Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Dirty Shoes
These shoes appeared recently inside the fence at the spot that was once Billy's Antiques on Houston Street. They have since vanished. Enjoy.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
The Dugout
In 2009, I did a post about 3rd Avenue between 13th and 14th Streets. In the comments section, people started talking about the Dugout, an old dive bar on the block. I asked if anyone had a photo of the bar, but nothing turned up.
Just a shadowy glimpse of it in a quick scene from Taxi Driver.
Ask, be patient, and ye shall receive.
Three years later, Jason Fernau sends in the following photo.
circa 1983
Jason also shares his Memories of the Dugout, 1982-1984:
The Dugout was halfway underground, you had those 3 steel plate covered steps descending down to the doors, wide steps like on a loading dock. Then one more step down and you were in. My recollection is that the lighting was all fluorescent, and was really bright as well, much brighter than a bar should be. Daytime it was bright fluorescent and the view out the doors was the vista of the sidewalk with the traffic behind it. People walking by were viewed from the thighs down. So you might see a miniskirt and great legs, or a shuffling older person, or a whole dog pulling a pair of legs. Nighttime it was brighter fluorescent. But somehow that never was an issue. I guess it just fit the place, or kept out those who couldn't stand it.
The Dugout had one night bartender, Bob from NJ. It seemed like he worked every night, though he must have had a day off. The place was never busy enough to need more than him. I think sometimes in a crunch there was somebody else who would rinse mugs and put them in the freezer. Nicest guy you could ever imagine. Ready with a smile, did what was needed, when it was needed, and we thanked him every time and he thanked us every time for coming in. From the first to the thousandth time you ordered a beer from him, Bob would say "Frosted Mug?" as if the answer could ever be anything but "Yes."
When you entered, bar on the left, tables in the middle, an old steam table lunch counter on the right hand side, looked like it hadn't been used in decades. I just heard from a fellow patron who said you could get a Liverwurst sandwich there for $1.50. Bob must have made it behind the bar.
There were frames on the walls filled with collections of snapshots of customers in the place, not old, contemporary to the time, and I remember that I was in one. I felt good about that. Faces seated around the plain wooden tables they had, some with mugs upraised.
There was an older gentleman, Saul, black glasses, stained beard, anchoring the back end of the bar, newspaper in front of him. He was usually there. We always used to speculate if he really owned the bar. I never found out one way or the other. he used to let us buy him drinks and he never bought drinks for anyone. Maybe that was the proof that he owned the place, seemed like a good strategy from his viewpoint.
50-cent draft in a frosted mug. What a deal.
Just a shadowy glimpse of it in a quick scene from Taxi Driver.
Ask, be patient, and ye shall receive.
Three years later, Jason Fernau sends in the following photo.
circa 1983
Jason also shares his Memories of the Dugout, 1982-1984:
The Dugout was halfway underground, you had those 3 steel plate covered steps descending down to the doors, wide steps like on a loading dock. Then one more step down and you were in. My recollection is that the lighting was all fluorescent, and was really bright as well, much brighter than a bar should be. Daytime it was bright fluorescent and the view out the doors was the vista of the sidewalk with the traffic behind it. People walking by were viewed from the thighs down. So you might see a miniskirt and great legs, or a shuffling older person, or a whole dog pulling a pair of legs. Nighttime it was brighter fluorescent. But somehow that never was an issue. I guess it just fit the place, or kept out those who couldn't stand it.
The Dugout had one night bartender, Bob from NJ. It seemed like he worked every night, though he must have had a day off. The place was never busy enough to need more than him. I think sometimes in a crunch there was somebody else who would rinse mugs and put them in the freezer. Nicest guy you could ever imagine. Ready with a smile, did what was needed, when it was needed, and we thanked him every time and he thanked us every time for coming in. From the first to the thousandth time you ordered a beer from him, Bob would say "Frosted Mug?" as if the answer could ever be anything but "Yes."
