'No matter when you show up, you should have been here 10 years ago.'

- Robert Galinsky, actor, writer and director.

Is a New Yorker born or made? Every Thursday, natives and non-natives dish on city life in a Q&A. Follow @knowthescorenyc on Instagram for more interviews and subscribe below :)

---

Rob Galinsky is an actor, writer and director who lives in Manhattan’s Lower East Side and, in his own words, “makes a lot of noise through theater and poetry.” He has directed off-Broadway plays, one of which is currently being turned into a film. He also works with incarcerated teenagers and people experiencing homelessness, using theater and literacy.

Galinsky. The wall behind him features the work of artists he helps commission.

We spoke on a sunny Sunday morning in August at Campos Community Garden, a charming and abundant urban food initiative in Galinsky’s neighborhood that prides itself on its diversity and community focus. It’s his favorite place in the city and, thanks to its tranquility, I instantly understood why.

Galinsky generously gives us a tour of Campos on Instagram. While you’re there, don’t forget to follow @knowthescorenyc and subscribe below.

---

Galinsky, were you born and raised in New York, or did you move here?

I was born in Hartford, Connecticut, and raised in a suburb there. A typical white, American suburb. I should have been an accountant. I was supposed to be interested in St Pauli Girl cleavage, cigars, picket fences, two cars in the driveway. Somewhere, I fell off that wagon and have had no interest in that. This is the life I’ve chosen.

When did you move to New York?

I was 23 when I moved here. I had been visiting since I was 18, because my first college roommate is from 14th and 1st Street. It was amazing. I would come down here in the early and mid-1980s with him. I didn't know I wanted to be in New York; I was going to go to Chicago. A guy from Chicago said, “you're going to want to be in New York someday, right?” He goes, “Yeah, so fuck Chicago, just go straight to New York!”

So I came to New York on December 6, 1988.

You remember the date?

Yep, special date. And my second birthday.

It's your second birthday, exactly. I look at it the same way. How do your first memories of the city compare to how you see it now?

So much cooler then, of course. When I came, [people said] “oh, you should have been here 10 years ago!” So no matter when you show up, you should have been here 10 years ago. But it was great, because the buildings were bombed out. This whole neighborhood (LES) was like a semi-war zone, almost. A lot of these lots that you walk past now were literally just rubble. Nothing there. And the foot traffic was way different. The foot traffic was artists. A lot of artists, people lugging canvases down the street and drums and dancers with their musicians and their basses and their guitars. The little store fronts now that are full of retail stuff? A lot of them were self-fashioned performance spaces and rehearsal spaces. One of the biggest differences in the Lower East Side is that the pioneering of these empty buildings turned into affordable studios and performance spaces no longer exist. So that population no longer exists. Now, walking down the street…it's vacuous, loud brunch. Brunch is the priority. And sports bars with big TVs are a priority. Back then, you couldn't wear open-toe shoes in the summer because you might get pricked with a needle or crack vials. That sense of danger was part of what made it exciting, because there was a risk. There was something to fight for, which was a certain amount of dignity with your neighbors.

How do you feel about that change?

I think it's gross and nasty, and it's part of the problem of what happens when people come here. They don't understand that you're not discovering anything when you come here. Everything's already been discovered. People are already here. Certain people come in and understand how they have to learn about the community and understand what the community is, and then see how they can fit in and be a part of that community, as opposed to just colonizing.

If you want to have roots, you have to understand and explore the soil that came before, so your own can take hold and grow. Otherwise, they're not roots at all, you’re just walking on what came before.

What's your favorite New York memory?

There are a couple.

One is the day after 9/11. It was 5am, I dressed up as a volunteer with a hard hat and walked my way down to Ground Zero, got on a bucket brigade and helped clear debris. Another is getting arrested for the Amadou Diallo protests. Those are always the best, because somebody's got to stand up and speak out. My son being born at Beth Israel hospital. Performing at the Whitney.

What's the biggest gift that the city has given you? And what is something the city has taken from you?

The biggest gift the city has given me is a low rent apartment for the past 30 years. I got lucky—someone knocked on my door, said “your building could be in a program where you could buy it and it'll get renovated, and they'll teach you how to run a condo.” And I was like, “Great, let's do it.” So for the past 30 years, my rent has been stable. I've looked at it like the government gave me a grant. So that's why I've been able to go to Rikers Island and other jails and prisons [to teach], because they don't pay you $500 an hour. I have not had to hustle my ass off and sweat the rent in a way that didn't allow me to do other things that I wanted to do. That allowed me to pursue working with these populations that people try to forget.

