Check out three new dreams on the Vanishing NY dream blog. One about a man dancing in a thong by the going-out-of-business electronics shops, another about E.B. White and Maeve Brennan, and one from Goggla about frat boys turning the shuttered South Street Seaport into a "floating beer garden."
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Blondie, Sweet Banana, High Line
I ran into our friend Romy Ashby, author and blogger at Walkers in the City, right in front of the Sweet Banana Candy Store on the doomed block of 9th Avenue in Chelsea. She told me a story about Debbie Harry and how the candy store almost became a Blondie song.
not in the mood to have her picture taken
"Debbie lived in the neighborhood too, and she used to walk by here all the time. If memory serves, she liked the little scene happening out in front of the candy store every afternoon, all the kids hanging out enjoying themselves, and she loved the name Sweet Banana. It must have been the late 90s, and I remember her saying, 'You ever go by the Sweet Banana Candy Store? I want to write a song and call it that.'"
"We were writing songs together for the upcoming Blondie record, and we had some melodies that Chris Stein had put together. So we tried writing one about the Candy Store and we got some lyrics with 'Sweet Banana' in the chorus and we sang it, sitting in Debbie's living room. But ultimately the song didn't happen. Not because we stopped liking the idea, but because it just didn't come together, which happens sometimes with songs. The melody ended up as another song on the record, and I wish I remembered which one, but I don't. Now I wish we'd stuck with it and done it so there would be a Blondie song about the Sweet Banana Candy Store."
"Did I ever tell you about the time when Debbie and I went up on that High Line and she had her little dog with her, all zipped up in a bag on her shoulder? The guards were so mean to her about it. Not only did they kick us off the High Line, they gave Debbie a $150 ticket."
"I wanted to like the High Line, I really did, but after that, forget it. And now it's just too crowded."
not in the mood to have her picture taken
"Debbie lived in the neighborhood too, and she used to walk by here all the time. If memory serves, she liked the little scene happening out in front of the candy store every afternoon, all the kids hanging out enjoying themselves, and she loved the name Sweet Banana. It must have been the late 90s, and I remember her saying, 'You ever go by the Sweet Banana Candy Store? I want to write a song and call it that.'"
"We were writing songs together for the upcoming Blondie record, and we had some melodies that Chris Stein had put together. So we tried writing one about the Candy Store and we got some lyrics with 'Sweet Banana' in the chorus and we sang it, sitting in Debbie's living room. But ultimately the song didn't happen. Not because we stopped liking the idea, but because it just didn't come together, which happens sometimes with songs. The melody ended up as another song on the record, and I wish I remembered which one, but I don't. Now I wish we'd stuck with it and done it so there would be a Blondie song about the Sweet Banana Candy Store."
"Did I ever tell you about the time when Debbie and I went up on that High Line and she had her little dog with her, all zipped up in a bag on her shoulder? The guards were so mean to her about it. Not only did they kick us off the High Line, they gave Debbie a $150 ticket."
"I wanted to like the High Line, I really did, but after that, forget it. And now it's just too crowded."
