Jump's Ghost Signs

Frank Jump has been photographing and collecting the ghost signs of New York City since 1997. Most recently, he published many of his photos, along with essays, in the excellent book Fading Ads of New York City. This Sunday, March 18, he leads a walking tour of the ghost signs of Greenpoint, Brooklyn, beginning with a talk at Word bookstore.

I asked Frank some questions about his work and the upcoming tour.


Frank Jump

What are some of the highlights people can expect on the ghost sign tour of Greenpoint?

The Greenpoint gem will always be Syrup of Figs. Once painted over, as the paint that covers it chips away, this fading ad just keeps getting better. I need to scope out some of the route because some that I think are there may no longer be there. There is a great corset ad on Manhattan Avenue and an old depot sign on the back of someone's apartment on Nassau. Flushing Avenue going down into Williamsburg has a few treasures from the not too distant past, as is with the Ko-rec-type ad.

We can also see if the Public Baths is still there on Huron. Miss Heather will be there too, hopefully, and she will be a treasure-trove of trivia for the Greenpoint environs. Great graffiti near the northern tip of Manhattan Avenue near Newtown Creek.

What would you say makes Syrup of Figs the gem that it is?

The black paint that once covered it is slowly peeling away and it is like a reverse fading ad. It is a one of a kind. Castoria ads were abundant but this one advertises an obscure brand and still lives on. The brand, however, does not.


Frank Jump

What NYC ghost signs have you been wanting to photograph, but have been unable to?

Just recently a sign was uncovered in Middle Village Queens and because I was just hit by a car on my motorcycle, I couldn't get to it and it was covered within days. Was always wondering if the Weber & Heilbroner sign is still hiding behind one of those stretchy ads.

I would like to take another trip though the Bronx (where there is a multitude of ads) during the winter when the foliage isn't obscuring your views, as well as Staten Island which seems to be at a deficit for ads.

On an emotional level, what feelings go through you when you see something like a giant flip-flop being painted over a beloved ghost sign?

On one level, I am annoyed that other airspace was not considered. With all of the available airspace in Soho, why not use another location? Since this is a prime airspace and the landmarks rules don't apply, you can't stand in the way of progress. Be that as it may, on another level, I rationalize that 1) the paint that covers the vintage ad is made of plastic and will eventually peel, and 2) the long tradition of hand-painted ads on brick continues through Colossal Media's talented team of designers and artists.


my flickr

Finally, what's your favorite NYC ghost sign of all time? What's the vanished ghost sign you miss the most? What ghost sign do you worry most will vanish soon?

Favorite: M. Rappoport's Music. Favorite vanished: Reckitt's Blue. And it would be a shame if Suzy Perette got covered.

Century-Old Ghost Sign Revealed

With the demolition of the Mayfair building, we also lost the Pig 'N Whistle Pub on West 47th Street (since 1969). Its whole little building has come down. With those bricks gone, a pristine ghost sign has been revealed on the side of Night Hotel.



Photographer Aylon Samson spotted the sign and sent in the above shot. While the top part is painted over, it clearly says: "ROOMS $1.00" and "WITH BATH $1.50."

A little digging shows that the building that bears the sign was Hotel Longacre. Opened in 1904, it was a stag hotel. In its advertising, it boasted being "exclusively bachelor" and "absolutely fireproof," with amenities like a library, billiard hall, and restaurant.

The prices are those posted on the sign.


1912 advertisement

On the hotel's postcard from the year 1910 is the motto: "A Room and a Bath a Dollar and a half."



Clearly, the ghost sign belongs to the hotel. The exact date of the sign is not so easy to determine. In the postcard image and other photos, we see that the Longacre had a small brick companion already by 1910. The townhouse was set back from the hotel, leaving an open strip of brick onto which a sign could be painted -- but wasn't yet.

The demolished Pig 'N Whistle building came further forward than the townhouse. Its facade stood even with the hotel's, thus covering the ghost sign that must have been painted sometime after the 1910 photo.



