened to him in his cab at night.<br /><br />“Well, I don’t know, because, it’s hard, depends, there’s so many things. Sometimes, at Christmastime, you have some very nice people. They come and give you Christmas gifts, they don’t even know you. That’s number one. So many things.”<br /><br />He was quiet a moment, then said again, “So many things.”Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-82686685692032407542009-02-25T18:47:00.000-08:002009-02-25T18:57:14.293-08:00When Things Go WrongOn September 12, 1963, on the nightshift (9:30 p.m.), an A-4D jet fighter crashed into the Coney Island Rail Yards. The massive jet missed hitting any trains in the yard. The pilot, too, was unharmed, bailing out and landing in a Brooklyn parking lot on Avenue U.<br /><br />Accidents like this, in the air and on the ground, seem to happen more often after dark.<br /><br />In 1918, what many still call the city’s worst subway accident occurred on November 1. The motormen were on strike. A dispatcher filled in. Moments before 7 p.m., the inexperienced dispatcher driving the train lost control while entering a tunnel. Almost one hundred rush-hour commuters lost their lives. Two hundred more were injured.<br /><br />Nearly eighty years later, on June 5, 1995, a similar accident occurred in Brooklyn. A Manhattan-bound M train stopped on the Williamsburg Bridge. Along came a Manhattan-bound J train. At 6:12 a.m., the J train ran into the M train. The motorman of the J train, on the last run of his nightshift, was killed. Fifty passengers were injured.<br /><br />In Chapter 12, “Everyone Is The Same Down There,” we profile George, a nightshift MTA conductor. He talks about the importance of having a live conductor on the train, especially when something goes wrong. <a href="http://www.nycsubway.org/faq/accidents.html">And things do go wrong.</a> Especially on the nightshift.<br /><br />Why? Well, one answer, which I’ve written about in other posts, relates to circadian rhythms. The body needs roughly twelve hours of light and twelve hours of dark, and it’s difficult to get that on the nightshift. But there are other, equally important reasons. There’s the issue of fatigue, which can happen even during the daylight hours. There’s the issue of shift changes, and the information that gets lost between shifts. There’s the issue of the lack of management personnel on the nightshift, so that those with the authority and expertise to solve problems are often not there. And there’s also the issue of a weak safety culture, where it’s frowned upon to report small problems or follow basic safety procedures.<br /><br />So what caused U.S. Navy pilot Lieutenant William A. Gerrety to crash his jet fighter into the Coney Island Yards back in 1963? Circadian rhythms? Fatigue? Information lost during shift change? Lack of management personnel? Weak safety culture? All of the above?<br /><br />Turns out, none of the above. The jet was struck by lightning.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-38277681630123069662009-02-17T16:46:00.000-08:002009-02-17T16:53:24.073-08:00Nap TimeThough we came across many profoundly tired workers during our year on the nightshift, none were as tired as Dave. He was a second-year resident in charge of a cardiac intensive care unit for the night. We met fourteen hours into his 27-hour shift. He couldn’t remember what he was about to do, he could barely speak, and he was in charge of some of the hospital’s most vulnerable patients.<br /> <br />The Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education (ACGME) constantly seeks to issue regulations that balance limiting the number of hours residents can work with the time-honored tradition of extended shifts. In 2003, the ACGME limited residents to working no more than 80 hours a week. But last fall, they noted in a letter to <a href="http://content.healthaffairs.org/cgi/content/full/27/5/1484"><span style="font-style: italic;">Health Affairs</span></a> that residents of certain specialties were still working – and, some argue, needing to work in order to provide the best care for their patients – beyond those limits.<br /><br />In a recent issue of <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://content.healthaffairs.org/cgi/content/full/27/3/845">Health Affairs</a>, Elizabeth Gaufberg, an assistant professor of medicine and psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, cites her own experience as a first-year resident. One night in the ICU, suffering from a postnasal drip that kept her awake even on nights off, she looked around and realized that all was calm. It was 3:47 a.m. “Every patient was stable, all notes written,” writes Gaufberg. With nothing to do until morning rounds at 6 a.m., she prepared to sleep. Moments later, a cardiac resuscitation code was called for a patient somewhere else in the hospital. If they survived the resuscitation, Gaufberg knew, they’d be transferred to the ICU: her quiet, stable ICU. Sleep deprived beyond measure, she found herself wishing the patient would not survive. “I said a silent prayer,” writes Gaufberg, “that the patient would die and retreated to the call room.” She slept. The patient died. Gaufberg was forever changed. “There were many other moments in residency that challenged my compassion, my humanity. Most of them occurred when I was soul-numbingly tired. But somehow I was always able to remember and hold that moment as a terrible touchstone—that moment in which I wished a patient dead.”<br /><br />On December 2, 2008, the Institute of Medicine released a report proposing additional measures to limit residents’ “duty hours,” including required naps between 10p.m. and 8a.m. and a limit of 4 nightshifts in a row. A <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times</span> <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/09/opinion/09tue3.html">editorial</a> on December 9 joined other experts and activists in criticizing the proposed requirement for residents to take a five-hour nap in the middle of a long shift. “That mandate seems impossible to enforce,” they wrote, “and few residents are likely to get five uninterrupted hours of sleep. A ban on shifts longer than 16 hours seems preferable.”