The Strangest Phone Call

New York City has just announced a plan to install almost 10,000 free Wi-Fi kiosks, most in spaces currently occupied by defunct phone booths – though booth is really a misnomer if you know anything about New York public phones. The kiosks are said to broadcast a Wi-Fi signal for 150 feet and CityBridge, the company hired to install the devices, claims that up to 250 users at a time can use each kiosk without diminishing the service. (We’ll see about that; “up to” are the keys words here).

For reasons not clear to me, the city has also promised to maintain three currently working phone booths on West End Avenue. And these are truly booths; in fact, they are called “Superman pay phones” because they’re the old-fashioned type, large enough to accommodate flash clothes-changers. Or amorous couples.


Which brings me to my story. It was likely the Fall of 1970 when I was crashing at a friend’s apartment near Columbia University. I worked at Steak and Brew in the theatre district and would sometimes ride my bike there. One night while I was heading home the telephone was ringing in a booth at 88th and Riverside. Intrigued, I got off my bike and picked up.

“I want to fuck,” said the male voice, clear as a bell.

Still, I replied, “Uh, what?”

“I want to fuck,” he said, a bit slower and an octave lower.

“Um, do you know where you’re calling?”

“Yeah, the phone booth at 88th and Riverside.”

“Well, yeah, ok. Where are you?”

“Turn around.”

For a moment I panicked, thinking I was about to face a crazy man who didn’t want to have sex with me but was instead going to kill me. This was an irrational fear since we were decades away from cell phones, but I clearly remember thinking that.

“See the building across the street at the corner? Count up six floors and then over four windows.”

“Damn, “ I said, “there you are.” All I could see was a shadow but it was clearly a man and only one thing extending from his body was a telephone.

“So, are you interested?” he asked.

The truth is, I was. I was also scared as hell so I said no, but couldn't resist asking, “How often does this work for you?”

“You’d be surprised” was all he said.

We hung up and I pedaled to Claremont Avenue, repeating every word we had spoken so I would be sure to get it right when I told this most New York of stories. As you would expect, it was a great hit, with half of my friends telling me I was a fool not to at least go up and meet the guy. The other half cringed, knowing I would have died had I done so. For my part, I wondered for years what would have happened.

I passed that phone many more times that year.

It was never ringing.