City of a thousand handshakes
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City of a Thousand Handshakes
By COLIN MOYNIHAN
On West 145th Street, between Frederick Douglass and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevards, people have their own way of saying hello. When neighbors want to salute each other, they often use the 1-4-5, a three-part greeting that consists of a single finger to the nose, four placed on the chest above the heart, then a light five-finger slap.
A few blocks north, on West 151st Street, the custom differs.
There, teenagers employ an intricate exchange of grips, chops and waves that ends with touching forefingers and thumbs. It goes by many names, but some call it the Taliban.
Down on West 135th Street, where Jamaican immigrants play dominoes on the sidewalk, there is yet another common welcome signal, called the Tiger Claw, in which interlocking fingers held at eye level push against each other.
It has been said many times that New York is a city with eight million stories, and, to a careful observer, that figure might appear to be rivaled by the number of handshakes used each day in the city's neighborhoods.
"We'll never know every single handshake," Michael Britto, a filmmaker, said one recent afternoon, as he stood in front of the Apollo Theater on West 125th Street with a three-person film crew. "But we want to do a good survey so people can see how wide the range is."
For the past year, Mr. Britto, 35, has been in search of the daps, pounds and clasps of New York and beyond for a documentary called "Gimme Five: History of a Handshake."
"I like finding out the history of things people don't pay attention to," he said. "And I like getting people to think about things in their everyday life that they take for granted."
On this afternoon, the crew captured Curtis Young, 48, of Bedford-Stuyvesant as he demonstrated a four-part grip that ended with a raised symbolizing black power.
"That's from the late 60's and early 70's," he said. "It was something we did to show our togetherness."
He was followed by Omari Moore, 18, of Harlem who showed a handshake that began with three hand slaps and ended in a half embrace. Mr. Moore, who said that he grew up in military bases around the world and that he had learned the handshake from his father, a serviceman, said the initial three slaps stood for "welcome, strength and unity."
Over the next three hours, as they wandered east from the theater toward Malcolm X Boulevard, Mr. Britto and the crew filmed about 20 different handshakes, some with names like the Brotherly Love, the K & D (named after the first initials of its two inventors), the Elverson Shake (named after a middle school in North Philadelphia), and what was described as a Cherokee-Apache handshake, demonstrated by a man who goes by Eagle Eye.
During the filming, Mr. Britto was director, interviewer, grip and gaffer. He ordered rowdy teenagers out of his frame, halted shooting when rumbling trucks or blaring sirens drowned out conversation and coaxed passers-by into becoming participants. Not all of them were amenable. A group of Masons who were registering voters on West 125th Street near Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard, told the crew that handshakes were a highly personal matter.
Mr. Britto, who made a documentary about a Harlem artist, James de la Vega, in 2000, said he got the idea for his current project two years ago, while he was teaching video production to high school children in Harlem and saw students exchanging arcane handshakes.
With some help from Film Video/Arts, a nonprofit foundation, he went out on the streets with his camera and shot a 10-minute trailer. In October, he received a grant of $12,500 from the New York State Council on the Arts.
Since then he has filmed 60 hours of film, which he plans to edit to 60 minutes. Mr. Britto has filmed veteran soldiers at Fort Dix, N.J., describing the daps, or hand slaps, they used to maintain solidarity and morale while serving in Vietnam. He has filmed Cornel West, a Princeton professor, discussing how the human element of handshakes can transcend class and economic barriers.
And he has filmed a man who insisted that he invented the pound, in which greeters touch the knuckles of their clenched fists, in 1992 on Astor Place, while recovering from an injured thumb. The man described how he believed his signature shake was copied by the New York Mets and subsequently achieved worldwide recognition.
"That guy was great," Mr. Britto said. "Everyone who sees that part of the footage laughs."
Filming has not always been easy. Gang members have angrily refused to show him handshakes and accused him of being a police officer. Last fall on West 135th Street, a man whom he filmed without permission chased him for a block before Mr. Britto persuaded the man that he had no sinister intent.
Much of Mr. Britto's filming has been done in Harlem (he lives in 1-4-5 territory), but he has also filmed in Flushing, East New York, the West Village and New Jersey. A friend will contribute video from New Zealand.
Some of Mr. Britto's most enthusiastic subjects on West 125th Street were a group of teenagers visiting from Philadelphia, who eagerly demonstrated several handshakes they had made up. Andrew Jenkins, 14, showed one in which he and a friend staggered unevenly toward each other while grimacing, rolling their eyes and holding a crooked wrist at shoulder level. After touching their wrists, the two teenagers embraced.
"That's called the Crazy Shake," Andrew said. "We do it because it's fun. And all the girls like it, too."
*jawdrop*
Wow.
I want to see this documentary. Just to see it.
