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Fears of ICE Raids Turn Streets Quiet in Heavily Hispanic Part of NYC

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Fears of ICE Raids Turn Streets Quiet in Heavily Hispanic Part of NYC

The taco joint just around the corner from Corona Plaza, the beating heart of one of New York City’s largest Latin American neighborhoods, fell quiet in the days after President Trump was inaugurated.

The restaurant’s Mexican waitress, who is undocumented, witnessed federal immigration authorities arrest someone a few blocks from the plaza, and now limits her time outside, afraid that being on the street leaves her more vulnerable to immigration agents. She dwells on the incident as she stares at empty tables once packed with immigrant families and construction workers.

Across the street, sales have plummeted at a Colombian bakery. The shop used to take in about $1,600 most mornings selling soups and pastries, but now makes about $900. Workers at the bakery scour WhatsApp groups for news of immigration raids in the neighborhood, even as the messaging app swirls with misinformation.

And at the Guatemalan restaurant at the edge of the plaza, fewer customers are dining in, with sales declining by about half. But takeout orders have picked up.

“Everyone calls for food now,” Linda Hernandez, 44, said as she served a baked tamal to one of four customers in the 20-seat restaurant in early February, next to a sign warning people not to open their doors to immigration authorities. “No one wants to sit down to eat.”

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From New York to California, Mr. Trump’s campaign to arrest and deport millions of undocumented immigrants has spread fear and consternation, instantly subduing once-lively neighborhoods across the United States.

The administration began with a media blitz, publicizing raids in big cities and deportation flights to Latin America. The showmanship was supported by some early numbers that showed an increase in immigration arrests, even as the authorities appear to be struggling to round up enough people to meet Mr. Trump’s mass deportation goals. The shock-and-awe tactic, however, has profoundly rattled immigrant communities.

Few neighborhoods in New York were paralyzed like Corona, a working-class enclave that is about 75 percent Hispanic, home to generations of immigrants from Mexico, Colombia, Ecuador, the Dominican Republic and elsewhere.

But Corona was also one of the neighborhoods that swung most sharply toward Mr. Trump in last year’s election. Mr. Trump’s inroads, in Corona and elsewhere, exposed simmering tension between established immigrants and more recent arrivals who crossed the border during an era of more lenient Democratic policies.

Immigration, legal and otherwise, has long shaped this stretch of northern Queens. Waves of migration transformed Corona from an Italian stronghold at the turn of the 20th century into a magnet for African American families after World War II, and then a bustling hub for Central and South Americans in recent decades.

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That diversity has been most palpable in Corona Plaza, once a forlorn lot. The city paved it into a modest pedestrian plaza that quickly pulsated with life as vendors moved in to sell chorizos and cafe de olla, filling the air with a mix of Spanish dialects. Nearby, on Roosevelt Avenue, the aroma of Colombian coffee melded with the scent of lomo saltado from Peru, the blaring rhythms of cumbia and reggaeton and the roar of the elevated No. 7 train.

Many residents here crowd into cheap apartments with strangers. Most work the service jobs that form the backbone of the city’s economy: cleaning, cooking, building.

Many are undocumented.

So it was perhaps no surprise that the once-bustling plaza, and the streets around it, cleared out the day Mr. Trump was inaugurated. Immigrants stayed indoors. Food vendors retreated. And many people continued to stay off the streets as U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents fanned out across the city a week later, an absence that hurt local businesses.

The combination of deportation fears, frigid temperatures and a recent police crackdown on illegal vending all helped mute the neighborhood — and created an eerily familiar scene in what was once the epicenter of the coronavirus pandemic. The virus killed hundreds in Corona and hobbled the area’s economic recovery.

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“It reminds me of Covid, but this is new,” said Fernando Cando, 48, who moved to Queens from Ecuador with his family in 1982, when he was a young boy. “If I were to sum it up with one word, it’s panic. We’ve never seen this.”

Mr. Cando owns Leticias, an Ecuadorean restaurant with dishes based on his mother’s recipes. He said he recently began brushing up on his workers’ rights in case ICE shows up at the restaurant. He has instructed the workers not to run from agents, and has wondered whether they could take refuge in the restaurant’s basement. Despite the fear, his workers continue to show up, even if diners aren’t always there with the same frequency.

ICE sightings — whether real, imagined or distorted on social media and text threads — dominate conversations. Some parents have stopped sending their children to school. And some families are talking about moving back to their home countries: the “self-deportation” that the Trump administration is actively encouraging.

