Paris and Beekman

VANISHED

The Paris Theater, along with the Beekman 1 & 2, has shuttered after a combined 111 years of life.



In June we heard the Paris might be closing. Then in July, I was told by employees and management that it was definitely not closing and the news was just rumor. I was not convinced and wrote, "As with all rumors and denials, take it as a warning. Go, enjoy the Paris, enjoy the movie. Because you really never know when it will be your last time."

Yesterday, tipster Dan Braun alerted me via Twitter that both theaters have gone missing from the City Cinemas website. The Paris Theater page goes to Page Not Found. Their telephone message about showtimes extends only until August 15. No one's answering the phone at the Beekman either.

After some further digging, Joe Wagner on Instagram has posted the goodbye note from the Paris:



Dan Braun says, "Both buildings which house the Paris and the Beekman 1 & 2 share the same landlord, Sheldon Solow. He might have decided he simply no longer wanted movie theatres as tenants. City Cinemas’s lease on the Paris is scheduled to end this month."

From a look at the comments at Cinema Treasures, it sounds like City Cinemas had 10-year leases for both sites--and those were not renewed. As I've noted on this blog many times, there are no protections for thriving businesses that want to stay put. No Small Business Jobs Survival Act. No commercial rent control. Nothing.

Meanwhile, Mr. Solow is doing alright. Forbes has him worth $5.2 billion. This is not the first time the Paris has shuttered due to a lease. Back in 1990, the theater closed. The Paris' managing director at the time told the Times, "It's obvious that we weren't wanted. We had a 20-year lease that expired on Aug. 31, and we offered Solow market rent--much more than we had been paying. But our offer was turned down flatly, and they gave us no explanation." In the end, the Paris changed management and went on showing art films for the next three decades.

Is there hope for another comeback? So far, Solow has not commented on the closure.


Opening in 1948, via Cinema Treasures

The Paris opened in 1948, "with Marlene Dietrich cutting the ribbon in the presence of the Ambassador to France," according to Cinema Treasures. It was the last of the great single-screen cinemas in Manhattan, it was loved by many, and it will be greatly missed.

As Joe Queenan wrote on the occasion of the Paris' 60th anniversary for the Times in 2008:

"The Paris is the kind of establishment where, when you show up, not one but two pipe smokers are congregating outside. They are throwbacks to an era when emaciated young men raved about Samuel Beckett, questioned the political ramifications of existentialism and lined up to see Brigitte Bardot in '... And God Created Woman' while meticulously cleaning their meerschaums. Some people may think this sort of thing is a bit passé and corny. The folks at the Paris do not agree. Neither do I."


Little Edie and the Maysles, via Cinema Treasures

As for the Beekman, the original opened in 1952 and closed in 2005. It was demolished, writes Cinema Treasures, and the "Beekman name was moved to Clearview’s New York One & Two across the street," which was originally the Loews One & Two, opened in 1979.

It was perhaps not as beloved, nor as special, as the Paris, but it is a loss.

Here's the Beekman's goodbye--same text as the Paris:


photo by Michael Lorin Hirsch

And so two more independent art-house cinemas have been ripped from our lives. And more culture gets flushed down the drain of this new New York City. But, hey, we'll always have Starbucks.

See Also:
Lincoln Plaza Cinemas

Glaser's Interior

Everything we love will become salvage. The Demolition Depot just announced they're selling the interior of Glaser's Bake Shop, closed earlier this year after 116 years on the Upper East Side.


via Instagram

While they were unable to save the antique floor tiles, this could all be yours:

"Elements include the beautiful, turn of the century wood showcases, having ample storage below, marvelous, upward sliding glass doors above and decorative fluted Ionic pilasters. The upper section of open cabinetry has original silvered mirrors, original milk glass upper panels, and marble counter top. Also available are Schoolhouse pendant fixtures, pressed tin ceiling, a vintage refrigerated case, and contemporary display cases."

Black-and-white cookies not included.

Sylvia Pines Uniquities

VANISHING

Since 1981 there’s been a little vintage jewelry shop on the corner of 77th and Lexington called Sylvia Pines Uniquities. By the end of June, it will be gone. It won’t be vanishing because the Internet killed it. It won’t be vanishing because no one buys Victorian handbags or Art Deco necklaces anymore. It will vanish for just one reason: The rent has more than tripled.



