Last night I joined fellow cool New Yorker Colleen at Riviera for dinner (West Village sports bar, lots of TVs, decent sandwiches) and along with gymnastics, football, women, Ireland, and weddings, we talked about Alexander Hamilton. She is reading his biography and he is a topic near and dear to her heart. Although she couldn’t get me to agree that he is the deckest individual to ever walk the Earth, she did convince me that he is the first cool New Yorker.
Like Miss and I, he arrived from somewhere else. Born a bastard in the West Indies, he moved to the city at age fifteen with no family or prospects. After success at several clerkships, he wisely eschewed Princeton to attend Columbia, then called King’s College after the King.
But the monarch was soon to be booted, thanks in part to Alexander who was an adjunct for Washington. Hamilton helped draft the Constitution and was the only founding father not to become president.
While shaping the young country, he founded the Bank of New York, despite disapproval of the state. The bank was instrumental in making New York the financial center it is today.
A cool exit always helps to seal a reputation and Hamilton died tragically but with style, getting mortally wounded by his rival Aaron Burr in a duel in Weehawken.
This is the sort of things crazy New Yorkers talk about in West Village bars. It’s not drugs or sex, but it beats weddings and it’s the best I can hope for at my age.
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Site of the Day: “Hello, my name is Tamara! As you can probably tell, I’m a Christian who loves Jesus and cares for all humans, even the wicked. What you probably don’t know is that I’m hot.” Use your booty to save the wicked.