<br /> <br />It’s a complicated problem to solve. And expensive. But the 80-hour limit in the US far exceeds the number of allowable duty hours in other countries. It’s 72 hours in New Zealand, 52.5 in France, and less than half – 37 – in Denmark. I, for one, wouldn’t want Dave watching over me if I had to be in the cardiac ICU, unless he’d just had a <span style="font-style: italic;">long</span> nap.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-17956485859384239482009-02-10T18:29:00.001-08:002009-02-10T18:41:12.451-08:00Guest Blog... Michael BoonstraBack in December, we had the privilege of chatting with Leonard Lopate live on WNYC and taking questions from callers on his popular public radio program. The response in the days and weeks afterwards was overwhelming. One of the many folks who reached out to us with their own experiences on the nightshift was Michael Boonstra. We thought his stories of working the overnight shift at the Plaza Hotel in the 1980s were worthy of a more public forum. So this week, our guest blogger is Mr. Boonstra.<br /><br />By way of a little background on our guest, Michael says he has lived in the same rent stabilized apartment in the East Village for 31 years and considers himself a New Yorker, still in love and fascinated with it’s many quirks and idiosyncrasies. After 25 years working in the film industry he says he is currently in search of what to do when he finally grows up, and that finding Nightshift NYC could be the start of a long overdue writing career. Here's Michael's take on "the graveyard shift":<br /><blockquote> One of the things I loved about working the graveyard shift at the Plaza Hotel in room service during the 1980s was commuting on my bicycle and the great downhill ride on 5th Avenue into The Village. One of the things I hated was the only other waiter with whom I worked during those hours of 11P to 7A: a paranoid schizophrenic from Brazil. At that time the two of us were room service; taking the orders on the phone, setting up the tables, preparing the food and delivering it up to the rooms, which meant we had to work well together. The problem was this fellow didn't trust me and would threaten to kill me on a regular basis. Fortunately I had a couple of friends in security and the hotel later brought on a full time clerk to take the orders.<br /> <br /> She was a middle aged African American woman who was so addicted to her soaps that she would set her alarm clock during the day so as not to miss them. Then she would spend the night at work talking about the troubles of the characters, as if they were real people.<br /> <br /> There was a young Greek American kid who was brought on from the breakfast shift to help out. He was the drug connection and could supply black beauties, which got us through the shift in a flash. There were a surprising number of guests who would ask for drugs when they put in their orders. For a while, coke was supplied but you can't keep that up and we didn't, fortunately, before anyone caught on. By the time this waiter came on, the Brazilian had left and there were four of us. One was Polish and had landed in NYC with three dollars in his pocket. We are still friends. The other was a young kid who lived with his girlfriend and her mother on Long Island. We were saddened when the news came one night that he'd overdosed on barbiturates.<br /> <br /> When business got really slow at three or four, the Greek kid and I would go up to the roof in the service elevator. There was a place on the 58th Street side where you'd look out and see only the intricate maze of buildings, but with no opening whatsoever to view traffic in the streets. We would smoke a joint to come down from the speed and then head back downstairs to an often frustrated Pole, who had just gotten swamped with orders.<br /> <br /> When the night ended, we’d head for the local Blarney Stone for a drink. There were always a number of well dressed types who would come in just starting their day, for a couple of shots.<br /> <br /> My weekends were Sunday and Monday and I loved having a weekday off because you could get so much done without fighting the crowds. But you always had a sleepy suspicion that you were living an alternate universe. </blockquote>Russell Leigh Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10714201504169830851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-69982456840369782482009-02-02T00:00:00.000-08:002009-02-02T17:52:13.029-08:00Sad to SayWith the economy tanking, winter, and whatnot, I’ve tried to keep these posts positive lately.<br /><br />But it’s tough out there. For everyone. Especially for those working nights. Layoffs worldwide often start with those on the nightshift. And then there’s the violence.<br /><br />Many of you have thanked us for introducing you to the plight of the nightshift workers all around you, especially taxi drivers and doormen. An excerpt from Chapter 2, “I’ll Take My Chances on the Nightshift,” about taxi drivers:<br /><br /><blockquote>“Night driving is dangerous,” says Malik.<br /><br />He is cruising along the parkway across Queens. The lanes are empty, but he keeps to the speed limit. “Before,” says Malik, “every week a cab driver was killed. Everybody knows they have the cash.”<br /><br />He explains that drivers frequently think, “Maybe they’re going to show a gun or something. Maybe they are going to rob me.”<br /><br />Anyone who lived through the slew of murders of New York City gypsy cab drivers in 2000 knows that the job is a dangerous one. In May 2000, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration put a firm number to the violence by reporting that taxi drivers were “60 times more likely than other workers to be murdered on the job.” Using Bureau of Labor Statistics data, the report also said that they were more likely to experience violent assaults than any workers other than police officers and security guards.