On a warm evening, Sylvia Pines’ daughter, Judy Freedman, is behind the counter, taking care of a customer who has been shopping for three hours straight. The customer, a local doctor with a passion for antique beads and opera glasses, points to rings, necklaces, and handbags, wanting to see it all.

“Is that real coral?” she asks.
“No,” Judy replies. “That’s fake.”
“Good,” says the customer. “I don’t want it. How about that handbag?”
Judy gets on a step-stool and pulls down a pink and white beaded bag. The customer runs her fingers over the beads and the two women talk bags.

“Judith Lieber,” Judy says, “was one of the most famous pocketbook makers in the city. She’d come in to this shop to buy vintage bags and then reproduce them.”
“She did,” says the customer. “And now her bags sell at Sotheby’s. On the Upper East Side, when all the old broads die, their Judith Liebers go to Sotheby’s. I want to see one more thing. Are those glass beads Murano? As opposed to moronic.”

Judy reaches into the window, pulls out a string of beads, and hands it to the customer, who holds it up to her throat, letting it dangle down the front of her t-shirt.

“Those are not for you,” Judy says confidently. “They’re gorgeous, but they’re not your colors.”



After the customer completes her purchases and leaves, Judy tells me that a new owner bought the building a couple of years ago and renovated the apartments, turning one-bedrooms into two and hiking the rents.

“I’ve been paying $6,200 a month,” Judy says, “and it’s going to $20,000. What can you sell in a store this size? Drugs. Or Cartier. You can’t sell enough to make that rent. I’d have to sell three $3,000 bags a day. You can’t do it.”

The building, 1104 Lexington, was purchased in 2016 by Friedland Properties. According to The Real Deal, "Friedland acquired the properties from the estate of Marie Cowing, with property records indicating the buildings last changed hands in 1971."

Judy figures the place will sit empty, like other shops on the street, blighted by high rent. This emptying out troubles her, along with the homogenization from chains. “Part of the beauty of New York is the nitty gritty,” she says. “This is a damn great city.” But it’s just not the same. “We’re all feeling it,” she says. “We’re losing the character.”



Sylvia Pines, who started the family business 38 years ago, still works the shop, providing a good portion of its character.

“My mother is 97 years old,” Judy says. “She smokes cigarettes and drinks vodka. She comes in every day from the Bronx. She sits on that fire hydrant out there and smokes. And she’s tough. When she saw a guy sitting on her fire hydrant, she kicked him off. She told him, ‘That’s my fire hydrant.’ You don't mess with her.”

And Sylvia is not a patient shopkeeper either. If a customer takes too long to make a decision, Sylvia will say, “I helped you enough. I’m not spending anymore time with you,” and that’s that. Judy is much more patient, a fact that sometimes irritates Sylvia, who says, “That’s aroisgevorfene gelt,” Yiddish for a waste of money.

Still, for all her toughness, Sylvia takes care of people. One morning, she watched a woman park her car in front of the shop and run with her young son to Lenox Hill Hospital around the corner. All day, Sylvia fed coins into the parking meter so the woman wouldn't get a ticket. Later, the woman sent flowers to the shop with a thank-you note explaining that her son, with a burst appendix, had made it out okay.



Like her mother, Judy takes care of people, too, embodying the ways small shopkeepers contribute to the emotional health of the city.

She gives food and clothing to Carlos, the homeless man who sits on a stool by the shop. She sometimes gives away inexpensive pieces, just to make people happy. Recently she gave away a trio of “Speak No Evil” monkeys to three young men who’d come in covered in tattoos. They looked intimidating, but they appreciated the jewelry and other antiques, and Judy could see they were “old souls,” so they deserved a gift, because “everyone needs a little gift sometimes.”

As we talk, an elderly woman walks in, dressed in linen and a broad-brimmed straw hat. She opens a box and tells Judy, “I want to show you something.” From the box she takes out a pair of large pearl earrings. Judy tells her, “These are stunning. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. And you can wear them with anything.” The woman is having trouble securing the earrings in her ears, so Judy tells her what to do, explaining that the backs are tight, but they’ll loosen up. “It’ll get easier,” Judy says.

Slowly, the woman goes on pulling items from her box. A bracelet that belonged to her grandmother. A gold necklace from an aunt. A watch chain from her father. She holds it up for Judy to see.

