Columbo, Monk and CSI

Very often, one hears an accusation of someone or something being boring. However, it is often the one making the claim who is just not digging deep enough or bringing anything to the table.
In the last three and a half years of writing and doing the photography for this website, I have learned to examine things more closely by reading and researching. In doing so, I have been most often surprised by what lies beneath the book's cover.

Part of this process has been taking greater interest in things that have been part of the New York City landscape, seemingly forever like a virtual white noise. One of these things is urban art or graffiti. Artists like Keith Haring started their careers using building surfaces as their canvas. Remnants of these works can be seen from time to time, like the graffiti of two of the most prolific in the city's history: Cost and Revs (whose identity still goes unknown).

I was startled recently when I came across this mural in a SoHo parking lot. I had never seen it in its entirety - it is typically occluded by any number of vehicles. On this walk, however, it was very early in the morning before opening, and so I was rewarded with a unique, unobstructed view of the entire mural. Seeing this reminded me of how the murals, I Am the Best Artist by René, were everywhere in the 1980s & 90s in SoHo.

Typical of graffiti artists, the facts about René are shrouded in mystery. The New York Times ran one article about René's war over wall space with French artist Le Pointre. René refers to himself on his website as René IATBA or I.A.T.B.A. (an acronym for I Am The Best Artist.) He appears to have grown up in Venezuela, according to his website, which itself is layered in abstruse writing and design elements. It is as enigmatic as the man.
If you want to learn the details of a street artist, be prepared to become an amateur forensic scientist. You will enjoy the work, if like many, you are a fan of Columbo, Monk, or CSI :)

Plum Beach

The sight of kite surfers and the convenient access to Plum Beach from the Belt Parkway prompted a quick detour from my recent excursion to Floyd Bennett Field. Unfortunately, this convenience in a major metropolitan area, combined with relative isolation, has given Plum Beach a rather unsavory and spotted past.

Older residents reminisce about days when Plum Beach was a lover's lane. Since that time, it has become known as a gay spot. From a New York Times article from 2006, "Deadly Days at a Lovers’ Lane":

Decades ago, the beach’s parking lot was notorious as a lovers’ lane for the neighborhood’s besotted boys and girls. In recent years, the area has become better known as a gay trysting spot. The police say that the four men accused in the death of 29-year-old Michael Sandy of Williamsburg this month were aware of the area’s reputation when they lured him there.

The incident refers to an attack by four men who lured the gay victim to Plum Beach using an Internet website. A planned robbery scheme derailed when the victim ran from his assailants onto the Belt Parkway, where he was struck by a car. Those familiar with the area also warn of drug use and needles on the beach. An article from Citynoise on Plum Beach in 2005 opens:

Plum Beach is a grimy spit of sand that is just past Sheepshead Bay and part of Gateway National Park. It's beautiful and filthy and therefore gloriously neglected, unkempt and various. 

The article goes on to discuss the various activities. Reading the comments, which span four years from 2005 to 2009, provides an informative history based on personal experiences.

When I stopped at Plum Beach, I was not aware of any of this history or reputation. I also visited after a cleanup effort in April of 2009 by the American Littoral Society, so my visit was untainted by garbage, which apparently used to be a huge problem.

The beach, named after the beach plums that grow there, is part of the Jamaica Bay Unit of the Gateway National Recreation Area, which includes the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge (see here and here). There are many great beaches, along with great spots for nature and wildlife lovers in this area of Brooklyn and Queens. At Plum Beach, you will find kiteboarding and windsurfing - rare sights in New York City, and not what the average visitor is looking for. But, hey, we got the little stuff too :) *

*This is my first use of a personal inside joke.

Urban Coral Atoll

Those inexperienced with urban auto break-ins will often leave valuables in plain view in a parked car on the streets of New York City. If warned, their corrective behavior is often to only leave things of no value, perhaps in a bag. But the problem is that only they know it contains nothing of value. Anything whose contents cannot be seen by others is also a target. Thieves will break into an car if there is virtually anything of any value (or anything which may contain something of value) in plain view.

Breaking a window is a quick and easy way to find out. The telltale evidence of an auto break-in is the small broken round or cuboid bits of glass (a safety feature of tempered glass used in automobile windows) found curbside.

In much of Manhattan, this is now seen very infrequently, compared to the days of the 1970s-80s, when this was an all too familiar sight. Car radios were a frequent target, resulting in the ubiquitous "No Radio" signs. Many installed removable radio and cassette player systems, while others removed them completely. Convertibles were often slashed.

Many owners of luxury cars opt to leave cars unlocked in order to avoid damage to their vehicles. You will occasionally see luxury convertibles, top down, parked unattended in the streets of New York City, a clear signal to potential miscreants that there is absolutely nothing of value in this vehicle.

At one time, in an anemic attempt to prevent break-ins, alarms were a standard in virtually every car. Car alarms are virtually useless. Studies have shown they are essentially no deterrent; thieves hit and run before any response to an alarm is possible. Plus, alarms are most often triggered by the rumble of passing trucks, thunder, or any other number of events other than theft or vandalism. The sounds of alarms going off was a regular occurrence, a hated urban cacophony.

In the outer boroughs, auto break-ins with sidewalks of broken glass is still a common occurrence, as I learned on Sunday, walking down Southern Boulevard near the entrance to the Bronx Zoo. I was surprised to see this on such a major thoroughfare along the zoo property. Not just one, but a chain of broken windows, like islands and islets in an urban coral atoll...

Bronx Zoo

Zoos have gone through numerous incarnations, a mirror of society's relationships with and views of animals. From the early menageries in Europe, we have moved away from cages and entertainment to habitats and education. There was no hiding from the populace that the conditions in most zoos at one time was deplorable. Eventually, the cages themselves became more difficult to justify. The emphasis today is the conservation message - the graphic for the Wildlife Conservation Society gets equal time with the Bronx Zoo on all of the literature, merchandise, and entrance gates.

