“I saw where we were voted the most unfriendly city in the world. Can you believe that man?”

“Where’d you see that, Darius? Who says we’re unfriendly?”

“Saw it in some magazine in the library. Something called Conde Nast Traveler, a supposedly high class glossy with lots of pictures.”  

“Pictures? Oh yeah, just your speed,” Dion said. The two men, both in their late-fifties, were sitting on a bench in Military Park in downtown Newark. They met there every workday for lunch. Most days they carried lunch from home, but on Fridays, they bought hotdogs from one of the street vendors. Darius and Dion were natives, both born at St. Michael’s Hospital, walking distance from the park. They took pride in their heritage.

Dion, who was a department head for the city’s parks department, took a swig of Pepsi. He rolled the cola around in his mouth as he thought about what Darius said. “Let me ask you this, who’d these people ask?”

Darius’s foot nudged an acorn in a squirrel’s direction. “I didn’t read the whole article, but I mentioned it to Destiny last night. She asked the same question. Looked it up on line,” Darius said. “People that read this magazine? They only be in Newark if they landed at the airport and took a limo to the City.”

“Just what I thought, people with more Benjamins than sense,” Dion said, nodding his head. “Newark ain’t no paradise, I understand that. But what makes a city unfriendly to an outsider?”

“You gonna eat that other hotdog?” Darius asked.

“What do you think, fool? Go buy another one if you still hungry.”

Darius, who was the second in command at the Newark Library, was a philosophical sort, who enjoyed questions like the one Dion had posed. He thought about it while he bought another hot dog. When he got back to the park bench, he said, “What makes a city unfriendly? A stranger visiting Newark, my brother, or any city really, gets an idea about us mostly from the people he meets in passing.” He took a big bite and waited a bit before going on. “Visitors meet a waitress, a hotel desk clerk, or maybe they just ask for directions. Now the way I see it, there ain’t no way the people here can be any different than they are anyplace else.”

“Maybe so, Darius, but why do these limo riders think we’re unfriendly then?”

“Let me ask you something. You ever been to Los Angeles?”

“Yeah, five years ago. We were there for one day on the way to Hawaii,” Dion said.

“Right, I remember. Quick, what’s your impression of LA?”

“Nice, we landed at that John Wayne airport. Didn’t get to see much.”

“People friendly?” Darius asked.

“Sure.”

“Different from us?”

“Not that I recall,” Dion said.  

“Didn’t think so. Know what I think?’

“I’m sure you about to tell me.”

“I think people have preconceived notions about Newark. The airport’s ugly. It was born ugly. You land there, you see the refineries and the Turnpike. It’s all shades of gray, soot mostly. The people you see at the airport, they just like the ones you see at LaGuardia. Both are big International hubs,” right?

Dion finished his drink and nodded in agreement.

“But Newark,” Darius continued, “it don’t have no Empire State Building, or Broadway shows. We the poor relation to the Big Apple, always were. Newark’s got a lot of problems, sure, but we growing again. You remember that big department store, couple of blocks from here, what was its name?”

“Hahnes,” Dion said. “My mother worked there for 25 years.”

“Yeah, that’s it. They refurbishing the whole thing, a couple a hundred million worth.” Darius said. “And there’s other stuff getting built too. If we was so unfriendly, why would all these big corporations be spending that kind of money?”

“I wish somebody would give you some money. Make you friendly for a change,” Dion said.

Darius stood and stretched. “Don’t know why I eat with you.”

Lunch time was almost over. The two men had a tradition they followed every Friday. After lunch they took a walk over to the Old First Presbyterian Church, a short walk from the park. The men went in and sat for a few minutes. Built in 1666, they started going there when Darius learned that it was likely a stop on the Underground Railroad. They never stayed long, just enough time for a brief prayer.

As they were leaving the church to return to work, an old woman tripped and fell about 30 feet from them. The two men started after her, but immediately saw that a young man and a woman pushing a stroller, were already trying to help the woman. They tried helping her up, but she couldn’t stand, so they let her sit on the pavement. The man picked up the contents of the bag the woman was carrying, while the young woman made a call.

Dion and Darius walked up. “She all right?” Dion asked.

“Does she look all right to you? I am on the phone, calling 911 and you’re asking if she’s all right.”

The woman was in good hands. The men decided to keep walking. They couldn’t help it. They were laughing. “Maybe we are unfriendly, now and then” Darius said. “But we’re not unkind to old ladies.”