“Don’t sell these,” Judy says. “Give them to someone who’s special to you.” The woman explains that she’d like to make a bracelet from her father’s chain, but the clasp is broken. “Come back tomorrow,” Judy says, “and I’ll take care of it.” She refuses to charge any money for the repair. The woman, who doesn't like taking things for free, leans over the counter and whispers, “I'm a therapist. I’ll give you therapy in exchange.”



When the woman leaves, Judy and I talk about the shop’s customers, how they come looking for connection and conversation, along with the wares. What will they do when Judy and Sylvia are gone?

She tells me about the goodbyes, the customers who lean over the counter to kiss her cheek, who promise to have her over for dinner, and who bring gifts, like the woman who made a memory box for Judy and told her, “Put your memories in here.”

By now, we’re both fighting back tears.

“In order to pacify my sadness,” Judy says, “I’m going to cultivate the other part of me.” She plans to spend more time painting and playing classical piano. She wants to learn Spanish. The shop will be gone in another week and Judy needs to fill the days. A part of her is looking forward to the time. It's been many years behind that counter.

“I’m gonna miss the clowns,” she says, “but not the circus. I’ll miss my people. What is beautiful about this place is that I have relationships here.”

She wonders if, in another life, she would have been a therapist. I tell her, “You are one,” and then we’re fighting tears again.

Judy says, “The city used to be full of little stores like this, where you could go in and talk, and people cared. It was like talking to your local bartender. In this shop, I was like a bartender of jewelry.”



If you want to stop massive commercial rent hikes that put small businesses out of business, take action:

- Write to the mayor and ask him to support the Small Business Jobs Survival Act (SBJSA). Here's a quick form you can fill out in just a few easy steps.

- Write to Council Speaker Corey Johnson and ask him to support a strong SBJSA and bring it to a vote. Here's a quick and easy form for that, too.

- Here's more you can do.

- And talk about it. Talk to your friends, family, and co-workers. Tell them that mom and pops aren't vanishing "because of the market" or "all because of the Internet," they're vanishing because the city and state support landlord greed -- but this can change. There are solutions. The first step is raising consciousness. We have to imagine a different city.

Pedal Pusher

VANISHED

Reader Bill Marden writes in to say that the Pedal Pusher Bike Shop on Second Avenue between 68th & 69th has closed.


photos: Bill Marden

He says:

"Store had been in current location for nearly 50 years. Suddenly closed in early March 2018. A nearby dry cleaner told me that the bike shop closed due to a recent rent increase (big surprise). Besides selling bikes, the store was well known for its bike rentals to groups and its repair services. They'll be missed."

The clothing shop next door is sitting empty, too. More high-rent blight.

Glaser's Bake Shop

VANISHING

By now you may have heard the sad news that Glaser's Bake Shop is kaput. Or will be soon.



On Friday, they posted on their Facebook page:

"It is with a heavy heart, the bakers and coworkers at Glaser's Bake Shop regret to inform you on July 1, 2018 Glaser's Bake Shop will be closing it's doors to the public after 116 years of service. After many years of daunting hours and hard work, the third generation of bakers have come to the difficult decision to hang up their bakers hat and move towards retirement."

Co-owner Herb Glaser told Eater that it's not easy to run a retail bakery, "especially in today’s climate." A PIX11 reporter said, "it's been really tough to maintain a family-owned business in this changing landscape." And to AMNY, he said, “We struggled with it for quite a while. But we realize what’s involved keeping [the bakery] going, and we just can’t anymore.”



On Saturday, the bakery was packed, as it always is on Saturday. But this time, there was an extra sense of urgency among the people standing in line.

"Did you hear they're closing?" "Today's the last day." "Not today. People think it's today, but it's not until July." "So we have some time." "It's so sad."



It was after 3:00 and the black-and-white cookies were gone. Glaser's is perhaps best loved for its black-and-white, a specialty they've been perfecting from the beginning, making them one possible origin story of the iconic New York pastry.

The beginning for the Bavarian bakery was 1902, back when Yorkville was still Germantown. The gorgeous interior of the place hasn't changed since 1918 when it was remodeled, outfitted with oak and glass cabinets and a tile floor that spells out "John Glaser" in blue and white.