Liliana Sanchez, who migrated from Mexico two decades ago, said she spotted ICE officers almost daily in the neighborhood after Mr. Trump took office, usually knocking on people’s doors. The sightings have been less frequent recently. But her two children, who are U.S. citizens, still call her after school to make sure she has not been detained in Corona Plaza while selling atole, a hot masa-based Mexican drink.

“They’re afraid for me every time I come sell,” Ms. Sanchez, 38, said in Spanish. “But if I stay home, who’s going to bring home the money for rent?”

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Immigration lawyers are being inundated with calls from immigrants seeking answers to basic questions: Can they go to work, seek care at hospitals and call the police to report a crime without being deported?

“The phones are ringing off the hook,” said Anibal Romero, an immigration lawyer whose office overlooking Corona Plaza has received as many as 700 calls a day since Mr. Trump’s inauguration, up from just under 100 a day. “We’ve frankly become an emergency room for mental health.”

Even so, the heightened anxiety, described by nearly two dozen Corona residents in interviews with The New York Times, belies a complicated reality.

In New York City, and across the country, Mr. Trump made significant gains in many working-class immigrant neighborhoods like Corona. He captured 46 percent of the national Latino vote on his way to victory and bucked conventional wisdom about Hispanics’ support of the Democratic Party.

Kamala Harris still won Corona with about 57 percent of the vote, but underperformed compared with Joseph R. Biden Jr. in 2020, who won the area with 77 percent of the vote. Mr. Trump garnered about 3,000 more votes in Corona in 2024 than in 2020, winning entire precincts and nearly doubling his vote share to 42 percent, up from 23 percent four years before.

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Mr. Trump won over Hispanics who were upset about the economy, but also tapped into resentment among established immigrants over what they regarded as preferential treatment — including temporary legal status, work permits and free shelter — given to migrants who arrived during the Biden administration.

In New York City, that pent-up frustration led to intense friction amid a three-year influx of 230,000 migrants who spilled into Corona and other neighborhoods. Longtime residents — even undocumented immigrants who can’t vote — raised quality-of-life concerns that many attributed to the recent arrivals.

Business owners in Corona Plaza complained about an increase in homelessness and street vendors without licenses in recent years. Local officials and residents lamented excessive trash and flashes of violence among intoxicated men who they said created visible disorder that scared off customers. And a prostitution problem long plaguing parts of Roosevelt Avenue grew worse.

That all led Mayor Eric Adams, a Democrat, to deploy more police officers to the area and crack down on brothels and illegal vending last year, leading to a noticeable decline in both.

For some Corona residents, it was too little, too late.

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Altagracia Fernandez, from the Dominican Republic, said the deteriorating conditions had nearly caused her to shutter the beauty salon she opened 35 years ago. Things got so bad, she said, that hosing down human excrement outside her shop became a regular morning chore.

“I always voted Democratic, but I couldn’t take it anymore,” said Ms. Fernandez, 63, who voted for Mr. Trump. “The situation got too severe. I’m fighting for what is mine,” she said, referring to her salon.

Pastor Victor Tiburcio, the spiritual leader of Aliento de Vida, a Pentecostal church on Corona Plaza with more than 2,500 congregants from 30 countries, has been grappling with those contradictions since Mr. Trump’s election.

On a recent Sunday, Mr. Tiburcio leaned on a message of hope. He urged worried churchgoers to be mindful of misinformation and not to fear calling 911 or going to the hospital.

“Don’t abstain from doing what you have to do out of fear for ICE,” he said in a crowded theater-turned-church, a glimmer of the vibrancy that has not been fully extinguished in the neighborhood. “Finding God is an SOS during these times.”

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In an interview after the service, Mr. Tiburcio, who migrated from the Dominican Republic 27 years ago, reflected on what he said was the silver lining of Mr. Trump’s crackdown. Almost overnight, he said, the president’s tough talk had scared off unruly migrants whom the pastor blamed for “fetid” conditions in Corona and for tarnishing the working-class values that defined immigrants.

“Those people that arrived here in the past few years — and I can’t say all of them, because I’m an immigrant, too — but we noticed something weird,” said Mr. Tiburcio, referring to instances of loitering and public drinking.

“Once Trump came in, they disappeared,” he continued. “Immigrants should be welcomed, helped. The Bible says that. But the Bible does not say that an immigrant has a right to delinquency.”

Other immigrants, though uneasy about the high-profile crimes committed by some recent arrivals, were more wary of stoking rifts between recent immigrants and those who have been here longer.

