Even in New York City, where more than eight million people are largely accustomed to sticking to themselves and often expect the worst from each other, it’s possible to build a relationship with a stranger.
For some Brooklynites, that stranger is a man often seen dancing in Prospect Park. Claiming a space near its northernmost corner, he spends hours marching in place, punching the air and circling his fists, as Soca or disco music blasts from his portable speaker.
Some call him the music man. Others refer to him as the dancing dude on the hill. His name is Anthony Johnson, and he is drawn to the park after long, unsung shifts working on the city’s subway tracks.
“Can you feel the love that’s in the air?” he sang along to the music on a recent afternoon, a big smile on his face. “Peace and blessings,” he called out to people.
Bikers saluted him and rang their bells. Some raised their hands from the handlebars to clap and dance as they glided past. A woman pushing a stroller danced as she walked by. Parks workers in a white van honked at him, and police officers on patrol slowed down and smiled.
“He’s a joy,” said Saundrene Wright, 44, a park regular who lives in Flatbush. “He really is.”
For Mr. Johnson, 59, who moved to Crown Heights from Trinidad in 1981, the routine is part stress relief, part service to the community.
He began dancing in the park eight years ago, shortly after he started working full time for the Metropolitan Transportation Authority.
His first role was as a train conductor, but he switched to track work after only six months, when a woman who was frustrated about delays spat twice into his cabin, he said.
Now, he works across the five boroughs as a construction flagger on the tracks, setting up work areas and directing train traffic around them, spending many hours each week underground.
The park, he says, is his “happy place” — and he’s equally content spreading joy or receiving it.
“I know how it is when someone makes you smile,” he said.
Ms. Wright, who walks through the park daily, said she first interacted with Mr. Johnson during the pandemic. She went from just making eye contact, to waving and saying hello, to eventually feeling comfortable copying his dance moves.
Now, she misses him when he’s not there.
“I would talk about music,” Ms. Wright said. “I mean, he’s from Trinidad. I’m Jamaican. We would talk about life.”
She added, laughing: “I find myself even telling him when I won’t be here.”
Later in the afternoon, Elise Tabb, 56, encountered Mr. Johnson in the park. She threw off her jacket, put her phone down and joined him in a series of jumping jacks. Then they pretended to pull weeds.
“I just see him so regularly that I know him,” Ms. Tabb said.
She’s not the only one. Ms. Tabb gestured to people who were passing Mr. Johnson, waving and smiling. He waved and smiled back.
“I thought I was special, until I saw them,” she said.
Mr. Johnson started dancing in the park because his work schedule at the M.T.A. prevented him from going clubbing.
At first, he would jog while jamming out to music playing from a speaker in his backpack. Then he realized it was more practical to pick a spot and dance vigorously in place.
Mr. Johnson goes to the park as often as he can, but New Yorkers may be less likely to see him as winter approaches. He has one rule: He won’t go out when it’s colder than 40 degrees.
“I still rather my summer weather of Trinidad,” he said.
In recent months, he has come to rely more on the park community’s warmth. In March, he lost his uncle to brain cancer. He and his uncle had lived together and often danced together in the park.
Now, the dancing helps Mr. Johnson grieve.
“He would want me to do that,” he said, as the sun began to set. “I’m always thinking about him while I’m doing this.”
The lamp lights turned on, and he kept dancing.
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