New York Sign Language The Most Ignored Sign in the City By BOB YAMPOLSKY	フレームで見る  英文をプリントする  脚注をプリントする
最も無視される道路標識 ニューヨークでよく見かけるのが、信号を無視しての道路横断です。老いも若きも男も女も、好きな時に好きな所で道路を横切るのです。かくして街で「一番無視される標識」は'DONT WALK'のサイン。今週はニョーヨーカーの'歩行'マナーを観察してみました。

When I was eight years old, I jaywalked across an avenue for the first time. All by myself I crossed four lanes of two-way traffic against a red light. It seemed like a major achievement ― I had taken a big step toward adulthood. When I got home I proudly told my father what I had done.

That's how it is in New York. Aside from the very young, the very old, the grossly overweight, the infirm, the daydreamers and anyone else unable or unwilling to move quickly, we are all jaywalkers. And that is why this week's sign ― DONT WALK ― is without doubt the most ignored sign in the city.

Now, I can think of a couple reasons why it deserves to be ignored. It's missing an apostrophe, for one. For another, it doesn't really say what it wants to say: "Don't walk" means "Run, ride a bicycle, take a cab ― just don't walk." In normal English it would never be used to mean "Don't cross the street" ― which is what this sign is trying to say.

But these, admittedly, are pedantic reasons, which have nothing to do with why the sign is ignored. No one, after all, cares about missing apostrophes, and even little kids who can't read know what the sign says: It's red, and red means stop ― except to the New York pedestrian.

There's an old joke about how, to New York drivers, green means "go," red means "stop," and yellow means "speed up because the light is about to turn red." We can make a pedestrian variation of this: WALK means "walk," the blinking DONT WALK means "hurry up and cross," and the solid DONT WALK means, "Cars might be coming, so you'd better look before crossing the street."

Why is this so? Why are New Yorkers such incurable jaywalkers? I can think of lots of little explanations. We are in a hurry, and impatient, and who has time to wait for the light? We don't like being told that we can't do something. It's a way of saying, the streets belong to us.

Jaywalking can also be a means of self-expression. Some people sprint, some saunter; some want to be the first in the crowd to cross, and some wait until everyone else goes; some people are quite reckless, and some will do it only when there is no car in sight.

The streets and avenues are ideal for jaywalking. They are all straight, so you can see whether cars are coming or not. Some of the two-way avenues, like Broadway and Park, have pedestrian malls in the middle, so you can cross half, reach a safe island, and then cross the second half. And on many of the one-way avenues, like Columbus and Madison, the traffic comes in waves; after a wave passes, the coast is clear, and it seems silly to wait just because the sign says DONT WALK ― only the tourists do that.

But whatever the reasons may be, jaywalking is part of New York street culture. So whether it's businessmen in suits or school kids playing hooky, crossing a street at the earliest possible chance is the principle by which New Yorkers walk.

The other day, as I waited for the light (there were cars coming), I heard a young father scold his son, who had started to cross the street, "We don't got the light. You want to get arrested?" Arrested? For jaywalking? In New York, the police jaywalk like everyone else.

Still, I can sympathize with that father. I remember how, when I bragged to my father about my first major jaywalk, he neither praised me nor scolded me: You can't praise a child for breaking a rule, but at the same time, you can't scold him for breaking a rule that everyone else is breaking.

I have become a father myself, and my daughter, for a while, liked a picture book called "Red Light, Green Light." It is one extended lesson in traffic rules: The recurring theme is, as you might imagine, "RED LIGHT! STOP! GREEN LIGHT! GO!" I read this book to her (on her insistence, not mine) dozens of times. Yet when we went outside, and the light was red and no car was coming, I would hold her hand and lead her across the street. I couldn't help it, even though I knew I was confusing her. At first she used to protest ― "Red means stop, Papa!" Then she used to joke about it ― "Red means go, and green means stop." But now she just follows my lead silently. She understands. The book is up on a high shelf and has not been taken down for months, and my daughter is growing up to be a fine New Yorker.

Shukan ST: May 30, 1997

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