“It’s not resentment,” said Faviana Linares, who migrated from Mexico nearly three decades ago. “You have to be very brave to leave everything behind and bring your family here. I admire those people.”

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Ms. Linares, 47, left everything behind when she departed Puebla — so many people have migrated from the Mexican region that New York has become known as “Puebla York” — and settled in Corona. She has made a living cleaning apartments, initially for well below the minimum wage, while her husband works at restaurants. They are both undocumented, but their three children are U.S. citizens.

Like many mixed-status families, they have made emergency plans in case the parents are deported: Their 24-year-old daughter would become the guardian of the two other children.

Despite the ever-present possibility that the family will be separated — Ms. Linares has cousins who were deported — she said she has concentrated on transmitting hope to her children and neighbors amid the doom-and-gloom headlines.

Recently, that has meant channeling her energy into the immigrant advocacy group she belongs to, Make the Road New York, which opened a new office across from Corona Plaza in February, just as the neighborhood fell quiet.

“Our only crime was to cross that border,” Ms. Linares said. “It’s not fair to feel persecuted. All we came to do was to work with dignity.”

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Alex Lemonides and Keith Collins contributed reporting.

Audio produced by Patricia Sulbarán.

New York

How a Parks Worker Lives on $37,500 in Tompkinsville, Staten Island

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How a Parks Worker Lives on ,500 in Tompkinsville, Staten Island

How can people possibly afford to live in one of the most expensive cities on the planet? It’s a question New Yorkers hear a lot, often delivered with a mix of awe, pity and confusion.

We surveyed hundreds of New Yorkers about how they spend, splurge and save. We found that many people — rich, poor or somewhere in between — live life as a series of small calculations that add up to one big question: What makes living in New York worth it?

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Sara Robinson boarded a Greyhound bus from Oregon to New York City to attend Hunter College in the early 2000s, bright-eyed and eager to pick up odd jobs to fuel her dream of living there.

For a long time, she made it work. But recently, that has been more challenging than ever.

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Right around her 40th birthday, Ms. Robinson began to feel financially squeezed in Brooklyn, where she had lived for years. Ms. Robinson (no relation to this reporter) was also feeling too grown to live with roommates.

“As a child,” she said, “you don’t think you’re going to have a roommate at 40.” She decided to move into a place of her own: a one-bedroom apartment in the Tompkinsville neighborhood of Staten Island.

After she moved, the preschool where she’d worked for over a decade closed. Now, she works two jobs. She is a seasonal employee for the state Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation, working from Tuesday to Saturday. And on Monday nights, she sells concessions at the West Village movie theater Film Forum, which pays $25 an hour plus tips.

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Ms. Robinson, now 45, loves her job as an environmental educator at a state park on Staten Island. Her team runs the park’s social media accounts and comes up with event programming, like a recent project tapping maple trees to make syrup.

But the role is temporary. Her last stint was from June 2024 to January 2025. Then she was unemployed until August 2025. Ms. Robinson’s current contract will be up in April, unless she gets an extension or a different parks job opens up.

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Ms. Robinson’s biweekly pay stubs from the parks department amount to about $1,300 before taxes. She barely felt a difference, she said, while she was out of work and pocketing around $880 every two weeks from her unemployment checks. (Her previous parks gig paid $1,100 a check.)

Living in New York’s Greenest Borough

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“It used to be, ‘There’s no way I’m moving to Staten Island,’” Ms. Robinson said. “But the place is close to the water. I’m three minutes from the ferry. The rest is history.” She lives on the third floor of a multifamily house, above an art studio and another tenant. Her rent is $1,600 a month, plus $125 in utilities, including her phone bill.

“If my situation changes, I don’t know if I could find something similar,” she said. “So much of my New York life has been feeling trapped to an apartment. You get a place for a good price, and you’re like, ‘I can’t leave now.’”

Staten Island is convenient for Ms. Robinson’s parks job, but it’s become harder to justify living in a borough where she knows few people. It takes more than an hour to get to friends in Brooklyn, an especially hard trek during the winter. After four years of living on Staten Island, Ms. Robinson feels somewhat isolated.

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“All my friends on Staten Island are senior citizens,” she said. “It’s great. I love it. But I do want friends closer to my age.”

One of Ms. Robinson’s friends, Ray, took her on nature walks and taught her about tree identification, sparking an interest in mycology, the study of mushrooms. This led to a productive — and free — fungi foraging hobby during unemployment. She has found all sorts of mushrooms, including, after a month of searching, the elusive morel.

