Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade
The Macy’s Thanksgiving
Day Parade would be over soon, and the thousands of storm-scattered New
Yorkers whom the city had invited to watch the floats go by in Columbus
Circle were thinking about leaving. The subways would be crowded; and
more work sorting through debris and filling out insurance claims
awaited. Best not to linger until the last elf was out of sight.
Children at the start of the parade.
Then a cheer of surprise and delight went up from the Rockaway residents
crowded in the stands, and anyone else who recognized the fur-,
feather- and flower-draped figure pushing a cart behind Santa’s
entourage, looking for all the world like just another colorful parade
character.
It was the “Rockaway Beach Guy,” as some residents of the hard-hit
seaside community in Queens know the man with the neon green beard who
regularly saunters across the Boardwalk there. And soon the residents
were debating whether he was among those who received a free ticket and
busing to the event, or whether he had simply eluded the police barriers
and joined the show. Regardless, the trademark parrot that rides atop
his bald head — a practical community mascot — was a welcome sight.
There was not much else in Columbus Circle to remind them of home.
For one thing, there was no sand on the streets. That was one of the
first things Raphael Lilker, 30, noticed when he stepped out of their
cab with his wife, their son and daughter, and several other residents
of Belle Harbor who had lost most of their possessions to the flood. For
another, hot food was available everywhere. So were working toilets.
“It’s almost like a minivacation to be here,” said Mr. Lilker, surveying
the crowd of tourists and New Yorkers who had wedged themselves into
every possible cranny for a view of Spider-Man, Charlie Brown, Kermit
the Frog and all the rest.
“I wouldn’t say it was worth a hurricane to get it, but it’s nice for
the city to treat us,” he added, “when we have nothing.”
Like many families displaced by the storm, the Lilkers can count their lives among the things they preserved from Hurricane Sandy,
but little else. The two-story house they share with Danielle Lilker’s
younger brother, Ross Radusky, 25, was badly damaged by the storm. The
porch is buckled and hangs askew. The basement apartment is a maze of
trash. The furniture is a pile of debris in Jacob Riis Park. The five
family cars are all wrecked.
In their temporary home — Mr. Lilker’s parents’ house in Nassau County —
are garbage bags of the belongings they managed to salvage: family
photos but no pots, pans or dishes; a few items of clothing, but not
enough to clothe everyone for more than a few days at a time.
They have been feeling restless, wanting to go home, longing to get back to normal.
Of course, “normal” is hardly what they would call getting front-row
seats at the Macy’s parade. No, going to the parade has always been a
dream, ever since Ms. Lilker and Mr. Radusky were children in Belle
Harbor waking up on Thanksgiving morning to turn on the television, open
a box of cookies and marvel at the balloons.
This year, Jack Lilker, 3, and his 18-month-old sister, Jaden, saw them
in person, lofted on their uncle’s shoulders. (Jack’s eyes grew big at
Mickey Mouse; Jaden perked up at Hello Kitty. Their parents delighted at
the unexpected appearance of the “beach guy.”)
As the parade ended, the family prepared to return to their damaged
home. Mr. Radusky usually takes care of the turkey; Ms. Lilker helps
make the sides. Electricity had been restored, so they would be able to
power a refrigerator, electric stove and oven for cooking, and space
heaters for eating. So they decided to try Thanksgiving at home.
“We are so fortunate for those little things — lights on Thanksgiving,” Mr. Radusky said.
“We were trying to bring our life back together,” Mr. Lilker added. And
in normal life, he said, “You eat in your own house.”
Thomas Share, a victim of Hurricane Sandy, held up a sign while attending the parade with his family.
Spider-Man and Uncle Sam intersected along the parade route.
Credit: Suzanne DeChillo/The New York Times
Participants along Avenue of the Americas.
Credit: Librado Romero/The New York Times
Kermit the Frog loomed over 57th Street and Avenue of the Americas, part of the new route for the parade.
A Hello Kitty balloon led the parade down Central Park West.
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