Either the townhouse was demolished and replaced, or it was added onto and expanded--in the outline on the hotel, you can see the lighter space where the original townhouse stood. When that happened, I can't figure. But with the sign's prices the same as advertised in 1910, I'm going to guess it's about 100 years old.

It will soon be covered up by a glass monstrosity, buried once more, for another hundred years or longer. Enjoy it while it lasts.

*UPDATE: Aylon just sent in another shot, this one with the hotel's name clearly spelled out, plus -- LUNCH 40 cents and DINNER 65 cents:


Aylon Samson

Ghost Sign Gone

You may recall, back in 2008 or 2009, a building on 8th Avenue between 46th and 47th came down and revealed a fantastic ghost sign.

Rooms with steam heat, housekeeping, hot and cold water. Superimposed over a cigar box. A beauty.



Then another building came down, and a new building went up, the Hotel RIU Plaza. The tower was set back far enough that it did not cover the ghost sign.

Still, how long could it last? Would the powers that be really let the sacred tourists look out from their gleaming windows of the RIU Plaza at a gorgeously scuzzy antique like this?

No.



On a recent visit to Times Square, I found the ghost sign has been wiped out. Buffed. Whitewashed. Destroyed beneath a thick coat of gray paint.

Gone.



In this city, nothing old is allowed to stay.

Ghost Sign & Eagle's Nest

New York State Senator Brad Hoylman sent in a photo of a ghost sign recently revealed after a demolition on 11th Avenue and 21st Street:



Frank Jump at the Fading Ad Blog spotted it, too. He did some research and connected the sign to the Berger Manufacturing Company, specializing in "artistic designs in metal ceilings."

So what building was demolished to reveal the sign?



It was 547 West 21st Street--former home of the Eagle's Nest, the gay leather bar that opened just after Stonewall and closed in 2000. Prior, the Eagle's Nest had been a longshoreman's bar called the Eagle Open Kitchen from 1931-1970.

In 2010, the long abandoned bar became a temporary art gallery. Its beautifully decorative pressed-tin ceilings were on full display there, and at the high-end furniture shop it later became. Who knows, maybe the artistic metal ceilings were made by the Berger Manufacturing Company.



The building was also home to several artist studios.

The site sold for $32 million and its space will yield a 19-story residential tower with luxury retail. It will, most likely, cover up that ghost sign once again.




possible design, from WiredNY


Previously:
Men in Leather
Eagle's Nest
Eagle's Nest Update

Ghost Sign Gone

Neon expert Thomas Rinaldi brings news that the Necchi Sewing Machine ghost sign has vanished from 25th Street and 7th Avenue.


photo: Walter Grutchfield's 14 to 42

It stood high above Chelsea since 1951, the words "world's finest" and the image of a sewing machine fading over the years. (See also Frank Jump's close-up shot.)

The excellent site 14 to 42 has a little bit of info about it and the Necchi company, with a link to this original layout of the sign by the Mack Sign Company:



What is on the wall now? Mr. Rinaldi snapped this shot of an ad for Amstel Light. Will it still be here, a faded and ghostly reminder of a lost city, 60 years from now?

Ghost Signs & Essex St. Market

Ghost Signs are those old painted advertisements that you see here and there, high up on brick walls across the city. As new buildings rise to fill the available air space, these vestiges of the former city are disappearing behind walls of glass and steel, if the bricks aren't demolished outright.



We lost Seely Shoulder Shapes when the block between 40th and 41st on 8th came down for the Times tower. Griffon Shears has been partially obscured by a condo in Chelsea. The other day I passed this Baby Ruth ghost sign (circa 1930) over a construction site on Delancey. We can predict that by year's end this sign from the past will be concealed from view.

I also "discovered" a couple of vintage signs, right in the Essex Street Market. Schapiro's has been on the LES since 1899 and this little stall is their last remaining toehold in the neighborhood. Their jingle (in Yiddish) proclaims a wine so thick you can cut it with a knife. Ruhalter's has been in the area since the 1920s and great-grandson Jeffrey still cuts the meat.





Finally, a visit to the market's abandoned other half for the eerie funhouse-style installation by artist Mike Nelson revealed an old neon sign high up by the ceiling. This installation was a treat to walk through and it's a good opportunity to visit city-owned Building D before it may be turned into someone else's vision of prosperity.

Tomb of Delphi

In 2007, the Delphi Restaurant, on the corner of West Broadway and Reade, closed after 37 years. Wrote the New York Sun, "The restaurant is closing because of a clause in its 12-year old lease that would increase the rent to$55,000 a month starting November 1, up from its current $11,000." Said one of Delphi's long-time waitresses, "It's not about what the neighbors or the community wants."

In an area Zagat calls "Bouleyville" for its proliferation of restaurants owned by the same celebu-chef, David Bouley was then planning to open an "upscale Japanese-themed restaurant called Brushstrokes" in the Delphi space. That was two years ago. A liquor license battle ensued, fierce enough for Bouley to call it a "witch hunt." The Delphi waitress may have been right, but Bouley won the fight in March 2008.



Today, the building looks gutted and ready for demolition, marked by a big red X.

Through the end of 2008, the Department of Buildings shows complaints about after-hours work being done against a stop work order and "site conditions endangering workers."



This is a landmark building. The blog Haute Notes wrote extensively on its history, which dates back to 1860: "By the time of the First World War, photos show fine etched-glass entry doors and a sweeping canopy sheltering Vogric's Café. Its Slovenian owner advertised the Knickerbocker beers and ales brewed in Manhattan by Colonel Jacob Ruppert."



Most curious are the seeming ghost signs on the facade, which show a giant hand holding a paint brush and the words: "Brush Up Business with Paint, Paste, Paper, & Push." (Here, "push" means to sell, writes ForgottenNY.)

Frank Jump, in his excellent ghost sign blog, dates the signage to the 1910s. But Haute Notes writes, "the signs don't appear in any of the historic photos, even those from the 1940s."

Was the ghost sign somehow uncovered? Or was it put there later on, maybe for a 1970s movie, and made to look like the 1910s?



As a 2003 Downtown Express put it: "Whenever a trendy new bistro opens up, or a chain spreads its wings and expands into occupied territory, I imagine the neighborhood’s longstanding restaurants must brace themselves for the competition that comes along with gentrification... however, Delphi has held its own for many years, defiantly refusing to be intimidated by the influx of new options for hungry Tribecans."

West Street Vintage

After the heartbreaking loss of the Market Diner, we're about to lose yet another vintage diner for yet another massive luxury development.



Over on the West Side Highway, between Clarkson and Leroy Streets, there is--and was--a block of low-rise buildings, a wonderfully crummy vestige of pre-glitz New York City. There was a car wash, a company that specialized in structural steel fasteners, an autobody shop, and a former old-school adult entertainment joint.

In between stands a chrome and lime-green Kullman diner that dates back to the 1940s or '50s. It was the Terminal Diner, the Lunchbox Diner, and a few other places before it shuttered in 2006.

This past weekend, a green wall of plywood was erected around the block-long site, readying it all for demolition and the construction of 357 West Street, an undulating luxury condo tower from Ian Schrager.



While the coming of the condo development has made news, no one seems to have mentioned the little Kullman diner--and its apparently impending demise.

Behind the new plywood is a wall of older plywood that concealed the diner a year or so ago. Maybe people just forgot it was there. But it remains.


2013

I took some photos of it in 2013. It was forlorn, covered in graffiti, its interior ruined, but still lovely in its unique green, black, and chrome stripes.

Someone had created a guerrilla art installation, propping wig heads on metal rods and sticking them through the diner's side windows.


2013

At that time, the corner spot was still Westworld and West Side. I visited one night to find a oasis of sleaze. Inside a tiny theater, rows of folding chairs faced a small stage. Male dancers stripped and gyrated, their skin smelling of baby powder, shimmering with oil and glitter.