<br /><br />Violence against drivers is especially likely at night. The sociologists Diego Gambetta and Heather Hamill, in their book <span style="font-style: italic;">Streetwise</span>, discuss a survey they conducted of <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times </span>articles. Of those that reported the time of the crime, 64 percent of drivers injured or attacked were victimized between 10 pm and 6 am.<br /><br />But now, says Malik, it’s “99.9 percent better.” In fact, it’s 55 percent better. Violent crimes reported by the New York Police Department, according to the U.S. Department of Justice, dropped from 174,542 in 1990 to 78,945 in 1999.</blockquote><br />That was then. This is now. I refuse to give in to all the dire predictions, but I’m also occupationally obligated to tell the truth.<br /><br />Nightshift workers are being victimized, violently; in some cases, fatally.<br /><br />In <a href="http://www.omaha.com/index.php?u_page=1000&u_sid=10546292">Omaha</a>, Nebraska, pop. <a href="http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/31/3137000.html">419,545</a>, two nightshift convenience store clerks have been killed since November.<br /><br />In New York City, a nightshift gas station attendant was killed last week on Staten Island, pop. <a href="http://www.nyc.gov/html/dcp/html/census/popcur.shtml">481,613</a>. Like many of the nightshift workers we met in and around NYC, he was an immigrant. Like many nightshift workers around the world, he was new to his job. Pakistani Mohammad Ahmad, 50, had worked at the Gulf Station on Victory Boulevard only a few weeks. “He came to America because he wanted the American lifestyle,” his wife told the <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/30/nyregion/30shoot.html?partner=rss&emc=rss">New York Times</a>. “He told his father he wanted the American lifestyle, he didn’t want to stay in Pakistan.”<br /><br />It's tough out there.<br /><br />But we don’t have to give in to fear and despair. There are things we can do. Thank the nightshift workers who cross your path for doing their jobs. As I’ve <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/09/conversations.html">posted</a> before, tip your taxi driver well – and pay cash. Get to know your nightshift doorman. Find out his or her favorite cookies, snacks, or newspaper, and bring such goodies to help pass the night. Sit with them in your sleeplessness. Linger long enough to find out more about your nightshift store clerk, or gas station attendant. If you’re buying diapers or filling your car with gas, ask about their kids, their car, their lives. Reach out. Hang on. Things will improve.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-55643894705692289142009-01-26T11:33:00.000-08:002009-01-26T17:13:49.564-08:00The Page 99 Test<div>Ford Madox Ford once wrote: <span style="font-size:100%;">"Open the book to page ninety-nine and read, and the quality of the whole will be revealed to you." Aside from having probably THE best name in the history of literature, Ford was an insightful character - inspiring an entire blog dedicated to his assertion. If you've never seen Marshal Zeringue's <a href="http://page99test.blogspot.com/">The Page 99 Test</a> blog, you should check it out.<br /><br />And while you're there, take a look at our contribution to the ongoing test of Ford Madox Ford's famous theorem. Here's an excerpt:<br /></span><span class="style4"></span><br /><blockquote><span class="style4">Page 99... describes how Sunny, a self-described Palestinian, came to New York from Ramallah, speaks Hebrew with Israeli regulars, and doesn’t let politics interfere with commerce.<br /><br />But the main reason why it’s an accurate test of the quality of the whole is that it speaks to the immigrant experience in New York City, which became a key theme. Page 99 discusses the difficulties immigrants face when owning businesses in New York City. There are the usual entrepreneurial struggles to acquire credit and capital, and to overcome bureaucratic obstacles, but these are compounded by their newcomer status and language barriers. Digressing a bit, to Page 98, a 2007 report from the Center for an Urban Future found foreign-born New Yorkers to be more likely than native-born to start businesses, sometimes twice as likely. Immigrants from some Middle Eastern countries start businesses at more than twice the rate of native-born New Yorkers, sometimes four times as often. But, back to Page 99, for entrepreneurial immigrants from the Middle East, things changed after September 11, 2001. Deportments and detainments shut down many of these small businesses. For those still open, their owners and workers routinely face being called terrorists.<br /><br />However, Page 99 also reflects the whole by capturing the specific to show the myriad ways nightshift workers live inverted lives. Because Sunny is wide awake, he has the time and patience to talk with a sleepless child. Because he will be awake and off work when she wakes, he can enjoy breakfast with her. Because he understands the strange logic of working nights, he can grant her wish for a cheeseburger for breakfast. These are the benefits of a life out of phase. But there are, of course, costs. He must talk with her by telephone because he cannot be there in person. He eats breakfast with her because he’s asleep while she plays during the day. And he’ll surely raise a few eyebrows for bringing her that cheeseburger for breakfast.</span></blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://page99test.blogspot.com/2009/01/russell-and-cheryl-sharmans-nightshift.html">You can read our entry in its entirety here.</a><br /><br />And...if you're in NYC this Sunday, February 1, join us for a reading at Sunny's bar in Red Hook at 3pm. More details on our website:<a href="http://www.nightshiftnyc.com/events.html"> www.nightshiftnyc.com</a><br /></span></div>Russell Leigh Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10714201504169830851noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-59364574132171619082009-01-12T00:00:00.000-08:002009-01-12T19:55:03.293-08:00The Space Between Night and DayWhen we were on the Leonard Lopate Show, a man called in to say that he always feels more creative at night. That’s true of a lot of artists. There’s something magical about the night that makes it a worthy subject or source of artistic output, or both. I wrote about Hopper’s fascination with night and light. Van Gogh, too, sought to capture the luminous light of the night.