Libertarian’s Corner— 
New York’s Style  

Joseph S. Fulda

      Joseph Fulda is a freelance writer living in New York City. He is the author of Eight Steps Towards Libertarianism.

       (This Story took place on 56th Street, between 8th and 9th Avenue in Manhattan on a cold Friday afternoon in the mid-1990s.)

      On Friday afternoons as the evening approaches, my father is always rushing about but still somehow manages to notice the architectural details of the different buildings, the wares of the different street vendors, and, of course, the various folks moving about.

      One Friday afternoon as the evening drew near, he was passing a pile of refuse alongside the curb in front of a brownstone when something moving caught his eye. “What’s that?” he thought. “I’ll get a bit closer and look.” He slowly bent down and sure enough, there was a turtle in a little fishbowl moving around. “What am I to do?” he thought.

If I leave it here with the rest of the garbage, the truck will come and the little, poor thing will be crushed. I can’t bring it home, for my wife always said, “The children are enough to care for,” whenever one of us had asked for a pet. It’s getting close to the Sabbath and I have to get home. Whatever shall I do?

      He picked up the fishbowl and asked the passersby, one after another after still another, whether they would take the turtle and give it a home. Not one said “Yes.” Finally, a disheveled man stopped and said, “What you got there, brother?” My father answered quietly, “A turtle; if you like it, it is yours.” “What am I gonna do with a turtle? I don’t have a home myself,” he replied.

      He paused and said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do; come with me; I’ll show you.” They walked together down the block until they came to a stoop, and the man got up on the stoop and said in a singsong, “Turtle for sale, turtle for sale, only one left!” Within a minute, a passerby stopped and asked, “How much?” “Five dollars.” the man replied. “I’ll take it,” said the customer.

      My father was about to thank the man who had solved his problem and saved the turtle when all of a sudden he exclaimed,

Gee man! This is New York. You can’t give anything away; you have to sell it.

My father smiled and told the man that he was wiser in the ways of the world then he. Then, he hailed a taxi to be home in time for opening Sabbath prayers.     Ω

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