(Thursday, January 30, 1997)

I get out of the subway at Bowling Green and walk north across Battery
Park, late for an appointment. It's a rainy day, but not raining
now. On the way I pass two men engaged in heated conversation. One is
carrying two umbrellas, one in each hand, and is gesturing excitedly
with them, aiming them at the other man. His body language is strong
-- he's all beefy, posturing agression -- and the other's alternates
between clenched-fist resistance and monkey-grinning submission. At
first I think they're playing a game -- "You wanna piece a me? You
talkin ta me?" -- but then Umbrella Man takes a swing! Swish, the
blue-and-white striped umbrella THWACKs Monkey's shoulder.

"Cool," I think. "Fight."

Monkey Man raises his fists, then opens them in a "Come 'ere" gesture
-- but every time Umbrella advances, he takes a step back. (At this
point I'm far enough away that I can't hear what they're saying.) This
eventually pisses Umbrella man off -- he bares his teeth, throws the
umbrellas down onto a nearby bench and pulls off his camel-hair long
coat. He's a Wall Street bull -- barrel-chested, big-nosed, wearing
one of those pinstripe shirts. He advances on Monkey Man with his
fists. The agressee steps back. They circle the park for a while. At
this point a little round man in a bright yellow hooded slicker
approaches them -- some sort of park official. He occasionally brings
his walkie-talkie up to his mouth, but for the most part he just
circles the fighters like the referee at a boxing match. A small crowd
has gathered -- myself and two others -- and we slowly weave around,
keeping a safe distance, trying to keep a good view through the trees
and lampposts.

It ends without either party's punches connecting. The little yellow
man starts gesturing at me (!) -- I turn around and see a cop car near
the curb. They're apparently oblivious. I realize I'd better get
going, so I turn towards the cop car, and as the cop gets out of her
car (whether she noticed me or the ranger I don't know), I say, "Some
guys're fighting in park." She sighs, adjusts her equipment, and moves
to break it up. The Bull lingers, sneering at his enemy. In a second
he'll turn, disgusted, and walk past the cop to retrieve his coat. But
this is the moment that will stay in my mind: the two fighters facing
off, one agressive, one weak, and a small crowd of three or four bored
observers, cop and ranger included, waiting just a few seconds longer
to see if anything will happen.