<br /><br />Much of William Faulkner’s <em>As I Lay Dying</em> takes place at night. Addie Bundren watches her oldest son Cash building her coffin, turns to look at her youngest son Vardaman, and then dies, at twilight. Cash comes into see her. “He is looking down at her peaceful, rigid face fading into the dusk as though darkness were a precursor of the ultimate earth …” Faulkner writes. Cash and neighbor Vernon Tull then toil the night away to finish the coffin. Flashbacks tell the story of Addie’s third son, Jewel, who stealthily worked nights, “by lantern,” clearing a field in order to buy himself a horse. On the eighth night after her death, en route to bury her in Jefferson, Addie in her coffin sits under a moonlit apple tree. Also at night, that same moonlit night, Addie’s second son, the strange one, Darl, sets fire to another man’s barn. On the ninth night, her mother finally in the ground, the lone daughter, Dewey Dell, meets a boy whose promises will do her no good.<br /><br />Night wasn’t only the setting for much of Faulkner’s story. It was also the source of much of the story. He wrote it while working nights at a power plant. He was a fireman and night watchman at the University of Mississippi plant. He kept vigil over the sleeping – and sleepless – of Oxford, Mississippi, waiting until the last lights turned out. And then, at the tail-end of his nightshifts, in the quiet mornings, he wrote. He later said he wrote it in six weeks, some reports say seven weeks, and the 1987 Vintage edition I’ve carried around since high school says it took him eight weeks. Whichever, he wrote it quickly. And he wrote it in that liminal space between night and day, neither one nor the other. I like to think it’s that in-betweenness of how it was written that contributes to its being so murky and powerful and radiant and opaque all at once.<br /><br />Mainly I like to contemplate the context in which it was written and the contribution that one particular nightshift worker made to the world. According to my weathered Vintage copy, he began writing it on October 25, 1929. Four days later, the world fell apart. On October 29, 1929, the stock market crashed, sending the economy spiraling, costing countless people their livelihoods if not their lives. Though he worked nights, though the world as everyone knew it came crashing down around them, Faulkner did not despair. He wrote this novel. One has only to scan a few pages of Barbara Kingsolver’s <em>The Poisonwood Bible</em> or Suzan-Lori Parks’ <em>Getting Mother’s Body</em> to catch a glimpse of his contribution to their work, and to our world. So, nightshift workers, nightowls, writers, workers everywhere: Do not despair, though the world crash down around you. Work on, write on. It’s worth it.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-82639464303523505952009-01-08T00:00:00.000-08:002009-01-08T21:41:41.638-08:00Three New YorksI came to New York to write. Millions upon millions have come to New York to write. As I wrote in an earlier post, I came to New York specifically to write in the tradition of Joseph Mitchell, though he died a few years before I arrived. I assert to anyone who will listen that he was one of the best nonfiction storytellers ever. Mitchell, it seems to me, gained much of that storytelling skill by growing up in the south – and by being an outsider in New York. I think that from these two bits of his biography he learned that crucial part of storytelling too many reporters miss when they’re seeking The Story: he learned to listen. And listen. And listen. He learned to not be in a hurry to find The Story. He learned to have patience. He learned to observe the cadence of speech, the rhythm of life, and the quotidian miracles overlooked by anyone in a hurry. Thus his writing on New York, a city too often rushing forward for its inhabitants to savor the stillness of a single moment, captures details, people, occupations, and preoccupations many miss in the bustle.<br /><br />When he was writing for <em>The New Yorker</em> in the 1940s, for example, the oyster bedders and lobster baymen were already part of a dying profession in the constantly-changing city. Many a reporter would’ve skipped over them in favor of profiling a newer profession, finding a better story. Or they might’ve turned the story into one on the perils of those dying professions on the water. Mitchell took another tack. He simply sat with them long enough to immerse himself in their world: how they spoke, what they wore, the smells they smelled, and the topics that emerged as important to them. He cared less for The Story than their story or, rather, saw that the one was the other.<br /><br />Though I graduated from college aching to come write in New York, I found myself first in Boston, and then Oxford, England, and then a rough-and-tumble port town on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. Each successive move took me further from my strengths and supports, and taught me how to tell a story by first being quiet. In Limón, Costa Rica, stripped of my language, culture, and every comfort, I finally learned to listen. I learned that while someone may be slow to answer my questions, I need not follow with more rapid-fire questions but instead to wait and, in that waiting, to observe.<br /><br />When I finally arrived in New York, a decade ago this June, I’d had six years away from my southern roots, living amidst various languages, accents, occupations, and preoccupations. I knew I could never know more about New York than a native New Yorker. I knew I could never move (or speak or write) faster than a native New Yorker. But I knew that I had the patience to listen. And listen. And listen. I knew how to not be in a hurry to find The Story. And in so listening, waiting, and observing, I knew that their story, if not The Story, would reveal itself to me.