What's the thing the city has taken away from me? Nothing! Nothing! If anything?! It's taken fear away from me. It has taken away hesitation. It has taken away lack of confidence. It has taken away uncertainty.

Galinsky grew that cucumber! At Campos Community Garden! He very generously gifted it to me and it was delicious.

What's your favorite thing to do in New York?

I’m doing it right now! Sitting in this community garden on 12th Street, talking to another lover of New York, is one of my favorite things to do. It's private, it's got nature, I can build things, I can grow things here. Some days I want to be in the park around other people, but sometimes I want to be outside and not around other people. So this is the perfect place. It’s got little winding paths. I can go put a chair in a corner and kind of hide out.

What do you think is the biggest challenge the city faces now? You can be sardonic, you can be earnest, you can be witty.

I’ll have to be angry. I think the biggest challenge is mitigating the influx of corporate-minded, soulless replicants that are supposed to be human beings. How to not let the idea of retail destroy originality and people's artistic endeavors. Not allowing the landlords to position their buildings and their rents in a way that makes people just suck it up and say, “well, I’ve got to do that because I’ve got to pay my rent.”

Have you ever thought about leaving the city?

I think about leaving the city in the first 24 hours when I do leave it. Whenever I go somewhere [else], I'm like, “why am I in the city? This is great. This place is amazing.” By the 25th hour, I'm like, “holy shit. What am I doing out here? I gotta get going, get back home.”

How would you describe your relationship with the city?

She's the greatest lover and the worst bitch in the world. She’s an awesome lover. All your wildest dreams can come true. So many things arouse me around her! But when things are not going your way, she fucking puts the hammer down and you're dealing with the most ornery, unforgiving partner ever.

Give me your most New York City anecdote. Something that could only ever happen here.

It was 1989. We had just seen the Ramones at the Roseland Ballroom uptown, my girlfriend and I at the time. We walked home though Times Square and there're prostitutes. Sex workers—back then, prostitutes. There's cross gender, people soliciting, and people going in and out of peep booths, sex shows. We're blown away. And then there's a preacher standing in front of one of these places, screaming and yelling about how pornography is “gonna ruin you all!” And the most fucking great thing was every guy who walked in to peep dropped money in his bucket on the way in and said “thank you.” That's never left my mind.

That is New York in a snapshot, that's what I love about it. It's like all of our contradictions that we hold inside are just guts out, totally, and we make no excuses or apologies for it. Back to the roots issue. How can someone moving here make roots here without ripping up someone else's?

Talk to strangers. They're going to be a future friend. They're going to potentially be a neighbor. They're going to be somebody that you're going to end up helping when they need it. Buy from the bodega, not the retail chain, help somebody walking down the street, crossing the street, hold that door open for an extra minute or two. If you go to buy a coffee, buy two, and on the way out, within a block, you'll see somebody that you can give it to or a sandwich. Don't sweat, though. I know money is hard, but don't sweat the fact that you're going to leave your building and know that you're not going to get very far without having to spend 20 bucks just leaving your building. It's going to cost you $20 somehow.

It's going to evaporate.

It's going to evaporate, it's going to come right out of your pocket. Throw yourself into it and be fearless. That's the thing with the city. If you're a fearful person, then it can swallow you up and it's easy to shrink.

What do you want your impact to be on the city, when all is said and done?

Teaching at Rikers Island jail, I learned very quickly that all I can do is plant seeds and not worry about what's going to happen to those seeds, because I have no control. After I've come in contact with somebody, I've given something to them—or tried to—I would struggle. I'd leave there going, “oh, I hope this changes, I hope that changes.” And it would tear me up. So then I realized at one point I have no control of what somebody's going to do. I don't want to be attached to “what's my impact.” Yes, I want to plant seeds of love and hope and compassion. If there's an impact because of that planting, terrific. If there isn't, terrific. To me, legacy is what you're doing in the moment. At my best moments, I'm just staying present, doing what I think is right in the moment and then whatever the impact of that is is just going to be what it will be.

---

For more of Galinsky, follow @knowthescorenyc and @galinskynow

Want to be featured? Email me! isabeltogoh@outlook.com.