“Okay, ” I said, “I think that’s enough of the interview for now. I’ll want to get back together with you for a few more questions later, but we need to get over to the park for some photos.”
My editor had made arrangements with one of our staff photographers to get some shots of Alex in his costume in Central Park. In the first place, there were some nice backdrops that would make for good photos. Also, Alex had let us know that he often went there, and we hoped we might get some shots of him interacting with people there.
The two of us piled into a cab, and the cabbie couldn’t stop staring at Alex’s costume. To my surprise, Alex began to engage him in conversation, and soon the two of them were discussing the merits of capes. “My father used to wear a cape in the old country,” the driver revealed, and Alex commented that they were surprisingly comfortable. I tried not to roll my eyes, but I have to admit I found it a bit charming when Alex made a point of shaking the cabbie’s hand and wishing him well. The old fellow’s response was equally warm, and I realized I’d just witnessed Alex make a new friend. Very interesting.
I was going to suggest that we pose Alex on one of the arched bridges in the park, but the photographer wanted him to stand on a granite outcropping, which really looked dramatic. From the right angle you could even see the twin projections of the Dakota looming above the tree line in the distance.
Alex was clearly enjoying himself, moving and posing as the photographer directed yet never looking unnatural or uncomfortable. “He’s really at home in that costume,” I thought, and felt slightly envious of his carefree attitude.
Suddenly, a childish voice hollered, “Hey, Superman!” and then I got to see Alex really enjoy himself. In an instant he hopped down off the boulder and went up to greet the band of half-a-dozen-or-so prepubescent boys, calling several of them by name. Soon they were sitting on the grass in a ring around Alex, listening to him tell a story about Superman that I was sure he’d made up.
Finally, a maternal voice called from across the field, and all of the boys jumped up and ran off, laughing and waving at Alex. “Sorry about that,” he said as he returned to us. “I’ve met those kids here before, so I couldn’t just blow them off. Besides, I really like kids; I’d like to have a couple myself.” Then his face momentarily lost its smile, and I knew he was thinking about his failed marriage. I couldn’t help it: my heart went out to him. But he soon shrugged off the mood and his smile returned.
I turned to talk to the photographer. “Did you get everything you needed?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah,” she said enthusiastically, “the poses on the rocks were great. And I got a lot of good shots while he was telling stories to those kids, too.”
Then she looked at me oddly and whispered. “Is that guy for real?”
I shook my head. “I wish I knew.”
I walked back over to his side. “You were great with the kids, and it sounded like things went well in the bar that night you told me about. But don’t people ever laugh at you or make jokes?” I asked him.