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The Budgeting Game

Ms. Robinson doesn’t update her furniture often, but when she does, she shops stoop sales in Park Slope or other parts of Brooklyn.

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“It’s like a treasure hunt,” she said. “You could make a whole apartment off the street, off the stuff that people throw away.”

She also makes a game out of grocery shopping, biking to Sunset Park in Brooklyn or Manhattan’s Chinatown to go to stores where there are better deals. She budgets about $300 for groceries each month.

Ms. Robinson bikes almost everywhere, sometimes traveling a little farther to enter the Staten Island Railway at one of the stations that don’t charge a fare. She spends $80 a month on subway and ferry fares, and $5 a month for a discounted Citi Bike membership she gets through a credit union, though she usually uses her own bike. She is handy and does repairs herself.

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There are certain splurges — Ms. Robinson drops $400 once or twice a year on round-trip airfare to Seattle, where her family lives. She also spent $100 last year to see a concert at Forest Hills Stadium in Queens.

She said she has many financial saving graces. She has no student loans and no car to make payments on. She doesn’t get health insurance from her jobs, but she qualifies for Medicaid.

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She mostly eats at home, though sometimes friends will treat her to dinner. She repays them with tickets to Film Forum movies.

Nothing Beats the Twinkling Lights

Ms. Robinson’s friends often talk about leaving the city — and the country.

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Two friends have their eyes set on Sweden, where they hope to get the affordable child care and social safety net they are struggling to access in New York.

Ms. Robinson can’t see herself moving elsewhere in the United States, but she is entertaining the idea of an international move if she can’t hack it on Staten Island.

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Yet the pull of the city is hard for her to resist.

“I just get a rush when I’m riding the Staten Island Ferry across the bay,” she said. “You see all the little twinkling lights. It’s this feeling of, ‘everything is possible here.’”

That feeling, plus the many friendly faces Ms. Robinson sees every day — the ferry operators, the conductors on the Staten Island Railway, her co-workers at Film Forum — are what tie her to New York.

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“My savings are not increasing, so there’s that,” she said. “But I’ve been OK so far. I think I’m going to figure it out.”

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How the Editor in Chief of Marie Claire Gets Styled for a Trip to Italy

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How the Editor in Chief of Marie Claire Gets Styled for a Trip to Italy

Nikki Ogunnaike, the editor in chief of Marie Claire magazine, did not grow up the scion of an Anna Wintour or a Marc Jacobs.

But, she said, “my mom and dad are both very stylish people.”

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They got dressed up to go to church every week in her hometown Springfield, Va. Her mother managed a Staples; her father, a CVS. “Presentation is important to them,” she said.

Since landing her first internship with Glamour magazine in college, Ms. Ogunnaike, 40, has held editorial roles there and at Elle magazine and GQ. She has been in the top post at Marie Claire since 2023.

She recently spent a Saturday with The New York Times as she prepared for Milan Fashion Week.

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How a Physical Therapist and a Retiree Live on $208,000 in Harlem

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How a Physical Therapist and a Retiree Live on 8,000 in Harlem

How can people possibly afford to live in one of the most expensive cities on the planet? It’s a question New Yorkers hear a lot, often delivered with a mix of awe, pity and confusion.

We surveyed hundreds of New Yorkers about how they spend, splurge and save. We found that many people — rich, poor or somewhere in between — live life as a series of small calculations that add up to one big question: What makes living in New York worth it?

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It has never really occurred to Marian or Charles Wade to live anywhere but the city where they were born and where they raised their children.

New York is in their bones. “We have our roots here, and our families enjoyed life here before us,” Ms. Wade said.

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And they feel lucky. Between Mr. Wade’s pension, earned after more than 40 years as an analyst at the Manhattan district attorney’s office, and his Social Security benefits, along with Ms. Wade’s work as a physical therapist at a psychiatric center, they bring in about $208,000 a year.

Still, it’s hard for the couple not to notice how much the city has changed as it has become wealthier.

About 10 years ago, Ms. Wade, 65, and Mr. Wade, 69, sold the Morningside Heights apartment they had lived in for decades. The Manhattan neighborhood had become more affluent, and tensions over how their building should be managed and how much residents should be expected to pay for upkeep boiled over between people who had lived there for years and newer neighbors.

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They found a new home in Harlem, large enough to fit their two children, who are now adults struggling to afford the city’s housing market.