<br /><br />Why tell you all this now? Two reasons: WNYC and E.B. White. When Leonard Lopate interviewed us on his NPR show on WNYC a few weeks ago, many called in and many more have since written us to say that we’d captured what they’ve experienced in New York. We couldn’t be more gratified, and humbled, by those words. So I’ve wondered how the three of us – Russell, Corey, and me, outsiders each and every one of us – could possibly have rendered New York City in a way that resonated with native New Yorkers (though of course that was one goal). This led me to think of Joseph Mitchell, another outsider permitted to sit awhile and write things down. And it led me to recall these lines from the iconic <em>Here is New York</em>, from another of my favorite New Yorker writers, E.B. White:<br /><br /><blockquote><p>There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter – the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something … Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion.</p></blockquote>Indeed, Russell, Corey, and I came to New York in quest of something. We’re settlers here. But we have poured all our passion into this book, and this city, and we’re grateful that you’ve found something in its pages that resonates with what you – native, commuter, settler, or even just occasional visitor – know to be true of your New York.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-81578152865625477722008-12-29T00:00:00.000-08:002008-12-29T19:19:38.815-08:00Nighthawks<p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcT9XL1Z2tFST_Kw9MAMR4-IMIIjusLqpapfq4F50N6bwxwtKpOIa3CWu-M40ZFBO4WP2xH0G6uFBZ_HPZ9vL-gMqWkx7LzyY0SVAqBG5fvfepKD2eqrRhC6S-YLgVWbw7BSjzwa2aRE/s1600-h/nighthawks.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285416372778459026" style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 174px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcT9XL1Z2tFST_Kw9MAMR4-IMIIjusLqpapfq4F50N6bwxwtKpOIa3CWu-M40ZFBO4WP2xH0G6uFBZ_HPZ9vL-gMqWkx7LzyY0SVAqBG5fvfepKD2eqrRhC6S-YLgVWbw7BSjzwa2aRE/s320/nighthawks.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><br /><br />Edward Hopper haunts me. When we were in Chicago last week, I read a lovely novel, An Unfinished Season, by Ward Just, which features a scene where the protagonist spends some time in the Art Institute of Chicago looking at Hopper’s Nighthawks (1942), that iconic nightshift painting of a diner at night. When I was a senior interviewer on a study of homelessness, my boss, NYU social work professor Deborah Padgett, took me to her office, which is in the former studio where Hopper lived and worked with his wife Jo.<br /><br />When we spent our year on the nightshift to write Nightshift NYC, the Whitney Museum had an exhibit, “Holiday in Reality,” on Hopper’s work. In addition to Nighthawks, there were many breathtaking pieces that demonstrate Hopper’s long preoccupation with light/dark and day/night. There was Soir Bleu (1914), as well as the watercolors and gouaches from his time in France (1906-07) that inspired Soir Bleu. There were the etchings from 1921, Night in the Park and Night Shadows. The former features a guy in a hat reading the paper on a bench in a moonlit Central Park, the latter another solitary man in a hat walking amidst shadows. And Early Sunday Morning (1930), another shadowy portrait of alienation, which, while morning, evoked for me the familiar feeling we’d come to know after having survived another all-night trek through New York.<br /><br />At the Whitney exhibit, a sign on the wall said Hopper’s work “captures signification qualities of modernism: urban life and the individual’s place within it, the evocation of time passing, and a mediated, synthetic representation of the real world.” Two weeks before seeing the exhibit, we spent all night out in Manhattan taking a walking tour of homelessness, with a formerly homeless man, Barry, and our photographer for the book, Corey Hayes. Primarily a portrait photographer, Corey’s style for shooting the nightshift pictures evolved over time. But that night he shot many of the first photos of what became his signature nightshift style, capturing the synthetic light and blurred motion of the night. Seeing Hopper’s work against the backdrop of my appreciation for Corey’s photos, I was struck profoundly by how Corey was capturing the mediated, synthetic nature of the mediated, synthetic reality that is night in New York<br /><br />Also, in both Early Sunday Morning and New York Movie (1939), Hopper created scenes that were deliberately a little outdated, to show how they were changing, shifting. We’d already titled our book but staring at those paintings I was aware of a secondary meaning to it, the shift being not only the hours worked but the shifting state of New York. That’s why we chose to feature two diners, one old and one a recreation, to get at that shift; and further underscoring the point, the old one, the Cheyenne, closed before the book was published.<br /><br />But here’s where we diverge from Hopper’s portrayal of the night. Hopper’s diner, painted in 1942, was not outdated but rather representative of something new, modern, and therefore alienating. Just beyond the diner, a row house represents what’s fading away. In the diner, there’s a film noir feeling evoked by harsh (new, modern, fluorescent) light, unease among the people, and not even an exit for them to escape into the night – that is, if they dare to brave the shadowy nightworld beyond the diner. Without an exit, they’re trapped inside, with each other, but without connection, with only their urban anxiety, malaise, and fear. Even the title, not the typical term for people who stay up late, “nightowls,” but “nighthawks,” which Hopper invented, deepens the portrayal of a dangerous, violent, modern world.