Herb Glaser told AMNY that, while they'd like to see the interior preserved, "he and his brother are open to all kinds of buyers." They own the building, so they can decide what kind of business goes in. Let's hope they don't turn it over to a chain store or even a small business that would remove the period details.

I have a feeling that any business that guts Glaser's won't be forgiven.

Mon Petit Cafe

VANISHING

Mon Petit Cafe, a 1980s-era French bistro on Lexington and 62nd Street, says adieu. The climate for small businesses in New York, they say, is "a crushing force."


Wall Street Journal

From their Facebook page:

"It is with very heavy hearts that we inform the community that Mon Petit Café has closed after 32 years in business. We are so deeply grateful to all of our customers, many of whom have been with us since we opened our doors in 1984.

It has been our family’s (and extended family of staff’s) way of life to run our little restaurant and serve favorites like croque monsiers, quiche and steak au poivre every day (closing just on Christmas day every year). MPC’s owner Daniele raised her children behind these windows and managed even to stay afloat in 1990 after the passing of her husband/business partner. Her eldest, Alessandra, stayed on and eventually filled the empty shoes of co-owner with her mom.

Nevertheless, the climate for small business like ours in New York City has become a crushing force. Mom-and-pop stores of all kinds are now an endangered species in our city. Small business are all but disappeared in our neighborhood, giving way to massive Duane Reades, banks and Starbucks on seemingly every corner. Despite our best efforts to keep MPC alive, our reality is that we carried on 'in the red' for quite some time.

With each closing door, is the beginning of a new chapter. If you miss us as much as we miss you, good news: we will come to you! Alessandra is now concentrating her efforts on her catering and private chef business. Keep in touch and email her at alessprivatechef@gmail.com.

Our most sincere thanks once more to all of our patrons. We hope you will remember us, and think fondly upon this corner each time you pass as we will do."

Finnegans Wake

VANISHING

Reader Steve wrote in awhile back to tell us of the demise of Finnegans Wake: "The corner has been sold for condos and it will be closed next July. It’s a tragedy."



So I went by for a drink. Or two.

In business since 1972 and located on First Avenue at 73rd Street, the place is just as Steve described, "a real neighborhood Irish pub filled with great locals that skew a bit older." Indeed, New York magazine says, "Those without an AARP card or a solid knowledge of the surrounding neighborhood may feel a bit out of place, but Finnegan's certainly offers a quaint alternative to the usually far-younger postgrad mob."

Perfection.



The bartender, a very friendly guy, informed me that a 33-story tower is coming. (The news originally came out in July. The Post lays the blame on the "Second Avenue Subway real estate boom"-- so say a prayer for Heidelberg and the rest of Yorkville's German soul.)

The bartender also noted that one business on the block is giving the developers a fight. Stay tuned.

(And here's an explanation of why James Joyce put no apostrophe in Finnegans Wake.)

The Carnegie Deli & America

I went to the Carnegie Deli recently to experience it before it shutters forever this New Year's Eve after 79 years in business. It's closing not because of the rent, but because the owner is tired of it all. Someone wants to buy the place and keep it going, but the owner is not interested. It's closing. Period. So I went.



If you've tried to get into the Carnegie you know it's almost impossible, thanks to the hordes of tourists mobbing at the door day and night. Tourists have always dined at the Carnegie--I did when I was a teenage tourist--but today the city suffers under mass tourism and there are many places--parks, museums--that are no longer enjoyable because of them.

So I got there at 8:00 in the morning, the moment it opened. Only a few diners were inside. It was quiet, the speakers playing light music from the 70s and 80s. Kenny Rogers, Barry Manilow, Neil Diamond. Their images hang on the walls, in the famous sea of autographed head shots.

What will happen to all those head shots when Carnegie goes? What will happen to Larry Hagman, David Hasselhoff, Mr. T?



I couldn't bring myself to eat an overloaded pastrami sandwich at 8:00 in the morning, so I ordered eggs. A mistake. Nothing interesting happened. No Borscht Belt comedians were hanging out, cracking wise. Just the tourists, most of them looking tired and somewhat depressed.

As I was leaving, the place had already begun to crowd. A group of giddy young women took up a whole long table, every single one carrying those flowery quilted duffel bags you only see tourists carrying. They were loud. Bachelorettes. I left.



