This isn't really about New York's crooks and nannies. I've run into only one crook while walking around the city; a young con-woman who tried to snooker a dollar out of me. New York's nannies can be found in New York's parks, watching New York's toddlers. The nannies come in all shapes, sizes, and accents. My favorite is the Caribbean accent, I think. So lilting; makes anything said with that accent sound like a poem. During a break in classes, I once asked an Antiguan student of mine - who was a part-time nannie - if she was listening to the Mighty Sparrow, a calypso singer from 'way back. She said, "Mistah Ockaman, de ol' pipple listen to de Mighty Sparrow; we listen to Sean Paul!" Having set me straight, she returned to her iPod.

New York's image in movies and television is the skyline silhouetted at night with thousands of lit windows. Or, in daylight, silver towers are seen thrusting towards a blue, almost unreachable sky, their spires seeming to snag fluffy clouds. Images of crowds pulsing along sidewalks, and manic traffic patterns of taxis, buses and police prowl cars help to portray the city as a busy, sophisticated metropolis. And, it is; New York is an international city, as Paris is, and as Budapest used to be.

But there is the other New York; the city at human level, nooks and crannies full of well kept secrets. The most obvious niche is also the most surprising; her sidewalks. That's where the humans walk, and that's where you can even spot a celebrity, if you're alert enough. John Lennon ended up living in the City because, "everyone here looks like me." He wasn't being conceited; he meant that he could blend in with the crowds and not be bothered by fans. New Yorkers might recognize a celebrity, but that doesn't mean they'll pester him or her.

One afternoon, I was running down 34th Street to catch a train. There, outside Penn Station, was Head Guardian Angel and local radio personality Curtis Sliwa, trying to hail a cab. You couldn't miss him in his red beret and bright red jacket, and I suspect he didn't want you to miss him.

Another time running for a train, in the bowels of Penn Station, New York's then-governor Pataki came up the stairs from track 2, surrounded by four state troopers and a police dog. He was very tall, for a Republican.

One summer afternoon, I was spending my break hanging around the corner of 7th Avenue and 37th Street. A tall woman in a smart gray business suit was standing in the crowd, waiting to cross. I thought, "That woman looks an awful lot like my wife's friend, who looks an awful lot like . . ."

And when I realized who the woman really was - Carly Simon - she was halfway down the block.

On a morning in winter, a limo pulled up in front of the building where I worked, and a familiar guy about eight feet tall got out; John Tesh, obviously about to do some business with the media company in the building.

Down in the Lower East Side on spring afternoon, Alan Cumming ("Nightcrawler" in the X-men films), sporting a Mohawk haircut, came up to our corner and crossed the street.

A few years ago, my then-teenage daughter, and my step-son, and I spent an autumn Saturday just walking around lower Manhattan. She brought her camera, "in case we see any celebrities," she explained. She especially hoped to meet her favorite; John Malkovitch. She never did, but we did find the barbershop where he got his hair cut, and I took a picture of her standing next to his photo in the window. She still looks back on it as a red-letter day.

Last Labor Day found me out at Kennedy Airport waiting for my wife's plane to land. I was sitting near a baggage ramp, when it was announced that the flight from L.A. had landed and baggage from that flight could be found on that very ramp. I looked up and there was Aaron Eckhart, with his agent or manager. I was going to say something to him, but I'm glad I didn't, as I would have confused his name with that of his "Black Dahlia" co-star, Josh Hartnett.

After he got his luggage and left, more passengers showed up, and there stood a harassed Jeremy Piven with his family. The look on his face said, "Please don't let anybody recognize me!" I smiled as he went by, but I didn't wave.

I almost never say anything to celebrities. It's not shyness on my part. If it's someone I've admired over the years, I'll say hello and tell them how much their work has meant to me. On the other hand, walking up to John Tesh and saying, "Hey! You're John Tesh!" doesn't make much sense.

Maybe it's because I've been mistaken for a few celebrities in my day. Depending on how long my hair is and what type of glasses I'm wearing, people have commented that I look like Eric Clapton. I also get mistaken for Steven Spielberg quite often.

Another one is Michael Gross, the father on the old sitcom "Family Ties." "Hey, you look like the father on family ties!" strangers will come up and tell me.

"No," I answer, "He looks like me!"

There was the time in Saks Fifth Avenue, when a young saleslady accosted me.

"It's you!" she said.

"Do you know me?" I asked.

"Yes! You're - " and she tried to grope for a name, but was unsuccessful.

"I'm not really who you think I am," I said.

She laughed and said, "Of course you are! You just don't want to be recognized! Can I have your autograph?"

Now I was in trouble, because I didn't know who I was supposed to be. I scribbled on a piece of paper she handed me, "Best of luck in all you do!" and signed it, "Joe Bagadonuts." She didn't even bother to read it, but walked away happy.

New York has dozens of semi-secret cubbyholes. One can attend Steven Cohen's Chamber Magic show - with a small audience of fifty - in a room at the Waldorf, stepping back a century into old New York for a few hours.

In 1996, one could attend an intimate Ray Davies concert in the Westbeth Theater in the Village and feel as if the audience of 300 is sitting in the Kinks composer's "front room" of his childhood home, listening to him tell stories and sing.

Or, also in the Village, one could be escorted into a very small Sullivan Street Playhouse, which may seats about one hundred and twenty - at most - audience members on wooden benches to see the charming, long-running musical (1960 - 2002), The Fantasticks.

New York has the Empire State Building, Radio City, the Statue of Liberty, St. Patrick's, Rockefeller Center, Macy's, and a thousand other wonders. But for me, her real magic is right there when you step out of any of those places, onto the sidewalk. Or, off the sidewalk into a tiny theater or jazz club.

Just keep your eyes and ears open.