A Central Park Carol – Part I Meet Eleanor and the first of three Park Spirits
Eleanor S. Curmudgeon scowled as she hurriedly walked down Fifth Avenue.
She was on her way home from work and about to turn into Central Park, taking a shortcut to the West Side, like she’d done every day for 40 years.
She dreaded the walk. Children by Conservatory Water, running and laughing. Ridiculous adults taking photos of each other and gaping at the Park from their view on Bow Bridge. Or, just as infuriating, lazy people sitting on a bench, reading by Strawberry Fields.
Eleanor thought them all silly and simply could not understand what the fuss was about. Why were they in the Park in the first place? Didn’t they have places they needed to be?
On this particular evening, Eleanor was later than usual. It was just after 6:00 pm but the Park was empty and strangely quiet. As dusk descended, she heard the chimes of Delacorte Clock. She stopped. “That’s not right,” she thought to herself. “Those absurd little animals never make noise after 6:00 pm!”
Then she saw it.
The Angel of Waters, floating towards her.
“This is impossible! I’m not near Bethesda Terrace!”
Eleanor scanned the Park quickly, thinking she must
be lost and seeing things.
Then the Angel spoke. “Eleanor. Do you remember me?”
Eleanor’s heart raced. She did remember . . .
but it seemed so long ago . . .
what was happening right now? “I . . .
I don’t understand . . .” Eleanor stammered.
The Angel smiled sweetly. “I am the spirit of Central Park Past, and I can see you have lost your way. The Park is merely a road home for you now — "
“So??” Eleanor felt indignant. “What’s wrong with that? I work long, hard days and I’m tired. Cutting through the Park gets me home quickly. It serves its purpose. What else could the Park possibly do for me?”
The Angel spoke gently. “When you were a child, you played by my Fountain and made wishes with pennies you found on the sidewalk. Then you went to the Arcade, just to hear your voice echo on the Minton tile ceiling. You picnicked on Cherry Hill and took long walks with your parents in the Ramble. Do you remember, Eleanor?”
Eleanor shrugged. “That was so long ago. I don’t need any of those things now. Besides — ”
But before Eleanor could finish her protest, The Angel began to fade, telling her she would be visited by two more Spirits before the night was through.
The Delacorte Clock chimed again, and a strange, new figure was gliding towards her . . .
A Central Park Carol – Part II Eleanor meets the second Park Spirit
When the Angel reminded Eleanor of her youth, playing in the Park, she had felt a warm tug in her chest . . . and as this new, ghostly figure approached, that feeling got stronger. The Spirit was small . . . a young girl, who looked comforting and familiar . . . it was Alice in Wonderland.
Hello, Eleanor. I am the Spirit of Central Park
Present and I’d like to show you the Park.”
But Eleanor took a step back, offended.
“Why? I don’t need to see anything.
I pass through this Park every day.
I know what’s here. Why . . . why don’t you
just take me back to the Angel?”
As if in response, the Park changed.
The sun was shining, and they stood by Conservatory Water. The area was alive with activity — people old, young, talking, laughing, eating . . . and children were climbing on the Alice statue.
Without thinking, Eleanor pressed her hands together, recalling how smooth Alice had felt when she, as a child, had also stood atop the mushroom. She began to reach out, wanting to show the children the engraved lines of the “Jabberwocky”. But before she had the chance, she saw a vision of her adult self, briskly walking past the children and scowling, as if she were in the middle of crowded Times Square.
“Eww, there’s that mean lady, who never smiles!” The kids all giggled and ran away. A few of the parents looked up. “She’s not mean. She just doesn’t understand.”
“What??” Eleanor was surprised. “What don’t I understand? What are they talking about?”
The scenery changed again, and Eleanor found herself standing with Alice on Gapstow Bridge, thinking it was the most extraordinary place she had ever seen. “What happened? Where are we? This view is . . . beautiful. Is this part of the Park?”
But the landscape shifted yet again, and Eleanor felt certain she had been transported to a park in Paris, as the sweet smell and sight of flowers surrounded them in Conservatory Garden. Eleanor was baffled. Alice was sad.
“Yes, this is Central Park, today. As it was when you were a very small child, but even more beautiful now,” Alice looked Eleanor square in the face.
“Central Park is a precious and exquisite jewel, an oasis full of both adventures and meditations . . . memories of the past and memories you are yet to have. But only if you see its beauty today.”
