Real leap of faith is not on Wall Street
Tom Ehrich/Religion News Service
Issue date: 2/15/09 Section: Divine Intervention
NEW YORK - To see how we got into this economic mess, enter the Time Warner building on Columbus Circle, go up to the fifth-floor home of Dizzy's Club, and admire The View.
The View has launched countless dreams of making it in New York City. A Trump Tower to the left and the grand hotels of Central Park South to your right. Ahead of you, Central Park stretches to the east before it meets the glittering high-rises of the tony Upper East Side.
Nearby apartments sell for tens of millions. The View radiates worldly success.
Yet the price of obtaining a slice of The View is a steep and costly one: wild rides on Wall Street with other people's money; a tone-deaf insistence on hefty bonuses as millions lose their jobs; a Wall Street culture of "Eat What You Kill." Indeed, The View can be intoxicating.
But I'm not here for The View. I'm here for a concert by four bluegrass musicians from Oregon called The Student Loan, who started as undergraduates in Ohio and now are bound for Asia on a State Department educational mission. They perform in front of The View but seem to ignore it. Their love is music, not real estate.
Ten minutes later and six blocks away, I enter the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Center and follow the sound of violins to the third floor. I find a stage packed with young string players sawing away at standard early-learner repertoire.
They launch into "We Shall Overcome." Parents and friends sing along. I draw closer. It's Opus 118 Harlem School of Music, the courageous strings program made famous by the film "Music of the Heart," starring Meryl Streep as Roberta Guaspari, the school's founder.
Here, light years away from multimillion-dollar apartments and the Wall Street fat cats who buy them, aspiring musicians display real courage. They start with nothing but wood, four strings and a bow, take the leap of learning, make simple music, and then together perform America's anthem for all people.
They don't leverage other people's money. They don't risk, fail and walk away with $18 billion in bonuses; they risk, fail, and keep on trying. Few of them are likely to earn a dime from their music.
The View has launched countless dreams of making it in New York City. A Trump Tower to the left and the grand hotels of Central Park South to your right. Ahead of you, Central Park stretches to the east before it meets the glittering high-rises of the tony Upper East Side.
Nearby apartments sell for tens of millions. The View radiates worldly success.
Yet the price of obtaining a slice of The View is a steep and costly one: wild rides on Wall Street with other people's money; a tone-deaf insistence on hefty bonuses as millions lose their jobs; a Wall Street culture of "Eat What You Kill." Indeed, The View can be intoxicating.
But I'm not here for The View. I'm here for a concert by four bluegrass musicians from Oregon called The Student Loan, who started as undergraduates in Ohio and now are bound for Asia on a State Department educational mission. They perform in front of The View but seem to ignore it. Their love is music, not real estate.
Ten minutes later and six blocks away, I enter the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Center and follow the sound of violins to the third floor. I find a stage packed with young string players sawing away at standard early-learner repertoire.
They launch into "We Shall Overcome." Parents and friends sing along. I draw closer. It's Opus 118 Harlem School of Music, the courageous strings program made famous by the film "Music of the Heart," starring Meryl Streep as Roberta Guaspari, the school's founder.
Here, light years away from multimillion-dollar apartments and the Wall Street fat cats who buy them, aspiring musicians display real courage. They start with nothing but wood, four strings and a bow, take the leap of learning, make simple music, and then together perform America's anthem for all people.
They don't leverage other people's money. They don't risk, fail and walk away with $18 billion in bonuses; they risk, fail, and keep on trying. Few of them are likely to earn a dime from their music.
Be the first to comment on this story