I decided to go to the Guggenheim just to use the golden toilet known as "America." I walked across Central Park, hoping that by the time I arrived at my destination my breakfast would have inspired a solid production. A shit in a golden toilet would be something. But this was not to be.



Again, I arrived early. I got to use the toilet right away, before the crowds showed up. The attendant informed us that people wait as long as two hours for the opportunity to evacuate into solid gold. Maybe they want to feel like Donald Trump. Maybe they want to make a statement, some sort of private protest. Or maybe they're just nihilists.

Does anyone prep for this experience by swallowing a handful of Just Another Rich Kid's gold pills so they can shit gold in the gold toilet?

I stepped inside and closed the door. Alone with the toilet, I snapped a few photos, then did what anyone does. A belly full of Carnegie Deli coffee went into "America." I can't say that I felt any better about the whole thing--the tourists, the loss of New York's character, hyper-gentrification, the presidential election, America, the way everything is going (down the shitter?). But I did feel like I'd accomplished some elemental mission, and it was still early in the day, after all. So there was that.

Mimi's to Famiglia

Mimi's Pizza Restaurant shuttered this summer due to a rent dispute with the landlord. Owned by the Vanacore family for 59 years, it was a beloved part of its Upper East Side neighborhood.


photo by Andrew Fine

Now, in a sickening sort of irony, a pizza restaurant chain is moving in. La Famiglia is taking Mimi's spot, replacing real family with fake family.

According to the Famiglia site, "you can find Famous Famiglia locations across leading airports, shopping centers, casinos, travel plazas, military bases, theme parks, universities, and busy urban centers."


via Twitter @JRMcGrail

Mimi's Pizza

VANISHED

At 84th and Lexington on the Upper East Side for 59 years, Mimi's Pizza is no more.

On Sunday they wrote on their Facebook page: "It is with a heavy heart that after 59 years, today is our last day of business. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond our control, we are forced to close our doors. We want to take this opportunity to thank our loyal customers and neighbors on the Upper East Side for your friendship and patronage. This is an extremely difficult time for our family, but we hope to see you in the future."

Andrew Fine shared the news and a photo on Twitter, announcing today's auction of the pizzeria's equipment:



"Mimi" is short for Dominic, the original owner, according to this little film about the place:



Mimi's is considered a local institution. Paul McCartney was a regular. Bobby Flay used to roll out the dough.

It will be missed.

*Update: The Daily News followed up on this story and reports the closure is due to a rent dispute with the landlord. So what else is new?

Il Vagabondo

VANISHING?

The Italian restaurant Il Vagabondo has been on East 62nd Street since 1965--and longer than that as a bar. It has the only in-restaurant bocce court in town--it was built in 1910. And now we hear it might be closing.


1968

Restaurant critic Gael Greene tweeted today that Il Vagabondo will be forced to shutter in the spring because the "townhouse it didn't own was sold":




I called the restaurant and the woman who answered was unaware of any upcoming closure. That's not always solid, but let's hope this one is just a rumor.

For more on this classic red-sauce joint and its bocce court, watch this.

Palm For Rent

Back in June, I first shared the news that The Palm Restaurant, after 90 years, would likely be closing. Last month, The Real Deal confirmed and Eater posted photos of the ruined interior, its priceless murals destroyed.

Now reader Dave J. sends in a photo of the recently raised "For Rent" banner:



It's very large and rather self-satisfied. It proudly crows: "1st Time Available in 90 Years."

That's not actually a good thing. That's a bad thing. That's a thing that means a 90-year-old treasure has been shuttered...so a cupcake shop or fro-yo chain can move in.

Also, the windows have been papered over. So no more bloggers taking pictures of the destruction inside.

The Palm

VANISHED

Back in June, thanks to a tipster, I first reported the intel that the original Palm restaurant was gone for good.



Earlier this week, The Real Deal confirmed that the owners have sold the building for $5.9 million. But will it be preserved? Will the historic, priceless murals be cherished and maintained for the next generations? Don't hold your breath.

Yesterday, Eater posted photos of the restaurant's interior, its wonderful murals painted over, destroyed. One of the buyers, Steven Kachanian (of the apparently not ironically named Klosed Properties), told The Real Deal, “We’re working with some high-end tenants looking to do some major work to the property."