<br /><br />Nearly seventy years later, many still see the night – in New York City especially – as a shadowy nightworld full of anxiety, malaise and fear, where no one connects with each other, all are alone and alienated, and danger lurks around every corner. This is not an accurate portrait of New York at night. Yes, there is a mediated, synthetic nature of a mediated, synthetic reality, but only on the surface of things. Stay in the diner long enough and you start to see that not only do people connect with each other, they forge a community where they look out for each other, where even a stranger can find company and conversation, and where the alienating dayshift city can seem a million miles away.Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-32633141467212796302008-12-21T00:00:00.000-08:002008-12-21T12:54:52.719-08:00Guest Blog... The Auditor<span style="font-style: italic;">It has been some time since we’ve hosted a guest blogger, and tonight it is The Auditor. He works the nightshift in a Chicago hotel and keeps a fascinating, hilarious account of his experiences at <a href="http://www.graveyardchicago.blogspot.com/">Graveyard Shift Chicago</a>. We were recently in Chicago reading from our book at the <a href="http://www.bookcellarinc.com/">Book Cellar</a> in Lincoln Square. A great little bookshop with fine wine and even better beer. If you’re in the neighborhood, say hello to the owner, our new friend, Suzy. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Auditor, his nom de plume, meant to join us ... but he overslept.</span><br /><br />Once I had a couple Australian tourists come to the desk and ask where they can watch some late night Chicago Blues while eating Chicago Deep Dish Pizza on the Chicago Lake Front, preferably in Chicago’s Al Capone’s favorite booth and is within a three block walk. I work in the Loop which is the financial district and things shut down modestly early. There are a few good restaurants and a couple Irish pubs, but if you want the real Chicago night life, you may have to get your hands dirty. Hop on the Red Line going north and get off at Addison if you want some blues. Or hop on the Red Line going south if you are gutsy and want some real blues. Deep dish pizza is not a problem if you want to order in, but you don't need to ask for Chicago style pizza. We know what you mean. As for Al Capone, I know he is the only historic Chicago figure you know of, so you can take a $20 cab north to Lawrence and Broadway and hop off at the Green Mill, one of my favorite bars and jazz clubs which was one of his hangouts. If you're not an asshole, the bartender might even point out some prohibition history. But seriously folks, Chicago has more than violent mobsters in its history. We have our share of recent corrupt governors too.<br /><br />I work swing shifts at a classy and hip Loop hotel, two nights as a night manager from 11pm to 7am. At night I am a part time web browser, scam artist thwarter, couple counselor, and adult baby sitter. Since it is pretty quiet in the Loop at night, I get much of my amusement with the guests who are plastered by midnight and do not know where to go. I once asked advice from one of my bartenders who deals with drunks all night. “It’s easy,” he said. “You have to be just as crazy as they are.” Good advice. Of course he has the liberty to take numerous shots of Rupplemints to achieve this, so I guess I will stick with writing about them, which has worked thus far.<br /><br />The rough part of working swing night shifts is obviously the sleep schedule. You have none, therefore are forced to be flexible. I don't know how anyone can work nights full time and maintain a normal relationship and an active social life. It allows me to stay out late at least three days of the week and guarantees that for at least two of them I will be working and therefore not spending money at the Green Mill. <br /><br />Sure, my friends and family have no idea when to call since there is a good chance they will be waking me up. Sure, I haven't eaten a real breakfast in five years. But my commute is much more tolerable than yours.Russell Leigh Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10714201504169830851noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-87396367483273973442008-12-09T00:00:00.000-08:002008-12-09T14:45:18.855-08:00Nightshift ChicagoNext week, we’ll be reading and signing books in Chicago. Why Chicago?<br /><br />As in New York City, lots of people in Chicago work the nightshift. Last year, in Chicago, 171,279 people left for work between 4pm and 4:59 a.m. That’s 11% of the city’s total workforce. As in NYC & all over the world, these nightshift workers struggle to maintain relationships, eat right, exercise and, above all, sleep.<br /><br />Not surprisingly, researchers at Chicago’s Rush University Medical Center have just published an article in Sleep on, well, sleep. Much research suggests that nightshift workers need to stay on a nightshift schedule, even on nights off, to mitigate the harmful effects of working nights. But this study, by lead author Mark Smith, suggests that it’s possible to mitigate these effects even if nightshift workers choose to sleep nights when they’re off work. How? With a strict regimen of light and dark to help partially delay the body’s natural circadian clock. For the full article (registration required), <a href="http://www.journalsleep.org/ViewAbstract.aspx?pid=27313">click here</a>. For my other posts on sleep and the circadian cycle, see <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/05/bodys-clock.html">The Body's Clock</a> and <a href="http://nightshiftnyc.blogspot.com/2008/07/daysimeter.html">The Daysimeter</a>. And remember, it’s not only shift workers who need to pay attention to daily doses of light & dark. It’s anyone struggling with depression, seasonal affective disorder, or the blahs when night falls earlier and earlier each day.<br /><br />Ok, so you don’t work nights or mind the increasingly early nightfall but you still live in Chicago. Check out the exhibit, IN THE DARK, at the Nature Museum in Lincoln Park, 2430 N. Cannon Dr., Chicago, IL 60614, 773.755.5100, <a href="http://www.naturemuseum.org">www.naturemuseum.org </a>. Learn more about how worms, bats, butterflies and, yes, humans interact with darkness.