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
*Everyday Chatter
The coming death of NYCHA: "New York is big, but not that big. The pressure increases each time a fresh-faced college grad steps off a plane to drink in the cool new bar on the (formerly) sketchy side of town. Ten years ago, the sight of the Bushwick projects was a signal to lock the car doors and drive faster. Now they are the backdrop for the romance of the struggling artist con condo. Robert Moses might have done his best to place the developments as far from the main stem as possible, but now the city is coming to the projects." [NYM]
That was fast. Recently shuttered Lafayette French pastry shop already re-branded by Bao:
Check out Chris Arnade's lovely photos of the city's pigeon keepers. [Flickr]
Narratively NYC is now live--learn about a piano mover and the city's female taxi drivers. [NNYC]
Pick up a copy of New York Originals, the book about NYC mom-and-pop shops. [youtube]
Enjoy Chekhov for Children--and 1970s NYC. [Fandor]
Maira Kalman responds to the closing of Colony Records with artwork in this week's New Yorker. She writes, "No more 12x12 inches of graphic glory. Big surprise. So where are we? No more vinyl. No more books. No more bookstores?" [NYer]
Adrian Tomine is selling some fantastic New York-centric prints. [AT]
Help protect the Merchant's House Museum. [EVG]
Designer Jil Sander is selling a crumpled paper bag man purse for $290. [NYDN]
City's ban on XXX is not legal. [Curbed]
The panel reflector signs of NYC. [NYN]
That was fast. Recently shuttered Lafayette French pastry shop already re-branded by Bao:
Check out Chris Arnade's lovely photos of the city's pigeon keepers. [Flickr]
Narratively NYC is now live--learn about a piano mover and the city's female taxi drivers. [NNYC]
Pick up a copy of New York Originals, the book about NYC mom-and-pop shops. [youtube]
Enjoy Chekhov for Children--and 1970s NYC. [Fandor]
Maira Kalman responds to the closing of Colony Records with artwork in this week's New Yorker. She writes, "No more 12x12 inches of graphic glory. Big surprise. So where are we? No more vinyl. No more books. No more bookstores?" [NYer]
Adrian Tomine is selling some fantastic New York-centric prints. [AT]
Help protect the Merchant's House Museum. [EVG]
Designer Jil Sander is selling a crumpled paper bag man purse for $290. [NYDN]
City's ban on XXX is not legal. [Curbed]
The panel reflector signs of NYC. [NYN]
Ray's After 9/11
Awhile ago, when The Famous Ray's Pizza at 6th Ave. and 11th St. shuttered (then bounced around in limbo, later revived by the original owner as Famous Roio's), I thought about how the little pizza shop served as a memorial for the missing in the days after 9/11.
At the time, I wrote up this post, but never published it. Today seems like a good day for it.
The Atlantic, 2001
I remember walking down that block and seeing all the flyers, but I'm not sure why Ray's Pizza, and not another place, became a memorial site, only that it was a block away from St. Vincent's Hospital and that maybe families stopped here to take a break, have an inexpensive meal, and share information.
The 9/11 flyers taped in bunches to the bricks of St. Vincent's were so many, they spilled over, running down the block--taped to the London plane trees, to light poles, to No Parking sign posts--until they reached Ray's where they gathered again, like water running into a pool.
sarj, 2001
At the time, the Times reported:
"There were 68 handbills taped to the windows and brick wall of Famous Ray's Pizza at Avenue of the Americas and 11th Street and 24 on nearby lampposts and traffic light boxes and 17 on a phone booth up the block at 5 o'clock when Detective Michael Meehan of Midtown South, a mourning band over his shield, stopped by with a thick roll of tape to affix three more... One was for his brother Damian."
sarj, 2001
Now Famous Ray's is Famous Roio's [UPDATE: Roio's is gone, too], but St. Vincent's is gone to make room for evermore luxury condo dwellers. We live in a different city from 11 years ago.
As one New Yorker wrote in to the Daily News last year at this time: "Our city suffered two tragedies a decade ago: the 9/11 attacks and the election of Mayor Bloomberg. The former tried to destroy New York City; the latter succeeded."
September 2011
At the time, I wrote up this post, but never published it. Today seems like a good day for it.
The Atlantic, 2001
I remember walking down that block and seeing all the flyers, but I'm not sure why Ray's Pizza, and not another place, became a memorial site, only that it was a block away from St. Vincent's Hospital and that maybe families stopped here to take a break, have an inexpensive meal, and share information.
The 9/11 flyers taped in bunches to the bricks of St. Vincent's were so many, they spilled over, running down the block--taped to the London plane trees, to light poles, to No Parking sign posts--until they reached Ray's where they gathered again, like water running into a pool.
sarj, 2001
At the time, the Times reported:
"There were 68 handbills taped to the windows and brick wall of Famous Ray's Pizza at Avenue of the Americas and 11th Street and 24 on nearby lampposts and traffic light boxes and 17 on a phone booth up the block at 5 o'clock when Detective Michael Meehan of Midtown South, a mourning band over his shield, stopped by with a thick roll of tape to affix three more... One was for his brother Damian."
sarj, 2001
Now Famous Ray's is Famous Roio's [UPDATE: Roio's is gone, too], but St. Vincent's is gone to make room for evermore luxury condo dwellers. We live in a different city from 11 years ago.