The Bronx Zoo was founded in 1899 as the New York Zoological Park, with 843 animals in 22 exhibits. A group of beautiful Beaux-Arts buildings designed by Heins & LaFarge surround a sea lion pool (seen in the photo) at the main entrance, which also features beautiful gardens. This is the largest zoo in the United States, covering 265 acres with more than 4,000 animals, many of them endangered species.

The transformation can be seen at locations such as the Lion House, one of the original Beaux-Arts buildings, which no longer houses the big cats. All have been moved to larger areas. Some exhibits, such as the World of Darkness, have closed due to budget cuts.

Efforts have been made to place animals in as natural an environment as possible. Ultimately, however, the overriding feeling I have in any zoo is still one of exhibits of animals in confined spaces. Some argue that if conservation is the motive, money would be better spent in open wildlife sanctuaries and contributions made towards the animals' native environments in their home countries.

At one time, when the Bronx Zoo made the transition to habitats, everything seemed to be so dramatically large and the animals so free. As I have visited the zoos since that time, the habitats feel smaller. I can't help but compare these environments to the areas which the same animals must inhabit in the wild.

Many of the inhabitants of the zoo are rescued animals whose fate would likely have been grim had not the zoo adopted them. Endangered species are protected, bred, and some even reintroduced to the wild. And I am sure that the place is staffed with dedicated animal lovers who cannot be expected to argue for their own demise. But when I peer into the eyes of those gorillas, I always wonder how happy they are and what they are thinking...

Related Posts: Feeding at the Zoo, Rain Forest, Red Panda

No Fusilli

Things start well enough on Sunday - my mother calls to wish me Happy Birthday, and from my window, I see a partly sunny day. I suggest to my girlfriend that we go to the Bronx Zoo, something which I had not done in years.
We opt for public transportation - the subway has a zoo stop.  A short distance outside, however, and it is clear that this is going to be a hot and very humid day. But I remain optimistic - trains are air-conditioned, and the zoo is shaded and also has indoor exhibits.

This trip requires two trains, a local to the express. When we get to Astor Place, however, the local train is not running at all. Out to the street for a six-block walk to Union Square for the express train.
Signs indicate that the number 5 train is also not running for the weekend. We jump in the first express train which arrives quickly - things are starting to look up.

But once we arrive in the Bronx, I notice the stops don't look quite right. That's because only the number 5 runs to the zoo, not the 4 which we had taken. A brief conversation with a passenger confirms my mistake and that I will have to take a bus across Fordham Road. We exit the train, armed with our Metro Cards, expecting a free transfer.
However, the bus driver indicates that we need to go back to the machine on the street and purchase reduced price tickets at $1.10 each for this BX12 bus.
Off the bus. Buy tickets. Back on the bus. The ride across Fordham Road is quite depressing.

Our stop is Southern Boulevard, and the driver tells me I have a choice of two entrances. I forget the East Fordham Road entrance is the main one, which is quite beautiful. Instead, we traipse nearly twice as far down Southern Boulevard for what feels like an interminable distance in the heat to finally arrive at the side entrance. We see "The Complete Experience" listed for $27 per person, with no posting of general admission prices. This already smells of a zoo sadly doing badly. Being late in the day, we opt for general admission at $15 each.

The day's humidity is almost unbearable, even in the shaded areas of the zoo. We quickly learn that many of the best exhibits are part of The Complete Experience and can be purchased ala carte. $6 more gets us into the Congo Gorilla Forest - can't miss that. We watch a movie, and the screen lifts to a live panorama of gorillas.

I overhear a disappointed father of a family asking his wife who is reading a map - "No elephants?" (there are only two left which can only be seen from the Bengali Express monorail). We decide to purchase a drink after building up a thirst and $2.75 buys a small bottle of water.

A zoo employee tells me that the zoo closes at 5:30 PM, so I pace myself for that. However, an announcement at 5PM tells us the zoo is now closed, so we barely get to the gardens and exhibits at the main entrance, which I was saving until last.

We exit and make our way back to the Fordham Road bus stop. We purchase those silly tickets for the crosstown BX12 and wait at the bus stop, confident that we have the system mastered. The bus arrives quickly, but it stops inexplicably some distance before the stop and we miss it. Not to be fooled, we move, and the next bus stops behind us. A quick jog in the heat with camera equipment in tow, and we just make the bus.

The train ride itself is uneventful. But at our final stop, I notice a man with a VERY wet umbrella - he confirms a torrential downpour outside. This provides a most amazing photo opportunity and, of course, a wet journey home. The streets are littered with downed tree branches.

We decide to go Indian for a birthday dinner. The place I frequent is typically nearly empty, but tonight the place is packed, and there are a couple of huge parties. We are seated at one of the few remaining tables. We wait for some time, but I have a bad feeling that this will be a painfully slow process, so we leave as gracefully as possible.

My spirits pick up as we opt for Trattoria Spaghetto just a few short blocks away. They are also unusually crowded, and the only remaining table is sandwiched between the kitchen and the service exit to the street used by the waiters. Not daunted by eating on a super highway, we sit and get our menus. I do not need to even open mine, because I am ready to order my favorite dish here: Fusilli Puttanesca. However, our waiter informs me that he is sorry, because tonight there is no fusilli :(

Dreams

There can be comfort in unrealized and unattainable dreams. A basket of these can provide a hidden agenda and false hopes of realization can give one's life purpose. These aspirations can be wielded in conversation - "One day I hope to .."  