<br /><br />Finally, our book event is on Friday Dec 19 @ 7pm, at The Book Cellar, 4736-38 N. Lincoln Ave, Chicago, IL 60625, 773.293.2665, <a href="http://www.bookcellarinc.com">www.bookcellarinc.com</a>. We're billing it as a night of holiday shopping and bar hopping in the Lincoln Square area, starting at 5pm, then the book event at 7pm, then a pub crawl starting at 9pm. Hope to see you there!Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-66568947738877009862008-12-01T00:00:00.000-08:002008-12-01T17:25:57.688-08:00A StillnessAcross the street from a Manhattan emergency room, an all-night deli serves coffee and sandwiches to nightshift nurses, doctors, paramedics, and the occasional waiting family member. Rachel, a young nightshift nurse, orders her usual large coffee. She settles down at one of the two or three tables inside the deli, a recently remodeled section that somewhat pitifully suggests a quaint café. It’s late, close to 2 a.m., and there is nothing quaint about the place in the over-bright fluorescent glow.<br /><br />As “Rock’n Around the Christmas Tree” plays overhead, Rachel explains the difference between working the dayshift and the nightshift in the E.R. “On the dayshift,” says Rachel, “your day gets progressively busier and busier as it goes on, it gets crazier and crazier.” Rachel takes a sip of her coffee and adds, “It’s also an older staff because you have more senior nurses because everyone wants to work days.”<br /><br />The nightshift moves in reverse. “If you come in at eight o’clock at night in the E.R.,” Rachel explains, “that’s the busiest time. So you come in and it’s absolutely crazy. There’s a ton of people. And your night gets calmer as it goes on.” Rachel describes the ebbs and flows of the nightshift, the crush of patients treating the E.R. as a primary care clinic starting around 5 p.m., then a lull before patients are transferred upstairs around 2 a.m. “You have a younger staff at nights,” she explains. “They don’t have the seniority so it’s younger nurses.” It’s one reason she prefers the nightshift, and may be why she feels the nightshift nurses work well together compared to those who work the daylight hours. “For the E.R. at least, I think the night staff just works better as a team than the day staff does,” she says. “I really like nights better. And I like coming in and having it be crazy and then having my day get nicer as it goes on instead of crazier.”<br /><br />She takes in the quiet hum of the deli and adds, “And I can come here and sit and drink my coffee for an hour and it’s quiet. You don’t get that during the day.”<br /><br />Rachel gathers up her paper cup of half-drunk coffee and pushes through the glass door of the deli. It’s snowing out, but it’s only a few dozen yards to the emergency entrance. She passes the empty bays where ambulances would wait were they not on diversion and steps through the sliding doors of the emergency room.<br /><br />Before heading back into the maze of beds and whirring machinery, she stops and says, “I think working nights has created a stillness in my life.”Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-91804469765844470022008-11-19T00:00:00.000-08:002008-11-19T14:26:21.972-08:00The King Is Here<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLX2iIZ-3ngO5jc_i7q84f8O4BJ-cO0JSeDj6W5EC5mvZgpgJqWQJdW-GJ629ZtwlUUxPb0jAYTK-QXI-lffxHdbqNnARO8QQ7X8BU0H0OGa-z2b6IrRBRCgUnpfMaFBWeJWVUu1o81qg/s1600-h/Q.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLX2iIZ-3ngO5jc_i7q84f8O4BJ-cO0JSeDj6W5EC5mvZgpgJqWQJdW-GJ629ZtwlUUxPb0jAYTK-QXI-lffxHdbqNnARO8QQ7X8BU0H0OGa-z2b6IrRBRCgUnpfMaFBWeJWVUu1o81qg/s200/Q.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270498401966778050" border="0" /></a><br />“The king is here,” Steve mutters under his breath.<br /><br />Steve is the manager at The Skylight Diner, and The Skylight is almost always busy. That’s partly because of its location on 34th Street, a two-way thoroughfare that conveniently links the Copacabana nightclub to Penn Station with the Skylight in between. It also happens to be around the corner from the 35th Precinct of the New York Police Department (NYPD), attracting a steady stream of hungry nightshift police officers. But mostly it’s the blue and red neon sign framed in stainless steel that beckons patrons at all hours of the night: Open 24 Hrs.<br /><br />At around 4 a.m. on warm June evening, a guy walks in wearing a red and gold crown – The King. His date wears a glimmering tiara. Most weekends in May and June, just about every 24-hour eatery in the area is full of high school students from Long Island and New Jersey partying after prom. It is not uncommon for groups of prom-goers to rent limousines for the night and come into the “city” for nightclubs like the Copacabana. After 3 a.m., the Skylight fills up with boisterous teenagers in wrinkled tuxedos and tight-fitting dresses.<br /><br />Inevitably, limo drivers follow their charges into the diner and settle down at the counter to wait for the drive back to the suburbs. One such prom night, Louie sits at the counter. He’s a retired NYPD officer who owns a fleet of limousines on Long Island. But not for long. He is selling most of his fleet and leaving New York, moving to North Carolina next month. This is one of his last trips out on the nightshift. He explains how some of his Long Island neighbors discovered a planned community near Charlotte, North Carolina. He figures that he can make twice what he earns in New York and live at half the cost there. After forty years in New York, Louie is selling out: “Really,” he says, “I mean, yeah, it’s a beautiful city, it never sleeps, it’s wonderful. But between the crime, the taxes,” he trails off. “If you have any real estate in New York,” he says simply, “sell it.”<br /><br />Louie ends his pitch as Steve walks over. “You don’t know me, right?” Steve asks Louie. “I could tell you a story right now, and you’re gonna call me a moron.” Steve tells Louie about his father’s cousin, who owns a diner in Maryland but wants to retire in Greece. “Listen,” Steve begins, impersonating his father’s Greek cousin, “I had a son your age, he died in a car accident a couple of years ago. I’ve got a daughter, she lives in Atlanta and she doesn’t want to bother with a diner. I’ll make a deal with you. I’m 72 years old. You come down here, you send me $3,000 a month and I go to Greece. And the place is yours.” Steve waits, leans over the counter for effect, and adds, “But I’m still here.”