When you entered, bar on the left, tables in the middle, an old steam table lunch counter on the right hand side, looked like it hadn't been used in decades. I just heard from a fellow patron who said you could get a Liverwurst sandwich there for $1.50. Bob must have made it behind the bar.
There were frames on the walls filled with collections of snapshots of customers in the place, not old, contemporary to the time, and I remember that I was in one. I felt good about that. Faces seated around the plain wooden tables they had, some with mugs upraised.
There was an older gentleman, Saul, black glasses, stained beard, anchoring the back end of the bar, newspaper in front of him. He was usually there. We always used to speculate if he really owned the bar. I never found out one way or the other. he used to let us buy him drinks and he never bought drinks for anyone. Maybe that was the proof that he owned the place, seemed like a good strategy from his viewpoint.
50-cent draft in a frosted mug. What a deal.
Monday, September 24, 2012
Little Katz's
Alan Wolfson is a master of the miniature. He has shown us a miniature Canal Street and talked with us about his tiny Times Square. Now he shares the wonders of his little Katz's deli.
Commissioned by a former New Yorker who wanted a work to remind him of his childhood days at the deli, the piece is called "Closing Time."
Alan writes, "Since I don’t put miniature people in my pieces how could I justify that a restaurant that is always crowded had no customers lining up for their world famous pastrami sandwiches? I decided to create a scene that takes place right after closing time, during the cleanup. Dirty plates are waiting to be removed, chairs are stacked on the tables and mops and buckets are at the ready."
And this isn't Katz's 2012, either. The exterior wall is papered in posters for Blondie, The Ramones, and Patti Smith. Alan's work comes from the greasy, gritty 1970s and 80s. This griminess is obvious in the mini Katz's, where a layer of exhaust fumes and degradation seems to coat every tiny salami and Lilliputian neon sign.
Looking at it, slipping into its obsessively detailed interior, you can imagine the real thing isn't surrounded by glassy high-rise condos and hotels filled with Country Club kids.
See the whole thing on Alan Wolfson's website.
More miniature NYC:
Little Gritty City
Mini Canal
Model New York
Unreal Ideal Hosiery
Mini Mars Bar
Commissioned by a former New Yorker who wanted a work to remind him of his childhood days at the deli, the piece is called "Closing Time."
Alan writes, "Since I don’t put miniature people in my pieces how could I justify that a restaurant that is always crowded had no customers lining up for their world famous pastrami sandwiches? I decided to create a scene that takes place right after closing time, during the cleanup. Dirty plates are waiting to be removed, chairs are stacked on the tables and mops and buckets are at the ready."
And this isn't Katz's 2012, either. The exterior wall is papered in posters for Blondie, The Ramones, and Patti Smith. Alan's work comes from the greasy, gritty 1970s and 80s. This griminess is obvious in the mini Katz's, where a layer of exhaust fumes and degradation seems to coat every tiny salami and Lilliputian neon sign.
Looking at it, slipping into its obsessively detailed interior, you can imagine the real thing isn't surrounded by glassy high-rise condos and hotels filled with Country Club kids.
See the whole thing on Alan Wolfson's website.
More miniature NYC:
Little Gritty City
Mini Canal
Model New York
Unreal Ideal Hosiery
Mini Mars Bar
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Save Our Diner
Reader Scott stopped by the University Restaurant last night after it had closed forever. He found this sign:
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Scott writes, "A loyal customer, Margaret Laino (margielaino@gmail.com) had put up a sign and was urging people to reach out to the landlord to express their desire for a similar establishment to take UR's place. She said UR hadn't paid rent in 6 months. Landlord's contact is as follows (chandrapersaud@suttongarrellrealty.com; 646.300.4891)."
Margaret's sign reads: "Neighbors for a Viable Village want to save our neighborhood diner. After 60 years of continuous service it is closing on Wed. Sept 19, 2012. Please join us in strongly urging Sutton-Garret Real Estate (212-593-3388) to only consider renting to a similar diner/restaurant: one that is low-key (soft lighting), affordable, with the same welcoming, friendly feeling. NO! to franchises, bankfronts, noisy bars, phone stores. NO! to pizza fronts with garish lighting.”
