Checkered Past

My brother Michael has been many things in his life including a delivery truck driver, an actor, and a New York City cabbie. Christopher Walken once got into Mike's cab. "I'm going to 125th Street!" he announced, "And I'm not afraid of speed!" Michael, never missing a beat, replied by slamming his foot on the gas and getting Walken to Harlem in record time.

Many nights my fearless brother would find himself in neighborhoods no man should be in, where his customers would reach their destinations, say that their wallets were upstairs, then offer to leave their shoes in the backseat as collateral.

When I was living in the city for a stint in my early twenties, Mike would phone me in the middle of the night. "Hey Sis!" he'd say, "Come ridin' with your big brother!" I'd stumble out of bed, throw on some clothes and find him outside on 86th Street, sitting behind the wheel with a big smile on his face, honking the horn and holding up a cup of coffee for me.

Mike and I would drive through the belly of the city and we'd drive all through the night. We'd stop for more coffee and make each other laugh, sometimes so hard he'd have to pull over.

It was a brief moment in our history, a slice of our family life, and everyone we picked up along the way seemed perplexed or delighted, but always amused by the New York City Cabbie who made his rounds with his little sister in tow.