<br /><br />Louie hesitates a moment, then obediently cries, “You’re a moron!”<br /><br />Steve smiles and says, “What did I tell you?”Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-32829512455780772332008-11-10T00:00:00.000-08:002008-11-10T18:52:36.142-08:00You'll Want to Burn Your Clothes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHOddAVOBguZZiHWTv-sUBbB6L8YVgBjn281UBFLaLBFzg1jmnAl07lSytTk8pdAjDE2G7I06CmvazjmTiE3xVWSVWSdpBmoBlDIcH_cj1h1Alp8w2qEL1mWyERCnnhtA_HXTwsF6Who/s1600-h/fishmarket.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJHOddAVOBguZZiHWTv-sUBbB6L8YVgBjn281UBFLaLBFzg1jmnAl07lSytTk8pdAjDE2G7I06CmvazjmTiE3xVWSVWSdpBmoBlDIcH_cj1h1Alp8w2qEL1mWyERCnnhtA_HXTwsF6Who/s320/fishmarket.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267218755626007554" border="0" /></a><br />This Friday marks the third anniversary of the move of Fulton Fish Market from Lower Manhattan to the South Bronx. For each of those three years, an artist, <a href="http://www.artpm.com/">Naima Rauam</a>, has displayed her paintings of the market in an exhibit titled, <a href="http://rememberingfultonfishmarket.com/index.htm">“Remembering Fulton Fish Market.”</a> This year’s exhibit is coupled with a commemoration of Joseph Mitchell, on this centennial year of his birth. Last weekend we had the opportunity to see both exhibits and to take a walking tour with Jack Putnam, a longtime friend of both Naima and Joseph Mitchell. “I moved to New York to be a writer in the tradition of Joseph Mitchell,” I told Putnam. If you’re in the area, please go to some of their <a href="http://rememberingfultonfishmarket.com/index.htm">events</a> this weekend and come out on Tuesday (the 11th) to hear me read some passages on the fish market at the <a href="http://www.kgbbar.com/">KGB Bar</a>.<br /><br />*<br /><br />“It’s gonna get in your clothes,” says the parking attendant. It’s bitter cold on the last night of February, but you can still smell the fish as soon as you drive into the parking lot of the Fulton Fish Market in its new home in the South Bronx. The market has recently moved to Hunts Point, a desolate, industrial promontory that juts out into Flushing Bay across the water from Rikers Island jail. The parking attendant’s tone is friendly, playful even, but he’s not joking. One trip to the fish market and you’ll want to burn your clothes.<br /><br />Inside the 400,000-square-foot market, the smell is stronger, the lights are blindingly bright, men speed by on forklifts at a dizzying pace, and massive amounts of fish sit on ice in wax-coated cartons. Vendor stands and floor drains run the length of the cavernous space. At the stands, salesmen with fierce hooks hanging from their shoulders open cartons, weigh fish, set out wooden baskets full of crabs, and generally prepare for the day. Though officially forbidden, not a few of them go about their work with a cigarette dangling from their near-purple lips. Their clothes, which they keep in lockers at the market, haven’t seen a washer in a few days—the smell would seep quickly into any change of clothes—and many a salesman has pieces of fish and blood on the shoulder where he hangs his hook.<br /><br />As in the original market, everyone knows one another, and strangers stand out. The frenetic pace of the forklifts and the swinging hooks seem choreographed, practiced, but deadly to those unaccustomed to the dance. For all the latent danger, it’s a jocular, friendly place where eye contact, smiles, and jokes are as routine as the smell. It’s 12:20 am. The market has been open for twenty minutes.<br /><br />It’s a Wednesday night and, in fish market parlance, that means it’s Thursday, one of their busiest mornings. Thursday mornings were the busy morning at the original Fulton Fish Market, too. But even the familiar commotion—the smell, the lights, the flying forklifts, the cartons of fish—cannot make the new space feel like the old one to those who knew it well. “Every now and then,” wrote Joseph Mitchell in “Up in the Old Hotel” in 1952, “seeking to rid my mind of thoughts of death and doom, I get up early and go down to Fulton Fish Market.”<br /><br />An artist, Naima, stands on a metal staircase sketching a fish salesman as he fillets tuna. Wrinkled and thin, Naima looks to be in her midseventies. She wears no makeup, her hair pulled back in a bun, a full-length charcoal gray parka, and a colorful knit scarf.<br /><br />“The market has been the main subject matter for my entire painting career,” she says. Naima started sketching the original fish market as an art student in the mid-1960s. “Frequently, I would be up at 2 or 3 in the morning, or all night long doing my work because this is the time of the action.”<br /><br />Naima makes the trip north to Hunts Point once a week, driving from the Lower East Side in Manhattan. The transition to the new location, says Naima, has been very difficult for her personally. “I’m trying to get more enthused about the scene here,” she says. The vendors and their salesmen, like Naima, have little choice if they want to stay in the business. “They’re here now,” she says, “trying to do the best they can.”<br /><br /><a href="http://www.coreyhayesphoto.com">[photo courtesy of Corey Hayes]</a>Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8388873592011966248.post-14809641392603097682008-11-06T19:14:00.000-08:002008-11-06T19:17:07.995-08:00Couldn't make it to the launch party? Watch this...If you weren't able to join us for our launch event at Housing Works Bookstore Cafe, check out our short video of the affair. It was a great success, with food, drink, lots of friends and special guests.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/C73zsYqtb40&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/C73zsYqtb40&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Cheryl Harris Sharmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03113987125243621097noreply@blogger.com0