And perhaps one is better without the realization, because not only is the dream lost, but with the accumulated expectations over time, the reality could be a disappointment. 

And so it has been for me with my love affair with Washington Square Arch, a monument I have looked at nearly every day of my adult life and dreamed to enter and ascend to the roof. As a boy, I had the same passion for reaching the summit of the Washington Monument - an easily attainable goal - pay the admission fee and take the elevator.  

The Washington Square Arch stairway is rarely open to the public. Until recently. Late one night I was informed by a park habitué that the small door at the foot of the west end of base of the arch was open - or in fairness I should say ajar. My first reaction was indignation - how dare I not be told about this opportunity. After waiting for decades wasn't I the most worthy? 

It soon occurred to me, however, that rather than spend time being self righteous, perhaps I should consider taking advantage of this rare opportunity and actually enter the Arch After all, goals are attained by those who act, not whiners. 

There was no sign of prohibition at the door. Many an opportunity is missed by over thinking, over planning and excessive worry, so with little fanfare or deliberation I entered. 

An extremely narrow spiral staircase winds its way to the top - fortunately it was left lit so my journey was easy enough. At the top there is large cavernous chamber. A staircase ascends further to a skylight trap door, leading to the roof of the arch (photo lower left). It appeared to be easily opened, but I decided to not press my luck. I took several photos throw the transparent domed roof hatch (photo lower right).

There is not a tremendous amount of information about this interior Guastavino terra cotta tile staircase and upper chamber. Typically, the story of Marcel Duchamp and his cronies is told - see my story here. I have done nearly ten stories involving the arch - see the list of links below.

What do you do when a small lifetime dream is realized? Just refine and redefine. After all, what I really wanted is to exit that domed hatch and go the roof. I am told such a thing can be arranged if one speaks to the right people. When I do that, you will be the first to know :)

Related Posts: Flash of Light, Comfort and Joy, Arch Rebels, Constant, Evening Arch, Cello, Nested Embraces, Singing Bowls.

Eight Twenty Five

On occasion, from time to time, early in the morning, I have heard the lone voice of a bagpipe from my window. This is peculiar enough, but what is even more perplexing has been that it frequently happens early on a weekday. This means I had to discount many theories - festivals, funerals, or other functions. It has occurred to me that someone uses the park space as a good location to practice - playing bagpipes at home would not be looked at favorably by significant others or neighbors in an apartment building.

Of course the simplest solution to satisfy my curiosity would have been to dress quickly, leave the house and chase down the sound. But the times I have heard the bagpipes being played have been rather inauspicious.

Yesterday, Wednesday at 8:25 AM, on a beautiful sunny morning, I believe I encountered my mystery man taking a nap. 

I do not know where you live, but seeing a man fully clad in Scottish Highland dress at 8:25 AM, snoozing on a park bench, is somewhat startling. I am not sure why a man needs to dress in such a way so early in the morning if he is practicing and not performing, but I am sure there are things about this man's musical practice I do not know. Of course I admit that this search for absolute reason is rather parental. There are many things that people do which are not necessary, particularly in this city - being tattooed, eating at midnight and taking photographs of someone napping on a New York City park bench in Scottish Highland dress early in the morning.

People come to New York City for many reasons - opportunity to make money, pursue a creative interest or just to be themselves in any way they want. And the beauty of it is that you can do it here without hardly turning an eye, except, perhaps, by that of a photographer carrying a camera at 8:25 AM :)

Photo Note: The oval shaped article on the man's lap is a sporran, a pouch that functions as a pocket when wearing the pocketless Scottish kilt.  

Other People Posts of Interest: Taste, Only In New York, Out There, Spike, Narcissism Gone Wild, A Colorful Life, Spring Madness, Walid Soroor, New Yawk Style, New York Nymph, Superheroes, Balsamic Vinaigrette, Facts and Fiction, Tale of Two Colors, Snake Charmer, Parasol, Circus Amok, Piercing Al Fresco, Flamboyant, Color Brigade, New Yorkers Gone Wild, Debutante Ball.

Mavericks

The thing that bothers me most about the word maverick is that it appears to never be used by mavericks, only by established journalists or interviewers, typically to describe business iconoclasts, another word rarely used by true iconoclasts. 

And so we can really never know by reading the accounts of reviewers how much of a maverick any person really is, such as Thom Mayne of Morphosis, designer of the new Cooper Union Building at .... In 2005, Mayne won the highly regarded Pritzker Architecture Prize, the first American to have won it in 14 years. The NY Times article headline at the time was "American Maverick Wins Pritzer Prize."

There has been a lot of development in this immediate area of the East Village around Astor Place by NYU, Cooper Union and private developers, with projects such as the Gwathmey residential tower (see here). I do empathize with all the critics of these projects and any displaced tenants, however, in fairness, there is also a lot of really hideous architecture in this largely seedy area. I find the massive scale of the new building a little daunting, however, at this point, I find new work like this a visual relief from the abominations that abound. A replacement, designed by Japanese starchitect Fumihiko Maki for the building at 51 Astor Place, is in progress. The structure being replaced has been desribed as the "ugly beige eyesore connected to Starbucks."

The new Cooper Union engineering building at 41 Cooper Square (3rd Avenue) , with its signature perforated metal exterior, is of course highly contentious with neighborhood residents - graffiti nearby proclaimed : ALIENS! PLEASE PARK SPACECRAFT ELSEWHERE! Architecture critics, however, including Nicolai Ouroussoff from the New York Times, generally like the building. For his article about the building along with a multimedia slide show, go here.

