In September 1974 David arrived in New York City intent upon becoming an actor. His older brother Peter met him at the airport and together they took a bus to Grand Central station. Standing on the pavement outside in the fading afternoon light, David felt overwhelmed and vulnerable suddenly aware that he really had left home. He wasn’t in England any more.
The two brothers were headed downtown towards the Village Plaza Hotel on the north side of Washington Square. They stood on the side of the road; younger five inches taller than older and an enormous man approached them. He offered to help get them a cab, saying he would put them in a cab in a strong voice that forced them to accept his offer. A cab was found and their bags were loaded then the money was demanded with great hostility. It was a rough initiation to New York
They arrived at the hotel- a dilapidated brownstone inhabited by cockroaches and prostitutes. Peter had arrived at the hotel the day before and he led David to the room they would be sharing. They headed up to the second floor, endured the surly and unpleasant presence of the elevator man then entered the small room with two beds, peeling blue paint and a grimy linoleum floor. David cautiously sat on the end of one bed; then he burst into tears.
He got his first job cleaning apartments through the Village Voice. It lasted just a few weeks, then he quite. He had never liked doing housework in his own home and cleaning up other people’s hair and bathtub rings made him miserable.
David’s next job was as a taxi driver. Because he was only nineteen he was not legally permitted to drive a Manhattan cab and instead he took the subway each afternoon to Long Island city, Queens. It had been ridiculously easy getting a taxi license, all he’d had to do was answer 20 questions, where was Grand Central Station? Where was… the test could be taken in five languages and cheating was such a frequent occurrence that it was practically condoned. He began driving the day shift, his first day he drove out he jerked and bumped his way forward, awkwardly unaccustomed to driving an automatic car.
Very soon after he started, he switched to the night shift. Isolated and foreign he sat waiting for his cab in the big holding area, surrounded by much older men, Poles, Russians and Ukrainians who smoked cigars and played cards while David sat alone, reading T.S. Eliot.