Paul Berger, a self-described Englishman In New York, seems somewhat surprised by, as he calls it, The Greeting:

I have spent the past month doing research work in the city. It’s the longest I have spent in an office environment since my days booking hotel rooms in London six years ago. I’ve adjusted to the commute. I’ve adjusted to the lack of sunlight. And I’ve adjusted to eating lunch out every day. But I’m still struggling with the office greeting.

Not content with “hello” I’ve noticed many people prefer the “how are you?”. By the time I have answered “fine” we have already passed each other and the opportunity for me to return the question has gone. This leaves me feeling selfish and somewhat egotistical since I am spending my days telling everyone I am fine but never managing to inquire as to their wellbeing.

I have resolved for today, and next week, to pop the question first.

How are you--or as it's normally enunciated, at great speed, how'r'ya! is a derivation of slightly more complex greeting, as David Gelernter wrote in a absolutely terrific City Journal article ten years ago. Gelernter's piece is an almost archeological look at what life was like in New York in 1939, as America's Depression slowly but inexorably gave way to her entrance into World War II:

Nineteen thirty-nine lived in an " ought" culture. We inhabit more of a "want" culture, a desire-not-obligation culture. One of the most obvious and important consequences of the slow death between 1939 and today of American civic religion—the coherent, deeply held set of shared beliefs and ideas that bound Americans into one community—is the sweeping aside of its oughts.

The ought culture made itself felt in many ways. For example: 1939's daily experience was assembled to a far greater extent than ours out of countless small rituals—pieces of formulaic behavior that you enacted not because you feel like it, necessarily, but because it was expected of you. Because it is the proper thing, and you ought to do it.

A middle-class dinner or even breakfast of the 1930s might involve an entire family seated at table with the males in ties and the maid scurrying about. The ritual of each child's planting a breakfast kiss on seated mamma's cheek was sufficiently well known to have been included in movie scenes not evidently intended to be farcical. Hats have rules: a gentleman of course removes his when speaking to a lady on the street, removes it when a lady enters an elevator (unless the elevator is inside an office building or a store); replaces it when he steps off into the corridor. He lifts his hat as a gesture of politeness to strangers and lifts it more emphatically when he performs an outdoor informal (versus an indoor ceremonial) bow.

Nineteen thirty-nine's polite conversation is scripted and therefore ritualized to a much greater extent than ours is. "Under all possible circumstances, the reply to an introduction is 'How do you do?'" ("The taboo of taboos is 'Pleased to meet you.'") When the need arises, one says "I beg your pardon"—never, ever, "Pardon me," which is a barbarism. It goes without saying that first names are to be used only under the proper, restricted circumstances (never among strangers), and that "sir," "madam," or "miss" is an appropriate form of address.

Read the rest of Gelernter's article--while many of the buildings in Manhattan remain the same, the ubiquitous "how are you" that Berger's encountering is one of the last remnants of an "ought" culture that, depending upon your perspective, is either long since passed, or in the latter stages of twilight.