My family loved to use the word cowboy to describe a wild and rebellious individual. Personally I'll take cowboy over maverick :) 

Slummin'

Slumming is a peculiar phenomenon - people work hard to improve their lives economically and socially, yet once established, some work just as hard to find and frequent the type of places that they endeavored so desperately to leave behind.
Or so it appears. There is a cache to slumming. The act of dumbing down ones choices for eating and playing, somehow confers authenticity and coolness. But I think what is actually happening is that this type of activity is limited to areas where others of like mind and age have settled. How many actually want to live among the poor, isolated in a neighborhood with none of their peers? There are some, of course, who did  move into uncharted territory and paved the way for others. I have always admired the spirit of these early pioneers.
In fact, it is debatable whether there can be any real slumming in Manhattan - virtually every neighborhood is fully gentrified, partially gentrified or populated by some variant of the downtown hipster. There are few neighborhoods left which are strictly the domain of the common, working class man or woman.
In the final analysis, a person of means can never really experience the life of the poor or the common man. If nothing else, knowing that one has options and is only a tourist in a disadvantaged world makes all the difference. 
I was surprised to learn that slumming dates back to the late 1800s. According to a recent fascinating New York Times article, When ‘Slumming’ Was the Thing to Do, the practice started in London and had versions in urban America, centered in Chicago and New York City.

In 1884, a headline in The New York Times proclaimed: “A fashionable London mania reaches New-York. Slumming parties to be the rage this winter.”
It was one of the early indicators of what grew to be an entertainment phenomenon that lasted decades: well-off white New Yorkers exploring black, Chinese, gay or poor working-class communities. Popular neighborhoods for this voyeuristic pastime included Chinatown, Harlem and the Lowest East Side tenements, home to the “Hebrews.”

More recently, a new industry has been built around the practice - coined "slum tourism" or "poorism." The practice is controversial - is it tourism or voyeurism/exploitation? See an article here about the phenomenon.
Hector's Diner is authentic. Located at 44 Little West 12th Street under the , it is still patronized by workers from what remains of the local meatpacking industry. The meat packing district was truly the quintessential working class neighborhood and one that required some intestinal fortitude to visit. Carcasses hanging on hooks, barrels of entrails and meat refuse was the reality here. I rented storage space here at one time - early morning visits required a little mental preparation for the visual assault. The neighborhood is now quite ultra chic, but vestiges of the original meat industry still exist - see an article and photos here, Fresh Meat, about my recent visit.
I have not eaten at Hector's or been inside, but judging from the food reviews (which have been quite favorable), I expect that at the right time of day, along with the common man, you will find some others slummin' :)

Related Posts: Fresh Meat, Pastis, Old Homestead, Men Making Noise, Western Beef.

Umbrella and Chevy

Had I known of Otto Lilienthal's impressive early pioneering efforts in human flight, it may have inspired more serious and potentially successful efforts of my own as a child. But, having neither the funds, knowledge or resources, my earliest attempts consisted of jumping off my father's Chevy with an umbrella to obtain some type of gliding experience. Of course there was none. Somewhat later, I learned to travel the forest canopy, moving from treetop to treetop ala Tarzan. 

As an adult, still desperate to become airborne, I took 10 hours of flying lessons in the 1970s. But I slowly realized what every aviator knows - flying is a hobby for the rich or at least those with disposable income willing to make the sacrifice. And down the road, some investment in a plane or high rental fees would be necessary. An interest in hang gliding was quickly curtailed with tales of accidents and spinal injuries.

Much later, perusing magazines in a shop in New York City that advertised itself as having an exhaustive selection of titles (over 3000), I was quite shocked to see a magazine on RC (radio-controlled) jets. As a child I had seen tethered U-control planes with their operators circling in a dizzying affair. I had no idea hobby aircraft had advanced to the point that there existed genuine ducted fan engines powering scale model jets. 

But where to see such a thing in New York City? Nowhere. Or so I thought. Yesterday's second excursion to Floyd Bennett Field confirmed what I had read. There is an active club of RC Aviators operating on an unused runway at the decommissioned airfield. A number of enthusiasts were on hand - the displays of flying were very impressive, however what I was seeing was exclusively propeller driven planes. Secretly, I was hoping to see some jets. Soon, my wishes were fulfilled and a couple of jet fliers turned up and flew their aircraft. See my photo gallery here.

I also learned that not only did RC propeller planes exist in both fuel powered engines but jets also were available with electric ducted fan turbine engines. Surprisingly, an entire setup including the radio transmitter can be had for a few hundred dollars. At the other end of the spectrum, some run into the tens of thousands - there are even RC Concordes - I was informed of one perfect scale model with a working hydraulic nose, real windows etc., costing upwards of $30,000. Beats an umbrella and a Chevy :)

Note: I will be posting a video of my excursions to Floyd Bennett Field and the various activities there. Check back here in a few days.

Floyd Bennett Field

One of the most amazing and interesting places I have ever visited in the five boroughs of New York City is Floyd Bennett Field. The enormous space with huge undeveloped tracts of land is startling for this city. Nearly all of the airfield is drivable - this provides an easy way to explore for a first time visitor. See the gallery of photos here.

Knowing of my visiting friend's interest in aviation and model planes, I recently investigated the details about Floyd Bennett Field. - a place I had been looking to explore for some time. In a replay of morphic reosonance (see here), the New York Times just happened to be running a feature article that very day - see it here.

My friend was, however, not able to join me, so I made the visit without him. After my first visit, I know I will be making other visits in the future. 

Completed in 1930, primarily on landfill, Floyd Bennett Field was New York City's first municipal airport, later used as a military training and testing facility until the airfield was decommissioned in the early 1970s. Now it is a virtual playground. Weeds sprout from crevices on unused runways.  From the New York Times article: 

The Park Service has preserved the historic look and feel of the airfield while seeding an area larger than Central Park with things to do and see, from camping and gardening to bicycle races, kayaking, fishing, golf and indoor sports. There’s even an archery range and a cricket pitch.