This was the original Palm restaurant, 90 years old, gorgeous, storied, beloved, its walls covered in caricatures hand-drawn by some of America's most celebrated cartoonists. This was a one-of-a-kind treasure, never to be reproduced. You can't buy this kind of uniqueness, it has to grow organically and mature over time--over a century of time.

If people can't see the value in preserving something so obviously exquisite and exceptional like the Palm, there is no hope. Just put in a cupcake shop already and call it a day.


Previously:
The Palm is Vanishing



Update: Zagat published a statement from the owners. In part, it reads: "The beloved hand painted caricatures were housed on walls made of plaster, which made it impossible to remove the caricatures for preservation purposes. Photos and videos have been taken of the famous walls prior to the sale for our internal preservation purposes."

The Palm

VANISHED?

This past April, the nearly 90-year-old Palm Restaurant closed for renovations. Now we hear speculation that The Palm may never open again.



A tipster who wishes to remain anonymous shared the following in an email:

"There are very strong rumors that the original Palm Restaurant is not merely closed for renovations. I have heard from a very reliable source, who is in touch with people who work at other Palm restaurants in the city, that the building is not salvageable. What was supposed to be less than a one-year renovation may actually be a tear down. This would be another major loss for NYC."



I've shared rumors here before -- the takeover of El Quijote, the destruction of Caffe Dante, the murder of Manatus --  and I don't do it lightly. Unfortunately, while owners deny and neighbors say "no way," the rumors usually turn out to be true.

If this is the case for The Palm, it will be another tragedy on the scale of Chumley's collapse. Or worse--because the walls of The Palm are covered with original artworks, drawn and painted directly on the plaster, like precious frescoes.



As the Palm's website explains, "When Pio Bozzi and John Ganzi opened The Palm Restaurant in 1926, they had no money to decorate. Luckily, their location on Manhattan’s Second Avenue was in close proximity to the headquarters of King Features Syndicate and attracted a large clientele of cartoonists. In exchange for their meals, artists would often draw their own creations on the walls of The Palm."

Here, the cartoonists and their cartoons include Mort Walker with an original Beetle Bailey, C.D. Russell's Pete the Tramp muttering, "Let's get some wimmen," Bill Dwyer's Dumb Dora.

The cartoons' talk is from an earlier time. "This is a swell place," they say. "Doin' anything tonight, Toots?" And "Monkeys is th' kwaziest people!"

Most of the caricatures are not famous, but forgotten men once known for having "bedroom eyes" or loving the song "Autumn Leaves."

The cacophonous result is a sepia-washed portal into old New York. Men with big cigars and fedoras, Clark Gable-style mustaches and bowties joke around with naked ladies, superheroes, and John F. Kennedy. Through their skins you see the original yellowed walls, stained by tobacco smoke.



I regret that I only recently discovered The Palm. I went inside last year, in the no-service lull between lunch and dinner, and took in the dark-wood splendor of the place, vowing to go back for a meal. I never did. Now I worry that I never will.

Fingers crossed that the rumor isn't true. Still, our tipster provides a lot of details. They heard from sources that "restoration has not begun, and that other interested parties are looking at the property. The work was supposed to be finished by the end of this year."

In April, a "waiter said the plans were to move the coat check to the front on the north side, tear down a wall separating the two dining rooms, which would mean removing some of the oldest caricatures," and more. "Many employees were moved to other locations or were dismissed."

This sounds very different from "It won’t be a radical renovation," as the Palm Restaurant Group's chief operating officer told Crain's. Shouldn't this be an interior landmark?



Cartoonist Milton Caniff, whose work adorns the walls, once recalled to an interviewer: "After Prohibition, the owner threatened to redecorate the place, but such a hue and cry was set up that he didn't dare. And he hasn't dared since."

When the Palm in LA relocated, its caricatures (of a more recent vintage than New York's) did not follow. Many of them were cut out of the walls and given to their subjects.

After the April announcement of the New York Palm's face-lift, regulars like Alfred E. Nass worried about the fate of their caricatures. Nass told the Times, "The last thing I’d want is for this to be a Penn Station, where they come in with jackhammers."



Requests for a statement from the Palm Restaurant Group have not been returned.

Pisacane Seafood

Reader Jean-Luc tells us that the Pisacane fish market on 1st Avenue between 52nd and 51st street is shutting its doors tomorrow--"A huge loss for the neighborhood and city."