As one New Yorker wrote in to the Daily News last year at this time: "Our city suffered two tragedies a decade ago: the 9/11 attacks and the election of Mayor Bloomberg. The former tried to destroy New York City; the latter succeeded."
September 2011
Monday, September 10, 2012
Rocco's & Bill's
Recently, New York magazine featured a story about the Torrisi restaurant team going "old-school." In the photo, the entrepreneurs smile and toast their new endeavor, "Carbone," under the stripped neon sign of vanished Rocco Restaurant.
New York
For those with short memories, the 89-year-old Village restaurant was pushed out last year, even though business was thriving. Torrisi signed a lease, with a massively hiked rent. Third-generation owner Antonio Da Silva fought and lost.
As one commenter says at the online article: "How can you write that they are paying tribute to the 'vanishing relics' when they are the reason one of the real relics (Roccos) vanished? I am very close with the former owner, and they were pushed out only to be replicated and paid homage to? I find it to be so distasteful."
On the next page of the magazine, there's a featurette entitled "History Buffs," about how trendy, monied restaurateurs "seem to be in a race to acquire New York’s oldest, most storied properties."
They write about the Beatrice Inn, which was already Vongerichtified years ago, and about the recent tragedy of Bill's Gay 90s.
Bill's landlord denied a new lease to the 88-year-old business, and handed it over to John DeLucie, who hoped to obtain the wonderful interior details. But owner Barbara Bart took the memorabilia with her--after a fight with the landlord who wanted it all for his new tenant. As New York wrote, "When chef-restaurateur John DeLucie took the space, he kept part of the prior tenant’s name, but was less successful hanging on to all the furnishings and artifacts that gave the place its character."
Minetta before and after (you can't get in)
We've been watching this trend for a few years now--the "race" to snatch the city's classic places and claim them for the new guard. We witnessed the redo of Fedora ("fauxstalgia joints are tres chic these days," said Grub Street) and the cleansing of Minetta's (much of the city has become "like a theme park of the past, as these restored standards offer a vision of a lost bohemian New York--albeit with a well-heeled clientele and prices to match" said the Times), the "preservation" of CBGB, and much more.
It's bad enough that we lose our classics through death by natural causes, but now they're being hunted.
Previously:
Rocco
Bill's Gay 90s
Fedora
Minetta
New York
For those with short memories, the 89-year-old Village restaurant was pushed out last year, even though business was thriving. Torrisi signed a lease, with a massively hiked rent. Third-generation owner Antonio Da Silva fought and lost.
As one commenter says at the online article: "How can you write that they are paying tribute to the 'vanishing relics' when they are the reason one of the real relics (Roccos) vanished? I am very close with the former owner, and they were pushed out only to be replicated and paid homage to? I find it to be so distasteful."
On the next page of the magazine, there's a featurette entitled "History Buffs," about how trendy, monied restaurateurs "seem to be in a race to acquire New York’s oldest, most storied properties."
They write about the Beatrice Inn, which was already Vongerichtified years ago, and about the recent tragedy of Bill's Gay 90s.
Bill's landlord denied a new lease to the 88-year-old business, and handed it over to John DeLucie, who hoped to obtain the wonderful interior details. But owner Barbara Bart took the memorabilia with her--after a fight with the landlord who wanted it all for his new tenant. As New York wrote, "When chef-restaurateur John DeLucie took the space, he kept part of the prior tenant’s name, but was less successful hanging on to all the furnishings and artifacts that gave the place its character."
Minetta before and after (you can't get in)
We've been watching this trend for a few years now--the "race" to snatch the city's classic places and claim them for the new guard. We witnessed the redo of Fedora ("fauxstalgia joints are tres chic these days," said Grub Street) and the cleansing of Minetta's (much of the city has become "like a theme park of the past, as these restored standards offer a vision of a lost bohemian New York--albeit with a well-heeled clientele and prices to match" said the Times), the "preservation" of CBGB, and much more.
It's bad enough that we lose our classics through death by natural causes, but now they're being hunted.