2013

Westworld had started out as Westway, opened in 1978. An advertisement in the Village Voice read: "Come cruise along the West Side Highway... among the trucks and gay bars..."

By 1980 it was Westworld--and the ads shouted, "FANTASTY ROOM! PEEP ROOM! HOLES!"



It became a reincarnated Westway in 2011, this time as a nightclub featuring the Westgay party. It closed this summer when Schrager took over the property.

The car wash has already been totally demolished. The autobody shop has moved to Brooklyn.


2013

There's also an old brick building with a ghost sign across the front of it, up near the cornice. The only word clearly legible is "Engineers."


today

But a quick search turned up a 1912 advertisement in International Marine Engineering for Katzenstein's Metallic Packings. "General Machinists' and Engineers' Supplies," is what the ghost sign says, from back in the day when the waterfront was a working waterfront, for shipbuilders and seamen.



So much history in this little block, and all remnants of it will be wiped away in one fell swoop. Still, it's the loss of the little Kullman diner that we'll sorely regret. Can't anyone save it before it's too late? Ian Schrager? Be the good guy who moves this diner someplace safe. What a beauty it was--and could be again.


via NYC architecture

Ghost Sign on Grand

Photographer Neil Murphy takes before-and-after pics of the city for his Time Machine blog. He hasn't added to the blog recently, but he shares this before-and-after with us.


©1985 by Neil J Murphy

A multiple ghost sign on a brick wall on Grand Street reveals layers of the past--Coca-Cola, Duckett and Adler (Neil informs us, "who were commercial photographers at 60 Grand Street"), and the Wintergarden theater. (Walter Grutchfield has more.)

Today, most of the mystery has been covered up in color.


©2012 by Neil J Murphy

Under Doro's

In 2013, Doro's Annex closed after 33 years of arranging flowers in Chelsea. Recently, the awning came down, revealing some antique signage.

Reader Mike Glicksman sends in these gorgeous shots:



"PAINTS, OILS, GLASS, VARNISH &c &c" reads the very old ghost sign.

The style looks like cousin to the ghost sign of the Utah House, discovered beneath Kyung's market, dating back at least to the 1870s. Experts and historians, please weigh in.

Frank's Last Place

For quite some time there has been a Building For Sale sign on 791 Broadway, a nondescript khaki-colored tenement just below Union Square. The sign recently came down. I fear the building might be next.



Passersby might notice the building for its more interesting signage, gold letters that spell out United Orthopaedic Appliances, Co., Inc., Est. 1907. It reminds me of the type of business you might find in the New York City dreamed up by Ben Katchor, a world filled with accordion strap factories, shoe tree manufacturers, and rebuilders of malted mixers. After a hundred years of fabricating and fitting prosthetic devices, United moved out of 791 and was acquired by another company.



But 791 has another claim to fame. It was the last home of New York City's unofficial poet laureate Frank O'Hara.


Frank at 791 Broadway in 1963

According to O'Hara's biographer Brad Gooch, Frank moved here in 1963, into a floor-through loft for which he paid $150 a month. Gooch writes, "'It was quite grand and kind of Uptown,' says Patsy Southgate of the clean and roach-free space divided into two good-sized bedrooms at opposite ends of a large livingroom with two fireplaces and a shower." The walls were covered with paintings by Frank's friends--Alex Katz, Fairfield Porter, deKooning, Frankenthaler.

The building became an almost communal haven for artists. Elaine deKooning had a studio above the orthopedic shop, and the top floors held dancers and sculptors. Frank threw parties here, with John Ashbery, Kenneth Koch, and many others. When he wasn't socializing, he watched westerns on his black-and-white TV and wrote poems, but only occasionally. Mostly, at 791 Broadway, Frank O'Hara drank. The contents of his refrigerator, says Gooch, had been "winnowed down to a bottle of vodka, a bottle of vermouth, and some olives for martinis."

At this time, his poems began to publish in earnest. It would have been to this address that copies of Lunch Poems were sent from City Lights. And it would have been here, on a muggy Friday morning, that he packed a bag for a weekend in Fire Island where he met his death under the wheels of a beach taxi.