Add to that radio control jet aircraft flying and land sailing - I will feature these in later posts. 

The airfield also boasts a number of antique hangars. Hangar B houses a number of retired military planes - some can be boarded. (The photos in today's collage were all taken in or immediately outside Hangar B.)

The hangar is also home to the Historic Aircraft Restoration Project, a volunteer organization of aircraft enthusiasts, engineers and pilots, who rebuild vintage aircraft and assemble full-size replicas. Fortunately I was able to tour Hangar B and the workshop - it is only opened Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.

The Reservoir

Seeing the Central Park Reservoir for the first time is quite stunning. In a congested, densely packed borough of Manhattan, the last thing one expects to discover is such a enormous body of water. The reservoir covers 106 acres and holds over one billion gallons of water.

This was built to the Olmstead and Vaux original plan for Central Park between 1858 and 1862 - designed to receive water from the Croton Aqueduct and distribute it to Manhattan. It ceased functioning as a reservoir in 1993 when it was considered obsolete because of a new water main connecting to the New York City Water Tunnel No. 3.

Anything this large and prominent in Manhattan is going to take on a life of its own and its use maximized. There is a 1.58 mile running track that completely circles it - there are weekly races sponsored by the New York Road Runners Club. 

Take a walk around all or part of the reservoir and you will find many things - ornamental cherry trees, over 20 species of aquatic birds have been sighted, three ornamental stone gatehouses designed by Calvert Vaux, three pedestrian cast-iron bridges that span the bridle path - one of which is the Gothic Bridge, one of the park's most beautiful and distinctive and of course vistas of the skyline surrounding the park.

The photo was taken at the Engineers Gate entrance with the Purroy Mithcell Monnument. Looking across the Reservoir, you see Central Park West. The tall building in the center is the El Dorado, one of four twin-towered luxury apartment buildings designed by Emery Roth along Central Park West between 1928 and 1932 - The El Dorado, The Beresford, The San Remo and the Ardsley. Read Christopher Gray's New York Times Streetscapes article about the El Dorado here.

Note: The Central Park Reservoir is now officially known as the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. The 1994 naming commemorated her contributions to New York City. Jacqueline who had a Fifth Avenue residence, enjoyed jogging in the area.

City Island

There are places that a writer's dream subject, because if a reader is unfamiliar with the locale, it makes you look like a brilliant explorer who has uncovered a real gem. And visiting for the writing assignment is a real perk. The only real difficulty is avoiding the cliches that have been used ad nauseum. In this case the place is City Island, Bronx and the cliches are words and phrases such as: "look and feel of a small New England fishing village" "more like Cape Cod than New York" "Nantucket" "less Cape Cod, perhaps, than a tiny, Stephen King-like town on the lonesome Maine coast" " a constant reminder that this idyllic spot is not Nantucket but an island in the Bronx" "an active fishing village with a 718 area code" 

The beauty of City Island is that it does live up to all the cliches, metaphors and comparisons. I suggest a visit - you won't be disappointed. If you don't have access to a car, it is serviced by public transportation. However, you will need to take both a train and bus to get there. 

You are never more than a few blocks from the water. City Island is quite small - at 252 acres, it is only 1/3 the size of central park with 4520 residents. It is accessible to the Bronx mainland via the City Island Bridge. As would be expected, everything is defined by the ever present water - fishing, boating, shops with a maritime focus or the Nautical Museum. We spent a pleasant time with proprietor and long time resident John at Trader John (upper photo), 239 City Island Avenue, which specializes in new, used and antique marine and nautical supplies.

Seafood and seafood restaurants are abundant. We chose Tony's Pier Restaurant at one end of the island (1 City Island Avenue) - a fast food styled place on the water (across the street from Johnny's Famous Reef Restaurant.) We ate our food to the sounds of the ocean and a huge population of seagulls. See my gallery of island photos here.

I find a comfort and restorative experience being at the ocean. Instinctually we all recognize its constancy and tremendous power - surrender to it and in that surrender find comfort. Like being in the hands of a vigilant, caring doctor ...

Rosenwach Wood Tanks

On my recent visit to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, while circumambulating the neighborhood, a sign jumped out from the corner of my eye: Rosenwach Wood Tanks. I realized that this must be the very same manufacturer of wooden water tanks I wrote about in a story Tank Worship, one of only two companies in New York City that manufactures wood water tanks - see the September 15, 2006 article here.
I nearly shrieked to my companion who was driving and asked to please indulge me, circle the block so that I might be able to verify it this was the place, and if so, I could perhaps go inside and do some photography.
'Twas done in a jiffy, however, upon arrival at the Wythe Avenue entrance, something looked amiss. Charred, blackened wood was everywhere and areas were secured with safety tape. Yes, a man confirmed that this was that company. However, coincidentally, I had arrived only some days after a major fire. The two-alarm fire occurred on the 4th of July - the Fire Department of New York said the cause of the fire was illegal fireworks. The gentleman in the yard said I was welcome to return at a later date, get a tour and do some photography. However, at that time, fire marshalls were everywhere and it was not the time for a factory tour and photo shoot.
This location at 87 North 9th Street at Wythe Avenue, a former stable, is the wood mill for the company where the planks are prepared using equipment dating back to the 1930s. The tanks themselves are assembled at the customer location.
Rosenwach Tank was started on the Lower East Side in 1866 by barrel maker William Dalton. In 1894, Dalton hired Polish immigrant Harris Rosenwach - the company is currently under the watch of fourth-generation business owner Andy Rosenwach.
I am looking forward to going back and touring the place when the dust clears ...