.jpg)
It's a voice in the wilderness, but Margaret is not alone. Why not give Sutton-Garret a call and let them know what you think of them jacking up the diner's rent to $40,000 a month? We won't ever get anything friendly, welcoming, or low-key in this space--and it will become a chain, a bank, or a phone store, but at least they'll know how you feel. And maybe that's worth something.
.jpg)
Scott writes, "A loyal customer, Margaret Laino (margielaino@gmail.com) had put up a sign and was urging people to reach out to the landlord to express their desire for a similar establishment to take UR's place. She said UR hadn't paid rent in 6 months. Landlord's contact is as follows (chandrapersaud@suttongarrellrealty.com; 646.300.4891)."
Margaret's sign reads: "Neighbors for a Viable Village want to save our neighborhood diner. After 60 years of continuous service it is closing on Wed. Sept 19, 2012. Please join us in strongly urging Sutton-Garret Real Estate (212-593-3388) to only consider renting to a similar diner/restaurant: one that is low-key (soft lighting), affordable, with the same welcoming, friendly feeling. NO! to franchises, bankfronts, noisy bars, phone stores. NO! to pizza fronts with garish lighting.”
.jpg)
It's a voice in the wilderness, but Margaret is not alone. Why not give Sutton-Garret a call and let them know what you think of them jacking up the diner's rent to $40,000 a month? We won't ever get anything friendly, welcoming, or low-key in this space--and it will become a chain, a bank, or a phone store, but at least they'll know how you feel. And maybe that's worth something.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
University Diner
VANISHING
It Was Her New York and Alex in NYC both shared the upsetting news yesterday that the University Restaurant diner, on University and 12th Street, is closing. Today is their last day in business.
I went by for a quick cup of coffee. This is one of the last--if not the last--diners in the neighborhood. It was my go-to place in that area, and I will miss it.
The last time I went, I sat next to a crotchety, older New York couple. She was counting out her vitamins and he was helping. Sort of. I wrote down everything they said on a Milky Way advertisement in the magazine I was reading. It's the kind of scene you just don't get except in diners like this one. (Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)
(this is not the crotchety couple)
Woman: There's something wrong with Sunny. She's eating too much cat food. She doesn't sleep with me anymore.
Man: No, she sleeps with me.
Woman: Does she? Seriously, tell me, where does she sleep? Tell me the truth so I know!
Man: Yeah, she sleeps with me. I'm cheating on you with the cat.
Woman: Oh, be quiet and help me with these vitamins.
Man: You have to take them all, because--
Woman: I told you to help me, not lecture me. Now which one's which?
Man: Don't you remember?
Woman: No, I don't remember!
Man: And they call you a genius.
Woman: ---
Man: Okay, this one's the probiotic. This one's for your skin. This one--
Woman: I don't care what it's for! Just tell me the name!
Man: You're not nice to me. I'm going outside.
The Man leaves and then returns.
Woman: I've got two tickets for the movie tonight, with Daisy, but I don't feel up to it. Can you take them back and get my money?
Man: You should go. She's your daughter.
Woman: She's too much to deal with.
Man: I wish I could go to the movies.
Woman: So go.
Man: I can't! The house is a disaster and I got to clean everything. You go. I'll be home waiting for you with your grapefruit juice, just like you like.
Woman: Oh, be quiet.
Man: You love grapefruit juice.
Woman: I said BE QUIET!
The Woman throws her balled-up napkin at the Man. They get up to leave. The Man turns to me.
Man: [stage whispering] I have no idea why I bother to love this bitch!
More vanished diners:
Joe Jr's
Chelsea Gallery
Galaxy
Tramway
Tiffany
Rockaway Sunset
Cheyenne
Moondance
It Was Her New York and Alex in NYC both shared the upsetting news yesterday that the University Restaurant diner, on University and 12th Street, is closing. Today is their last day in business.
