Is That a Giant Rube Goldberg Machine in Port Authority? [A Byte Out of the Big Apple]

Men in acid-washed jeans strode through the revolving doors on 42nd Street, entering the brown halls of Port Authority. Businesswomen in brightly colored suits with shoulder pads nearly up to their ears headed toward their gates to catch buses back to the suburbs. Everyone had big hair. And big personalities to match. You had to in New York City back then. As we waited for my grandmother to arrive on a Greyhound bus from Minneapolis, my family and I huddled around the newly installed 42nd Street Ballroom, a Rube Goldberg machine of sorts.