Roots of Pizza

The variations in the human food palate is remarkable. I perused the 241 reviews on John's Pizzeria at the Yelp.com website which ranged from 1 to 5 stars. You will find every permutation of good, mediocre and bad for both service and food. If you don't agree with any given reviews, you could dismiss them as being written by people who have limited experience with pizza or have not tasted better. However, a closer examination of the reviewers will reveal many long time NYC pizza aficionados who actually have sampled the wares from iconic places like DiFara's, Lombardi's, Grimaldi's, Totonno's or Nunzio.
One problem with a place like John's that makes such a large volume of pizza and serves so many people, is that it is possible to have genuinely different experiences either with the food or service. Combine an off night for both with high expectations and the range of reviews become more understandable.
John's Pizzeria, at 278 Bleecker Street in the West Village, was started in 1929 by John Sasso. Current proprietor Bob Vittoria, is a relative of the original owner. John's is one of the few pizzerias in New York City to use a coal-fired brick oven, introduced to the city by Gennaro Lombardi. Anthracite coal is still shoveled daily from the basement to pizzeria's oven. A coal oven can reach temperatures in excess of 800 degrees F. John's is a thin, crispy crust. According to an article in The Villager:

Vittoria attributes the restaurant’s steadfast popularity to the special brick oven that reaches over 800 degrees and crisps the homemade crust to perfection, and the fresh, high-quality meats, produce and cheese. He buys his meat from down the street at Faicco’s Pork Store, open since 1927 at 260 Bleecker St.

You will never get a consensus on a place like this - pizza is one of the most contentious food subjects in New York City. Like sushi, every one seems to have a favorite or know the best place. The styles and ingredients vary substantially - very cheesy, thinner or thicker crusts, crispy or chewy, oily or dry, ovens used, classic red sauce, white sauce, and non-traditional styles with toppings like pesto.
I had not been to John's in many many years. My recollection was that I had found it overrated and somewhat disappointing. Since that time, I have primarily frequented places that serve gourmet or non-traditional styles like that of Two Boots or Ray's on Prince Street. On my recent visit to John's, however, I found the classic red sauce a refreshing change. Like going back to the roots of pizza ...

Note: John's virtually always has huge lines, although they do more fairly quickly. They do not serve slices (only whole pies) and do not take credit cards.

More Photos - See Here.

Williamsburg

If you live in New York City, Williamsburg, Brooklyn and its resurgence as a vibrant community, comes as no secret. The press/media as well as its readers, love stories about the next SoHo, the Next Neighborhood, the American version of Le Marais and other analogies intended to drive sales of newspapers, magazines and real estate properties. 

Many changing neighborhoods have been over-hyped, later to miss the mark on the predicted trajectory. Williamsburg, however, appears to living up to its expectations. Domination of conversation about these new burgeoning neighborhoods should not be interpreted to mean that prime real estate in New York City's finest neighborhoods are now out of favor and can be had for a pittance. There's just little excitement and buzz about neighborhoods whose future have long been a fait accompli and where prices are now stratospheric. Everyone is looking for the next new place.

It would be difficult to overstate Williamsburg's importance - its history is quite remarkable. The neighborhood was once home to Corning Glass, Pfizer Pharmaceutical, Esquire Shoe Polish and the iconic Domino Sugar factory. 

From 1827 to 1855, Williamsburgh became its own incorporated town/village/city, later annexed into the city of Brooklyn. It was home to mansions owned by Vanderbuit, Fisk and James Pratt who founded Pratt Institute. The area became an American industrial powerhouse and at one time in the 19th century it had 10 percent of the wealth in the United States. This is an enormous subject - read more here.

The area is also very ethnically diverse with many groups including hispanic, Italian and Hasidic Jews - over 70,000 Satmar Hasidic Jews live in Williamsburg.

Since the 1970s, as rents escalated in SoHo and the East Village, Williamsburg became a magnet for a growing community of artists and musicians. The trend has continued but as to be expected, the cost of real estate has forced those shopping for less expensive alternatives to look further afield. According to a New York Times article, Old Europe and New Brooklyn in Williamsburg, there has been an enormous influx of Europeans to the neighborhood with shops to service their needs.

One feature of the neighborhood has always been convenience - Bedford Avenue (the heart of the area) is only one subway stop from Manhattan. However it should be noted that this stop is serviced by the L train which only travels crosstown on 14th Street in Manhattan.

There is a enormous number of shops, clubs, cafes, restaurants and galleries catering to the wave of newcomers in the last few decades. To anyone unfamiliar with this neighborhood, I would highly recommend a visit to Williamsburg ...

The Conductor

Meet Benjamen Denham, conductor. This man has, for 11 years, shown up in Washington Square Park and silently conducted many planned and unplanned musical gatherings. However, he is in fact conducting no one. Because Mr. Denham, armed with two drinking straws with paper intact, conducts for his own enjoyment.

This man has been an enigma for as long as he has been frequenting the park. Seen as extremely eccentric but quite benign, he is largely ignored as are many other unusual characters in this city. He, like others, just becomes part of the tapestry of New York City, woven from some individuals from every walk of life imaginable. Upon meeting and conversing with people over the years, I have found that many are extremely remarkable and I have been pleasantly shocked more often than I have had any misgivings confirmed. 

I have met so many individuals in this city with extraordinary backgrounds and histories both past and present disguised as ordinary mortals - editors of prestigious magazines, internationally known musicians, academics with degrees from Ivy League schools, engineers with multiple degrees, attorneys (one who  argued a case in the U.S. Supreme Court), grads from Wharton School, scientists, politicians in NYC government, prominent real estate developers, actors and former corporate execs.

In the 1970s I met a man who had left a position as mechanical engineer for Farberware to work in a leather shop on Bleecker Street. Why? To escape the rat race and "let his hair down." Although less true now that the Village has severely gentrified, this was at one time the reason that many ended up in Greenwich Village after a productive career. 

Rumor had it that any attempts to engage our conductor Benjamen in conversation was met with indifference - apparently no one had ever had any substantial conversation with him in all the years he frequented the park. When I decided to approach him, for some inexplicable reason, he was quite forthcoming. We spoke for some time - he seemed eager to share details of his life. 

I learned that he loved music and he felt he could learn any instrument easily. He said he wanted to author 100 books and showed me a notebook filled with coupons and rebate offers - his current project is a book on the subject. When asked if he had ever had a story done about him, he said there was and showed me an old article from the New Haven Register, which I did not have the opportunity to read. Regarding his livelihood, he told me he had operated 13 shops in his lifetime, each one ending in bankruptcy - he attributed his 13 failures to various cyclical recessions. He currently lives in Brooklyn, New York. Upon returning to my seat, I was greeted with excitement by others who saw the conversation as a watershed event.

Our little girl in the photo was accompanying a group of musicians that Ben was conducting. When on a break, she at times looked at her mother for approval and at other times shared our wonderment with The Conductor :)

Mad as Hell, Part 2

(See Part 1 here)

Life does imitate art - the end of this story was remarkably like the classic scene in the Academy Award winning 1976 film Network, where news anchor Howard Beale is so angry, he persuades TV viewers across the nation to stick their heads out of a window and scream "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not gonna take this anymore!" If you are not familiar with it, I suggest you see it here before you continue this story.

Trust me when I tell you that in all the decades I have lived in this city, I have seen many hostile interventions during street performers' acts. Very belligerent heckling, some nearly stopping the show. But I have never seen anything like this.

An older woman appeared with her dog in tow and stood prominently in the center of the group and began screaming SHUT UP repeatedly to the audience and the singers. The group, not to be upstaged, continued singing.

This woman was SCREAMING at the top of her lungs - shrieking, clenching her fists and shaking. I was genuinely concerned that she would have a heart attack and that her next battle with noise would be with an ambulance siren.

She would not stop, and when audience members began responding that they were enjoying a quality performance, she screamed - "Take them home with you." She vehemently stated that she was a neighborhood resident living across the street, facing the area where the singers and crowd were located. She further claimed they had been singing for at least 6 hours per day for three days in a row and she was at wits end - apparently she was mad as hell and was not gonna take it anymore.

After some time, one of the singers apologized to her and the audience, stating that her wishes should be respected. Another one of the singers told her to calm down and assured her, "you win".

I spoke for a short time to this woman. I expressed my understanding of the dilemma and told her that I also was a long time neighborhood resident living over a park and have had my own issues with noise. I, along with others, pointed out that this is New York City. Worse, it was Greenwich Village on Bleecker Street. If she lived on the Upper East Side on a side street, I am sure she would have the quiet enjoyment she is entitled to. But this is Greenwich Village and I would guess she chose this neighborhood for its iconoclastic nature - with that comes a price. It is a mecca for culture, the arts and entertainment with clubs, restaurants, theaters, galleries, shops and plenty of street life. This environment will attract both tourists and performers.

There is also a lot of noise and a greater tolerance by all including the police. I asked if she ever called the police. She said she had and nothing happens. My own personal solution is to plan around noisy events - i often will just leave my home. Principle and rights are one thing, but City Hall opens on Monday morning, and this is Saturday night. Accuse me of resignation or being a man unwilling to fight for his rights. I'm a pragmatist, and being mad as hell will get me nowhere.

Mad as Hell, Part 1

Occasionally you can have it all and Sunday was one of those days - perfect weather, a dinner better than expected (with no line where there usually is one) and then free, first class entertainment on the street on a summer evening. Spontaneous and varied street life is one of the perks of living in New York City and what many visitors have heard about and anticipate in their meanderings around the streets. Clear evidence that You're Not in Kansas anymore.

The group of singers in today's photo, calling themselves Select Blendz, was performing on Bleecker Street, accompanied by one acoustic guitarist. The songs were primarily 50s, 60s, doo-wop and soul - all classics immediately recognized by the audience. Little encouragement was needed for any type of audience participation, whether rhythmic clapping or singing choruses. The crowd flowed off the sidewalk into the heavily trafficked thoroughfare. The vibe was absolutely infectious and there literally was dancing in the street.

At one point, one of the singers took a highly animated woman for a dance - see here. Others were moved to shake, rattle and roll. The tip bucket was brimming with bills - I saw one five dollar and even a $20 dollar tip being given. If the public votes with its dollars, these guys were clearly the consumer's choice.

I couldn't help thinking about a juice bar I used to frequent on my way to the office on Houston Street called Lucky's. A place just brimming with youthful enthusiasm, positive feelings and a great affirmation scrawled on a chalkboard above the menu items which explained the name of the store: Lucky to be Alive.

But not every story has a happy ending and there was rain on this parade - stay tuned tomorrow when I explain why in the second and final shocking episode of this real life mini soap opera, someone is Mad as Hell ...

Big Bang

I had not been to a Fourth of July celebration in New York City for many, many years, generally opting for seeing them on TV. This year, however, I was with a friend who had never been to a live fireworks display at all, so it seemed criminal not to take a short stroll to the river and let her witness the Big Bang, New York City style. The display, sponsored by Macy's since 1958, was originally over the Hudson River. Since 1976, Macy's fireworks became a tradition over the East River. This year's display was back over the Hudson and better than ever. The display lasted 26 minutes, with 40,000 shells fired from six barges, located opposite 23rd to 50th Streets in Manhattan, where the West Side Highway was closed to pedestrians for the event. A Hudson River display also affords views from New Jersey, with the added eye candy of the Manhattan skyline as backdrop.

However, getting a viewing location was not as leisurely as one would hope. Police barricades restricted entry to just a handful of crosstown streets - frustrated crowds were directed to streets which in turn had also been closed. We paced up and down 10th Avenue to find entry to the West Side Highway, at last getting in at 24th Street. After a little jockeying for a good position for viewing/photography, we settled in for a spectacular display, on time as always. At the conclusion, traffic was snarled beyond belief - masochism by auto. I recommend seeing the NYC Independence Day fireworks in person, however the only way it makes sense to see any event of this size is by using a combination of subways and walking ... 

Brooklyn Heights

What is more inviting than a neighborhood with street names like Orange, Pineapple, Cranberry, Willow, Poplar, Grace Court, Garden Place or Love Lane? Brooklyn Heights is truly a special enclave, buffered from the world on 4 sides by the Brooklyn Bridge to the North, Cadman Plaza to the East, Atlantic Avenue to the South and the promenade/esplanade abutting the East River to the West. The promenade is a huge feature here and one that has brought me back many times. Flanking the entire length of the neighborhood, it affords magnificent views of Manhattan, the East River, the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan Bridge. Both daytime and nighttime views are worth a trip. See more photos here.

This is New York City's first historic district, established in 1965 - a product of opposition to a Robert Moses plan to run the Brooklyn Queens Expressway through the center of the neighborhood. The rerouting of the expressway to the Western edge of the neighborhood (which sits on a bluff), permitted the building of the esplanade. The neighborhood has virtually no tall buildings and is characterized by blocks of row houses of Federal, Greek Revival, Gothic Revival, Italianate brownstones and some mansions.

Brooklyn Heights has also been known for its stable of renowned writers who have lived there - Truman Capote, Norman Mailer, Hart Crane, Andrea Dworkin, Arthur Miller, Walt Whitman and Thomas Wolfe. 

Genteel, pristine, picturesque, bucolic, charming - hard to imagine that this area was considered somewhat unsafe and undesirable at one time.

There is essentially no through traffic in the neighborhood, so it is extremely quiet and peaceful. Street scenes as shown in my photos typify day to day life here. Yet, it is incredibly convenient location - one subway stop from Manhattan and immediate access to bridges or the expressway. As you most likely guessed, inexpensive is not one of the features here :)

i'm lovin' it

I thought I had a very special photo opportunity when I caught this squirrel enjoying a french fry. Upon reflection, however, it occurred to me that this my observation might not be a particularly unique phenomenon, New York City or otherwise. A little searching turned up other photos on Flickr and videos on YouTube.

Everything about this city conspires to make it a haven for scavengers. The population density along with the waste so conveniently available makes it a veritable smorgasbord for those creatures who find the city hospitable. It is estimated that there are more rats than people in New York. 

Squirrels are a curious phenomenon. As rodents, they share a family (technically an Order) with rats and mice but are looked on more fondly. They scavenge but yet are still fed, watched and even doted over. The attraction is understandable - they are not as furtive in their behavior - they don't slink through the darkness of subways. And, they are arguably much more attractive than other rodents - many would say beautiful. I'm not sure why, but I see many visitors to the city stop and interact with squirrels with a look of extreme fascination - I'm not sure whether it is the relative rarity of squirrels in their home locale or perhaps the emboldened character of a city squirrel and how easily and closely they can be approached.

I've looked over the list of slogans used by McDonalds over the years, beginning in 1961, to see what might be an adequate caption for this photo if the golden arches were to use it for their advertising. How about their 2003 slogan based on Justin Timberlake's song - "i'm lovin' it" ?

Entombed

Either you wear shoes without socks or you don't. We had quite a discussion about this in my office. Some fine the prospect disgusting, others love it. I enjoyed reading a long forum online where opinions ranged the gamut. There is not only the practical/convenience issue of wearing no socks, but the no sock look is also seen favorably as a style.

I am not talking about sandals or flip-flops - there we have aeration and more likely candidates for hand cleaning. I am talking about regular closed shoes, including deck shoes or top siders. The blackened soles of your feet from the accumulation of soot and grime after a good day's walk sockless in New York City should be a clear warning.

There are many solutions - for those who prefer to go au naturel - Odor Eaters and foot powder. There are other options. For the style driven, no-show or low rise socks are available. 

But the habits of the wearer are all unknowns with someone else's shoes - buying used shoes in New York City requires some thought and a reputable dealer.  

East Village Shoe Repair is located at 1 St. Marks Place. This tiny place, crammed with goods, has been a cobbler’s shop since 1985. Boris Zuborev took it over with his nephew, Eugene Finkelberg, 14 years ago. Both hail from Belarus. They sell used footwear, customize sneakers and make shoes. From an article in The Villager: 

They also make cowboy boots, sandals and high heels. They’ll dye your pumps hot pink, spray-paint pictures on your sneakers or raise your heels up 17 inches. In the ’90s, one could witness Zuborev’s creations on the feet of certain well-known musicians and dancers. In his platform shoes, clubbers he designed for rose above others.

It’s a hole in the wall, the place itself showing little evidence of fine design. The yellow awning has been spray-painted green and white, and signs hang by old shoelaces. Graffiti surrounds the door. Industrial metal shelving stuffed with thick-soled boots, multicolored pumps, sneakers and roughed-up ballet slippers obscures the entrance.

The place gets rave reviews from customers who have purchased shoes or had customizations or repairs done. Perhaps one day I will try them for repair. I have purchased used/vintage clothing before, but as far as buying used shoes go, I'll pass for now. I can't help but think about the perspiration which may be entombed :)