All in the Family

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Ms. Wade knew it was time to leave Morningside Heights when she spotted her husband hiding behind a bush outside their building, hoping to avoid an unpleasant new neighbor. They had bought their apartment in 1994 for $206,000, using some money they had inherited from their families, and sold it in 2015 for $1.13 million.

The couple found a new apartment in the Sugar Hill section of Harlem for $811,000, and put most of the money down upfront. They took out a loan with a good rate for the remaining cost, and had a $947 monthly payment. They recently finished paying off the mortgage, but they have monthly maintenance payments of $1,555, as well as two temporary assessments to help improve the building, totaling $415 a month.

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Their two children each moved home shortly after graduating from college.

The couple’s son, Jacob Wade, 28, split an apartment with three roommates nearby for a while, but spent down his savings and moved back in with his parents. He is searching for an affordable one bedroom nearby and plans to move out later in the year. Their daughter, Elka Wade, 27, came home after college but recently moved to an apartment in Astoria, Queens, with roommates.

Until their daughter moved out a few weeks ago, she and her brother each took a bedroom, and Mr. and Ms. Wade slept in the dining room, which they had converted into their bedroom with the help of a Murphy bed and a new set of curtains for privacy.

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There is very little storage space. A piano occupies an entire closet in their son’s bedroom, because the family has no other place to fit it.

The setup is cramped, but close quarters have their benefits: When their daughter, a classically trained cellist, was living there, she often practiced at home in the evenings. “I love listening to her play,” Ms. Wade said.

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Three Foodtowns and a Thrift Shop

The Wades do what they can to keep their costs low. They’ve decided against installing new, better insulated windows in their drafty apartment. They don’t go on vacations, instead visiting their small weekend home in rural upstate New York. And they’ve pulled back on takeout food and retail shopping.

Instead, Mr. Wade surveys the three Foodtown supermarkets near their home for the best deals, preferring one for produce and another for meat. The weekly grocery bill has been around $500 with both kids living at home, and the family usually orders delivery twice a week, rotating between Chinese and Indian food, which typically costs $70, including leftovers.

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For an occasional splurge, they love Pisticci, a nearby restaurant where the penne with homemade mozzarella costs $21.

The couple owns a car, which they park on the street for free. But they often use public transportation to avoid paying the $9 congestion pricing fee to drive downtown, or when they have a good parking spot they don’t want to give up. They have a senior discount for their transit cards, which allows them to pay $1.50 per subway or bus ride, rather than $3.

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Ms. Wade stopped shopping at the stores she used to frequent, like Eileen Fisher and Banana Republic, years ago. Instead, she visits a thrift store called Unique Boutique on the Upper West Side. She was browsing the aisles a few months ago, before a big Thanksgiving dinner, and spotted the perfect dress for the occasion for just $20.

But she has one nonnegotiable weekly expense: a private yoga lesson in an instructor’s apartment nearby, for $150 a session.

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Elka Wade, a cellist, often practices at home, to the delight of her parents. Bess Adler for The New York Times

Swapping Mortgage Payments for Singing Lessons

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For every member of the Wade family, life in New York is all about the arts.

The children each attended the Special Music School, a public school focused on the arts. Their son, an actor, teacher and director, works part time at the Metropolitan Opera and the Kaufman Music Center, a performing arts complex in Manhattan. His sister works in administration at the Kaufman Center.

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Mr. Wade is still close with friends from high school who are now professional musicians, and the couple often goes to see them play at venues like the Bitter End in Greenwich Village, where shows typically have a $12 cover and a two-drink minimum.

The couple has cut back on going to expensive concerts — they used to try to see Elvis Costello every time he came to New York, for example — but have timeworn strategies for getting affordable theater tickets.

They recently splurged on tickets to “Oedipus” on Broadway for themselves and their daughter, who they treated to a ticket as a birthday gift. The seats were in the nosebleed section, but still cost $80 apiece.

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The couple has a $75 annual membership to the Film Forum, which gives them reduced price tickets to movies. They occasionally get discounted tickets to the opera through their son’s work, and when they don’t, they pay for family circle passes, which are usually $47 a head, plus a $10 fee.

Ms. Wade, who grew up commuting from Flushing, Queens, to Manhattan to take dance lessons, sometimes takes $20 drop-in ballet classes during the week at the Dance Theater of Harlem, just a few blocks away from the apartment.

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Recently, when the couple paid off their mortgage, Ms. Wade celebrated by giving herself a treat: weekly private singing lessons, for $125 a session.

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