Last summer, another reader told me this closure would be coming down the pike. The owners had listed the building for sale, at $6,800,000, to be "delivered vacant."



At the time, I went in for a visit. I was told they were not closing, and had another 10 years. This now seems not to be the case, though I have not confirmed it.

I was also told that the business is 160 years old--with 60 years in one location and 100 years in this one. Or maybe vice versa. In any case, the place has been around a long time.



What I hear from both readers is that the small business has been struggling with inflated property taxes and utility bills -- both of which can kill a mom and pop, even when they own the building.

Jim's Shoe Repair--Victory

NOT VANISHING

A year ago, I broke the news that Jim's Shoe Repair was being kicked out of its space on E. 59th Street, where it's been since 1932. Landlord S.L. Green gave the space to Walgreens so they could expand their giant Duane Reade.



News spread, we started a petition and wrote letters, and Jim's got help from the powerful law firm Bickel and Brewer, whose Storefront affiliate gives help to community individuals and businesses in need. Now there's good news.

Third-generation Joe Rocco told me, "Duane Reade has agreed to give us the lease back," and it's good for several more years.

A year ago, Joe and his family thought it was over. They were looking for a new space. But today, "We're all excited. The combination of our loyal customers all staying behind us, and the help from Bickel and Brewer made it happen."

"Hopefully, it starts something," says Joe. "Hopefully, people in this city will see that these old places are valuable and worth saving."

There will be a celebration in the shoe repair shop today at 2:00. (The local news has video.)



From the full press release:

For one of New York City’s most cherished businesses and thousands of its customers, there is much to celebrate in the New Year.

Jim’s Shoe Repair announced today that it has signed a new lease agreement and will remain in business at its current location at 50 E. 59th Street. The family-owned cobbling business has been at its current location since 1940, but was only weeks away from losing its space and having to vacate the premises.

An in-store celebration is planned for 2 p.m. today.

“Words cannot describe what it means for a small business like ours to defy the odds – and be able to stay in the location we’ve called home for over 70 years,” said Joseph Rocco, Jr. “We are grateful to our attorneys, Duane Reade, Borough President Gale Brewer, SL Green, and the thousands of people who voiced their support of our business. All worked together to make this miracle possible.”

Jim’s fight for survival has become one of the most closely-followed cases of its kind – emblematic of the struggle faced by small businesses swept away in the “corporatization” of New York City. It has been widely reported that Jim’s was losing its 1,000 square-foot shop to accommodate the expansion of Duane Reade, located next door.

The Bickel & Brewer Storefront, the community-service affiliate of Bickel & Brewer law firm, represented Jim’s in the courtroom, pro bono, and engineered a grassroots petition drive to help save the business. The Storefront sought a landmark designation for Jim’s, and filed a petition in Manhattan Supreme Court on behalf of the business against the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission. The Storefront also defended Jim’s in eviction proceedings. Jim’s and its landlord, SL Green Realty Corp., have settled all claims as a condition of the new lease agreement. The terms of the deal were not disclosed.

“Jim’s is a business that embodies the American Dream,” says William A. Brewer III, partner at the Storefront and long-time Jim’s customer. “The victory today is for all those who value family-owned businesses in this country. They represent a time when the fabric of our communities were tied to family values.”

“This is a storybook ending for our customers and a business that runs in our blood,” says [Rocco's great-grandson] Andrew. “It feels like we are part of something larger here, giving hope to small businesses in this community and throughout all of New York City. We have achieved the impossible.”




Previously:
Jim's Shoe Repair
Save Jim's

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Subway Inn II

When the Subway Inn was forced out of its long-time home in December, after attempts to save the 77-year-old dive failed to sway the hearts of World-Wide Real Estate Group, the Salinas family vowed to reopen nearby.

It looks like the new place is progressing well.


the old Subway Inn today--sign removed

The beautiful neon sign was removed from the old spot and is being put back together in the new location at 1140 Second Avenue at 60th Street.


Subway Inn Facebook page

The bar is being rebuilt.


Subway Inn Facebook page

Michael Hirsch sends in this photo of the "coming soon" sign. The final product will include Atomic Wings at the back:



Check out this film by Zagat about Subway Inn's fight to stay alive: