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On August 4, 1998, I had a number of errands to run near my home in Greenwich Village. Unable to bear amusing yet another vaguely-remembered acquaintance visiting New York for the summer, I instead told George Washington, commander of the American Revolutionary Forces and the first United States president, to simply accompany me on my rounds.
Our first stop was the dry cleaners. Washington waited while I picked up my suits.
Like many tourists, he had come to the city in entirely inappropriate clothing; I had loaned him an Izod shirt and khakis. He wouldn't wear the Yankees cap I urged on him, but that turned out to be okay. There were plenty of gray-haired men with ponytails in Greenwich Village.
Next was the pharmacy, where I needed to have a prescription filled. I left Washington on the sidewalk, watching traffic. "The yellow coachmen are most unwise," he told me when I came out.I had him carry the dry cleaning, showing him how to hoist it over his shoulder, and we walked down West Tenth Street.Washington"s quiet dignity made him an ideal companion. He was not too chatty. He waited patiently while I dropped off one of my brown pumps for repair, and walked stoically back along West Tenth Street when I realized I had dropped off the wrong one.Still, he was excited by rollerblades ‚ "Shoes with wheels!" he said, "I must tell Franklin!" ‚ and laughed heartily when he saw a Jefferson Market shopping bag filled with trash. Next, we stopped to pick up photos of previous weekend"s barbecue with the people from the office. Although highly impressed with the technology of the camera when I brought out the first set of 36, Washington demurred when I tried to show him all 10 rolls. Since we"d finished our errands quickly, I decided to take Washington to Central Park. I thought he might like to see the horses. We went down into the West Fourth Street subway station. "Look, here you are," I said, showing him a dollar bill. "And here you are again," I said, showing him two quarters. "It takes three yous to get on the subway." He liked dropping his token in the mechanical turnstile. "May I go again?" he asked. "Not unless you want to pay another three yous," I said. We waited until the B train pulled into the station. "I see that slaves are used for driving this jitney," he said as we sat down inside. "There"s something I have to tell you," I said, taking out a five-dollar bill. We got off at 72nd Street and walked into the park. Washington said nothing about the girls in shorts and halter tops, although I did catch sight of his ponytail more than once when he turned to look at them. He was most incensed that the drink vendors sold neither beer nor Madeira wine, his favorite. He would not drink Snapple. Near the Belvedere Fountain, Washington made it clear to me that he needed to use the men"s room. I wasn"t eager to educate him about modern plumbing. "You"ll have to figure this one out on your own," I said. "Just watch what the other guys are doing." It took Washington about five minutes to come out again. "A man gave me this," he said, showing me a slip of paper with seven numbers. "What does it mean?" We went on to the sailboat pond, which he liked, and even gave the youngsters tips, although he had never really been a sailor himself. One of the grandfathers there asked Washington if he"d been in the war. He bristled, but said yes. A lady noted his uncommon way of speaking and asked if he was British, and he bristled at that, too. By now, his good mood was gone, and it was time to head downtown again. We walked over to the 66th Street subway stop, passing by the Barnes and Noble, which was running a large promotion for a new book by Colin Powell. "That," I said, "is one of the most recent commanders of the American armed forces." George Washington said nothing, but he looked at the picture for a long time.
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