Previously:
Rocco
Bill's Gay 90s
Fedora
Minetta
Thursday, September 6, 2012
J. Yormark Shoes
Last spring, I noted the reappearance of a glass sign for J. Yormark Shoes over on 8th Avenue near Jane. A barber shop had moved in and saved the old sign. At the time, I couldn't find any photos of the original shoe store.
Now family member Cindee Weiss sends in some wonderful shots of the old shop, its workers, and clientele.
15 8th Ave.
68 Clinton St. (later Falai)
The photos and their story came to Cindee from Ken Yormark and Renee Yormark Entin, the grandchildren of Harry Yormark, nephew of Jacob and Joseph, the shoe store's founders. They write:
"In 1886, 17-year-old Jacob immigrated from the Austro-Hungarian Empire (later known as Poland) to the United States, where he and his brother Joseph, who immigrated in 1889 at age 19, opened two shoe stores. Somewhere between 1892 and 1897, Jacob’s store became J. Yormark Shoes at 15 8th Avenue. Joseph’s store, J. Yormark Fine Shoes, also pictured here, was located nearby at 68 Clinton Street. Harry eventually took over the store from Uncle Jacob, and ran it until it passed out of the family’s hands in the 1940s, during World War II when it became increasingly difficult to obtain shoes."
They also note: "Pee-Wee Herman is also a great-great nephew to both Jacob and Joseph Yormark, of J. Yormark Shoes.”
Though I doubt Yormark ever sold shoes like these:
Now family member Cindee Weiss sends in some wonderful shots of the old shop, its workers, and clientele.
15 8th Ave.
68 Clinton St. (later Falai)
The photos and their story came to Cindee from Ken Yormark and Renee Yormark Entin, the grandchildren of Harry Yormark, nephew of Jacob and Joseph, the shoe store's founders. They write:
"In 1886, 17-year-old Jacob immigrated from the Austro-Hungarian Empire (later known as Poland) to the United States, where he and his brother Joseph, who immigrated in 1889 at age 19, opened two shoe stores. Somewhere between 1892 and 1897, Jacob’s store became J. Yormark Shoes at 15 8th Avenue. Joseph’s store, J. Yormark Fine Shoes, also pictured here, was located nearby at 68 Clinton Street. Harry eventually took over the store from Uncle Jacob, and ran it until it passed out of the family’s hands in the 1940s, during World War II when it became increasingly difficult to obtain shoes."
They also note: "Pee-Wee Herman is also a great-great nephew to both Jacob and Joseph Yormark, of J. Yormark Shoes.”
Though I doubt Yormark ever sold shoes like these:
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Third Avenues
One More Folded Sunset discovered this incredible little documentary--6 stories of people who live on various Third Avenues in 1980 New York City.
It begins in a junkyard, then moves to the Bowery (13:00)--where a bum reclines in the street and tells the camera, "Do you know who I am? I'm an eccentric millionaire," before we go into a bar where not a single fashion model is sipping a Pimm's Cup. Next, a deeply sad trip to a tenement in the Bronx.
Meanwhile, a young gay hustler washes down his illegal prescription drugs with a can of Yoo-Hoo before taking us into seedy Times Square (36:00), including a glimpse of the vanished Playland where boys as young as seven sell their bodies.
While Mr. Lopez works hard and spreads the word of God, his kids are doing drugs in the streets. At the end, we meet an Italian family and the mother is fan-fucking-tastic--don't miss her.
It's all good. Watch the whole thing...
It begins in a junkyard, then moves to the Bowery (13:00)--where a bum reclines in the street and tells the camera, "Do you know who I am? I'm an eccentric millionaire," before we go into a bar where not a single fashion model is sipping a Pimm's Cup. Next, a deeply sad trip to a tenement in the Bronx.
Meanwhile, a young gay hustler washes down his illegal prescription drugs with a can of Yoo-Hoo before taking us into seedy Times Square (36:00), including a glimpse of the vanished Playland where boys as young as seven sell their bodies.
While Mr. Lopez works hard and spreads the word of God, his kids are doing drugs in the streets. At the end, we meet an Italian family and the mother is fan-fucking-tastic--don't miss her.
It's all good. Watch the whole thing...
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