At 791 in 1964, by Mario Schifano

Now that the For Sale sign has come down from 791, a new sign has appeared: KEEP OUT-- BAITED AREA. This is always a bad sign for a building. It usually means the place is coming down. While I can't find a demolition permit online, the windows, bare and abandoned looking, also seem to indicate that no one is home and they're not coming back.



When the building is gone, will Frank's ghost remain? A languid figure on the sofa, the racket of TV gunfire in the room, smoking a Gauloise and writing:

the country is no good for us
there’s nothing
to bump into
or fall apart glassily
there’s not enough
poured concrete
and brassy
reflections
the wind now takes me to
The Narrows
and I see it rising there
New York
greater than the Rocky Mountains

10th and Greenwich

The city changes, and has often changed in mainly stable ways. Sometimes, a single address tells the story. When we look at the northeast corner of 10th Street and Greenwich Avenue, we can see over a century of simple shifts, ending with an explosion, not just of fire.


NYPL, 1933, the Cushman Bakery

A Cushman Bakery stood here once. It was the original bakery in a local chain started in 1854 by Mr. Horatio Benzil Cushman. He died in 1918, but this shop stayed awhile longer.

So was said, "there is not a customer who can move to any part of New York proper and not see a Cushman bakery wagon pass his door." About those wagons, a commenter at Serious Eats recalls "putting a card in the window on days when we could actually afford to buy dessert from Cushman's Bakery--which went door-to-door."


NYPL, 1941, Antiques Shop

By 1941, the bakery was gone and an antiques shop had taken its place.

In the background, on 6th Avenue, we can see a brick wall had been painted with a sign for real estate broker Emil Talamini. The paint is new. The broker's telephone number is Algonguin 4-1817.


Robert Otter, 1964, Sutter's Bakery

Then the three-story building came down. A tower did not take its place, but rather a little one-story brick box. In 1948, it became the home of another neighborhood bakery--Sutter's--which had moved here from Bleecker. That beloved place shuttered in 1976 when the rent took a major jump. (Read more here.)

The paint on the Emil Talamini's 6th Avenue sign began to fade. The broker himself passed away in 1970.

I don't know what stood here in the 1980s. Sometime around 1990, the Village Paper stationery store moved in to the spot. It also became a beloved small business. Then, in February 2010, the store exploded into a two-alarm fire. The owner, Sun Wong, could not rebuild and the place has sat vacant since.


Google streetview

Immediately, bar and restaurant owners began fighting over the corpse. For awhile, the top contender was Bobo, an upscale restaurant that hosts parties with glittery masks and inspires Yelpers to say: "Prices are a little high, if i made as much money as my friends with financial and consulting salaries I feel like this would be a normal brunch place and a great bar to hang out at later in the night."

But Bobo has dropped out of the race and Keith McNally now holds the lease. He recently presented his plans to turn this spot into a Pulino's Cafe--but a group of locals opposed him with concerns about crowding, noise from open windows, and too many liquor licenses.



The New York Times called the Bowery Pulino's "insanely crowded" and talked a bit about how McNally's many restaurants "have introduced or enhanced neighborhoods all over downtown: Pravda and Balthazar in SoHo, Pastis in the then-quiet meatpacking district, Schiller’s on the Lower East Side, Morandi and Minetta Tavern in the West Village."

For over a century, the corner of 10th and Greenwich has been a quiet spot. Locals bought their bread here. They browsed for antiques. Saved their pennies for a cookie. They shopped for greeting cards and Halloween masks. How might Pulino's Cafe enhance it now? Some neighbors are saying "No McNally" in graffiti on the site.


my flickr

Meanwhile, in the background, that crusty overseer of change for 70 years, Mr. Talamini's advertisement continues to vanish into a ghost sign. I keep waiting for it to be painted over with a billboard for Coach or Juicy Couture. Because that's the way it goes. Today, when the city changes, it makes big, luxurious leaps, not small, restrained ones.