Eleanor recalled the vision she had seen of herself, brushing past the children who shunned her because they recognized her general disdain and bitterness. Then once again, they were in a new, magical place.
“This is the Pool,” said Alice, “in Central Park. Places this special need your care and protection. Close your eyes and listen.” Eleanor did as she was told. “This is nature’s music,” Alice explained. “The most enchanting music ever made.”
Eleanor stood still and listened to the soothing, rushing water . . . the wind brushing through the leaves of the weeping willow trees . . . and then a song from a white-throated sparrow began. She felt her eyes pooling with tears, as a joy began growing in her heart that she didn’t know she was still capable of feeling.
Eleanor opened her eyes and Alice was gone. It was dark, and the Delacorte Clock was chiming . . . . . .
A Central Park Carol – Part III Eleanor confronts a frightening future
Eleanor stood alone, in the dark, unsure where she was in the Park.
She had heard the chimes and felt certain she would have another ghostly visitor. All she could think of was what was coming next and it filled her with dread.
The Park around her grew cold, windy, and gray . . . and while it was still dark, she could see Bethesda Fountain coming into focus. But something was wrong. It was not the hopeful and happy place she remembered as a little girl. It was dry and dirty. The Angel was green and oxidized.
The landscape morphed and now she saw herself as a young woman, alone, standing on the Great Hill. No picnics. She was standing on cracked pavement with weeds and wide patches of dirt where grass should have been.
Eleanor began to remember. There was a time in Central Park’s recent past when it was neglected, forgotten, and decayed. As a teenager, her family had moved out of New York City. When she first returned as a young woman and saw the deterioration of Central Park, she stood outside its walls and cried.
But this was confusing and scary . . . these memories were of the past. Where was the Spirit of Central Park Future?
Panicked, Eleanor began to frantically look for someone . . . anyone . . . to explain what was happening . . . Inexplicably, she found herself on the Mall. She was staring down the long, straight line of what should have been gorgeous green rows of majestic American elm trees. But the trees were gone.
Without all the trees, the air felt unclean, making it difficult to breathe. She wanted to sit, but the benches were broken and cracked with peeling paint.
Then Eleanor felt the most incredible sadness she had ever known, and, a realization: Could Central Park’s past also be its future? A chill went through her.
Too many had become like her. Too busy to notice. Too indifferent to care. Just like her, they thought the Park would always be there.
How much was there in Central Park that she had taken for granted?
She had a vision of Bethesda Fountain, toppled, and Belvedere Castle crumbling to the ground. She thought of the children without Alice to climb, never knowing the joy of reciting the “Jabberwocky” as their hands rubbed the statue’s patina smooth.
Eleanor crumpled to the ground, full of despair. She shut her eyes and pleaded out loud, “Please, enough. I can’t take anymore.”
From a great distance, she heard the Angel’s voice. “Open your eyes, Eleanor.” Afraid of what she might see, Eleanor fearfully opened her eyes . . . .
A Central Park Carol – Part IV The end of it and the beginning, too
Eleanor opened her eyes . . . it was a beautiful morning, and she was at the Arcade, under the gorgeous Minton tiles in the very same spot where she would run as a child.
Bethesda Terrace was already bustling with people posing for pictures, sharing coffee and cocoa around the fountain, and carrying shopping bags of gifts for friends and loved ones. But she wasn’t annoyed or irritated by them anymore.
Eleanor was filled with glee. Central Park was still the beautiful, glorious, well-maintained park of today. Instinctively and without inhibition, she threw her head back, her arms out, and spun in circles, just as she had done as a child when she made a wish.
But she knew the Park wouldn’t stay this way with just a wish. It was clear to her now that Central Park’s existence was dependent on her appreciating and taking care of the Park.
Eleanor walked to the top of the Terrace. She was grateful to see that the elm trees on the Mall were as majestic as ever and she breathed deeply. The Angel of the Waters was dazzling on top of Bethesda Fountain.
And as she stood in the heart of Central Park, Eleanor felt in her own heart what she needed to do — to be sure that Central Park never again decayed with neglect — and she vowed to make sure the Park would remain as beautiful tomorrow as it is today.
Supporting the Park had never felt more important. She understood how critical it is that this amazing space, filled with so much joy, activities, and events for its visitors, be protected and preserved for future generations.
But before going home, she would first make a stop by Alice in Wonderland, to recite the lines of the “Jabberwocky” for old time’s sake.