City of a Thousand Handshakes
By COLIN MOYNIHAN
On West 145th Street, between Frederick Douglass and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevards, people have their own way of saying hello. When neighbors want to salute each other, they often use the 1-4-5, a three-part greeting that consists of a single finger to the nose, four placed on the chest above the heart, then a light five-finger slap.
A few blocks north, on West 151st Street, the custom differs.
There, teenagers employ an intricate exchange of grips, chops and waves that ends with touching forefingers and thumbs. It goes by many names, but some call it the Taliban.
Down on West 135th Street, where Jamaican immigrants play dominoes on the sidewalk, there is yet another common welcome signal, called the Tiger Claw, in which interlocking fingers held at eye level push against each other.
It has been said many times that New York is a city with eight million stories, and, to a careful observer, that figure might appear to be rivaled by the number of handshakes used each day in the city's neighborhoods.
"We'll never know every single handshake," Michael Britto, a filmmaker, said one recent afternoon, as he stood in front of the Apollo Theater on West 125th Street with a three-person film crew. "But we want to do a good survey so people can see how wide the range is."
For the past year, Mr. Britto, 35, has been in search of the daps, pounds and clasps of New York and beyond for a documentary called "Gimme Five: History of a Handshake."
"I like finding out the history of things people don't pay attention to," he said. "And I like getting people to think about things in their everyday life that they take for granted."
On this afternoon, the crew captured Curtis Young, 48, of Bedford-Stuyvesant as he demonstrated a four-part grip that ended with a raised symbolizing black power.
"That's from the late 60's and early 70's," he said. "It was something we did to show our togetherness."
He was followed by Omari Moore, 18, of Harlem who showed a handshake that began with three hand slaps and ended in a half embrace. Mr. Moore, who said that he grew up in military bases around the world and that he had learned the handshake from his father, a serviceman, said the initial three slaps stood for "welcome, strength and unity."
Over the next three hours, as they wandered east from the theater toward Malcolm X Boulevard, Mr. Britto and the crew filmed about 20 different handshakes, some with names like the Brotherly Love, the K & D (named after the first initials of its two inventors), the Elverson Shake (named after a middle school in North Philadelphia), and what was described as a Cherokee-Apache handshake, demonstrated by a man who goes by Eagle Eye.
During the filming, Mr. Britto was director, interviewer, grip and gaffer. He ordered rowdy teenagers out of his frame, halted shooting when rumbling trucks or blaring sirens drowned out conversation and coaxed passers-by into becoming participants. Not all of them were amenable. A group of Masons who were registering voters on West 125th Street near Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard, told the crew that handshakes were a highly personal matter.
Mr. Britto, who made a documentary about a Harlem artist, James de la Vega, in 2000, said he got the idea for his current project two years ago, while he was teaching video production to high school children in Harlem and saw students exchanging arcane handshakes.
With some help from Film Video/Arts, a nonprofit foundation, he went out on the streets with his camera and shot a 10-minute trailer. In October, he received a grant of $12,500 from the New York State Council on the Arts.
Since then he has filmed 60 hours of film, which he plans to edit to 60 minutes. Mr. Britto has filmed veteran soldiers at Fort Dix, N.J., describing the daps, or hand slaps, they used to maintain solidarity and morale while serving in Vietnam. He has filmed Cornel West, a Princeton professor, discussing how the human element of handshakes can transcend class and economic barriers.
And he has filmed a man who insisted that he invented the pound, in which greeters touch the knuckles of their clenched fists, in 1992 on Astor Place, while recovering from an injured thumb. The man described how he believed his signature shake was copied by the New York Mets and subsequently achieved worldwide recognition.
"That guy was great," Mr. Britto said. "Everyone who sees that part of the footage laughs."
Filming has not always been easy. Gang members have angrily refused to show him handshakes and accused him of being a police officer. Last fall on West 135th Street, a man whom he filmed without permission chased him for a block before Mr. Britto persuaded the man that he had no sinister intent.
Much of Mr. Britto's filming has been done in Harlem (he lives in 1-4-5 territory), but he has also filmed in Flushing, East New York, the West Village and New Jersey. A friend will contribute video from New Zealand.
Some of Mr. Britto's most enthusiastic subjects on West 125th Street were a group of teenagers visiting from Philadelphia, who eagerly demonstrated several handshakes they had made up. Andrew Jenkins, 14, showed one in which he and a friend staggered unevenly toward each other while grimacing, rolling their eyes and holding a crooked wrist at shoulder level. After touching their wrists, the two teenagers embraced.
"That's called the Crazy Shake," Andrew said. "We do it because it's fun. And all the girls like it, too."
*jawdrop*
Wow.
I want to see this documentary. Just to see it.