I went by for a quick cup of coffee. This is one of the last--if not the last--diners in the neighborhood. It was my go-to place in that area, and I will miss it.
The last time I went, I sat next to a crotchety, older New York couple. She was counting out her vitamins and he was helping. Sort of. I wrote down everything they said on a Milky Way advertisement in the magazine I was reading. It's the kind of scene you just don't get except in diners like this one. (Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)
(this is not the crotchety couple)
Woman: There's something wrong with Sunny. She's eating too much cat food. She doesn't sleep with me anymore.
Man: No, she sleeps with me.
Woman: Does she? Seriously, tell me, where does she sleep? Tell me the truth so I know!
Man: Yeah, she sleeps with me. I'm cheating on you with the cat.
Woman: Oh, be quiet and help me with these vitamins.
Man: You have to take them all, because--
Woman: I told you to help me, not lecture me. Now which one's which?
Man: Don't you remember?
Woman: No, I don't remember!
Man: And they call you a genius.
Woman: ---
Man: Okay, this one's the probiotic. This one's for your skin. This one--
Woman: I don't care what it's for! Just tell me the name!
Man: You're not nice to me. I'm going outside.
The Man leaves and then returns.
Woman: I've got two tickets for the movie tonight, with Daisy, but I don't feel up to it. Can you take them back and get my money?
Man: You should go. She's your daughter.
Woman: She's too much to deal with.
Man: I wish I could go to the movies.
Woman: So go.
Man: I can't! The house is a disaster and I got to clean everything. You go. I'll be home waiting for you with your grapefruit juice, just like you like.
Woman: Oh, be quiet.
Man: You love grapefruit juice.
Woman: I said BE QUIET!
The Woman throws her balled-up napkin at the Man. They get up to leave. The Man turns to me.
Man: [stage whispering] I have no idea why I bother to love this bitch!
More vanished diners:
Joe Jr's
Chelsea Gallery
Galaxy
Tramway
Tiffany
Rockaway Sunset
Cheyenne
Moondance
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
San Gennaro 2012
The Nolita foodies may be encroaching from the north, but the feast still reigns on Mulberry Street.
This year, the Grand Procession was led by Italian-American sweetheart Connie Francis. The lady once known as Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero rode in the back of a red Cadillac with a beauty queen. She later signed autographs on the Main Stage, greeting a long line of fans with warmth and patience.
I was a big Connie Francis fan as a kid.
Previously:
Gennaro Class War
Nolita vs. the Feast
This year, the Grand Procession was led by Italian-American sweetheart Connie Francis. The lady once known as Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero rode in the back of a red Cadillac with a beauty queen. She later signed autographs on the Main Stage, greeting a long line of fans with warmth and patience.
I was a big Connie Francis fan as a kid.
Previously:
Gennaro Class War
Nolita vs. the Feast
Monday, September 17, 2012
Tiles for America
VANISHING
Last week, the 9/11-memorial "Tiles for America" was removed from the chain-link fence at the corner of Greenwich Avenue and 7th Avenue.
Volunteers carefully clipped the tiles' wires and placed them into boxes. The tiles came down because the MTA is ready to build their controversial ventilation plant at Mulray Square (the non-Edward Hopper corner that still has an interesting history).
The Tiles for America Preservation Project has a website and a petition you can sign to ensure that the tiles don't end up sitting in a basement in Albany. The organization has a plan to move them nearby, on display, so they stay in the Village, but they need help with donations.
Find out more from this video:
Last week, the 9/11-memorial "Tiles for America" was removed from the chain-link fence at the corner of Greenwich Avenue and 7th Avenue.
Volunteers carefully clipped the tiles' wires and placed them into boxes. The tiles came down because the MTA is ready to build their controversial ventilation plant at Mulray Square (the non-Edward Hopper corner that still has an interesting history).
The Tiles for America Preservation Project has a website and a petition you can sign to ensure that the tiles don't end up sitting in a basement in Albany. The organization has a plan to move them nearby, on display, so they stay in the Village, but they need help with donations.
Find out more from this video:
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