Ripping on tourists is one of the most popular ways New Yorker's kill time when riding on the subway. It's nearly as popular as complaining about your apartment, complaining about hipsters moving into your neighborhood and ruining it,complaining that the people who live above you are loud, complaining that your favorite bar
is getting over run with hipsters, trashing Mike Bloomberg and waiting for the Second Avenue Subway Line to open up. We all do this even if we pretend to be nice and deny it. It's a superiority thing. Real New Yorker's like nothing better than mercilessly mocking some pale Midwestern family because of their Wal-Mart sneakers, loud chatter about the Toy R Us with the ferris wheel inside it (A Ferris Wheel! Can You Believe it?), 5 for $10 I Love NY T-shirts (We should cut some slack on this one, it is Milton Glaser) and looks of confusion in the 42 Street transfers. We assume anyone living West of Newark is a countrified rube who eats hushpuppies and drives a tractor to Denny's for a big night out. Truthfully it's a defense mechanism. It's a way for us to justify paying un-g-dly sums of money for tiny, loud, inconvenient apartments with major flaws.It helps us feel alright about $3.00 packs of gum and Prada shoes. We must all make it known,loudly, that we are not the suckers.
For tourist mocking, there is no place anywhere in the boroughs which compare. We all claim to avoid Times Square religously. I often make jokes that I never travel above 14th Street, and my fellow New Yorker's nod in agreement. Heading out to Times Square is one thing, but heading out to Times Square with a side trip to Rockefeller Center on a Sunday two weeks before Christmas? Surely, that would be suicide for my New Yorker credentials. I would be forced to turn in my Metrocard and uppity sneer at once. I recently found myself in Times Square, and Rockefeller Center, on a Sunday afternoon right before X-mas. The reasons aren't important. It had something to do with blood relations, grown men wearing skimpy Julie Taymor half lion fur costumes, an Italian steakhouse and knockoff Gucci bags. The point being I was there.
Armed with my trusty Nikon D70S, I thought back to a time long before my time, when The Times actually were in Times Square, and architects built beautiful buildings drowning in details.
Some of Broadway's theater's have survived, bud sadly, very few of the gorgeous details on these buildings have made it down through time to us. Most of the theaters are covered top to bottom with billboards and horrid, glowing neon and 60 foot television screens blasting advertisements into the ether and into our brains. Put up in 1926 by Rapp and Rapp, the Paramount is no longer a theater (It's the WWF Restaurant), but retains the neo-gothic detail work over the entrance arch, as well as the inviting original sign. This is a theater on Broadway that looks like it was designed to be on a street called 'The Great White Way'.
Even though I hate his guts for various reasons, Frank Sinatra was a big fan of the Paramount in his younger swinging days. By standing on the corner of 43rd and Broadway, and slowly arcing your head 180 degrees from left to right, you can take a speed course in advertising technology from the 1920's to the present. On one side we have the demure Paramount, with it's detailed, carved, burnished yet completely functional marquee. Across Broadway, at the opposite and of your field of vision, are several dozen electrically blazing neon monsters that ride 10 stories from street level. I have no love of advertisements at all, yet I;m not an imaginative hippie who expects them all to disappear tomorrow, so as much as I'd like that it isn't going to happen. Ads are a necessary evil (very evil in my mind), so given the choice of the two, I would much rather be forced to look at the somewhat stately and tasteful Paramount marquee than giant blinking tv screens. I have also
seen numerous accidents occur because people are attempting to drive and watch the tv screen ads simultaneously. Now you know why I feel so safe on my bike, as jerkoffs from Connecticut fly down Broadway in their Hummers' chatting on their cell phones, smoking cigarettes, fiddling with the radio, blowing coke, getting blowjobs and watching the tv screens - simultaneously. Oh yeah, and driving too.
This picture (DSC0435) struck me as the stock
image for winter time in Manhattan. Steam rising from the manholes and blanketing the streets as two guys attempt to beat the light and grab a taxi.
Andrea Palladio would be very proud with the facade of the former Lyric Thater. Now part of the Ford Center, architect Victor Koehler put up this mini Neo-Classical suprise in 1903, and it has been delighting theater patrons ever since. Koehler's proportions on the triple arches are exquisite, and detail (look out for deer and snakes) in the carvings is so fine it is hard to appreciate from street level using the naked eye. I'm also not able to ascertain the three gents residing in the alcoves.
If it isn't bad enough that entire Theatre District has fallen victim to plastering advertising on every available surface, it has also fallen victim to doing the same with its' historic intellectual property. The grandly named New Victory Theatre was recently renames the Hilton Center For Performing Arts. This trend is tragic in a way, especially considering all the wonderful Neo-Classic names given to New York Theaters over the last millennium, such as the Apollo Theater (their spelling not mine), The Lyric and The Empire. Now all we get are crummy corporations monikers withe equally as worthless remodeling jobs. The New Victory was completed in 1899 by Albert Westover, who is well known for being one of the first architects to design movie theaters when movies were brand new, and still called 'moving pictures'. This is one of the highlights of Westover's career, and the New Victory defines the word grand to a 'T' (it even received on of the coveted and stingily granted larger sized pictures in the final guide written by my boys, Willesnky and White).
Pay special attemtion to the glass canopies above the entranceway, which are tastefully light by rows of bulbs in arches that seamlessly blend into the detailed stonework beginning at the second floor. Peeking out from above the canopies, observing the lines of tourists
waiting to get inside, are sculpted heads of Hermes and Athena, which fit in well with the original victory motif. The balustrade is separated from below by four smaller goat heads, a symbol of victory as week. Your charming author also happens to love goats, was once butted by a goat the Prospect Park Zoo, and would keep a goat with a very long beard as a pet if it were allowed to do so in Brooklyn. Oscar Hammerstein said of the New Victory, "The perfect parlor theater...a drawing
room of the drama dedicated to all that is best in dramatic and lyric
art." It's hard to get a better endorsement of your good taste than Oscar Hammerstein, eh?
Legions of designers burn through millions of man hours attempting to capture the look of signs like this, to varying degrees of success. Quite a few are really impressive actually, but the truth being, there is just no substitute for time. Entropy at work is something that I have a specific interest in, and something I have written about in the past quite a bit. This sign is perfection. It's dead simple - 'Garage' - it tells you what the place is, and since it is sticking out above the entrance, it serves a second function by telling you where the place is, even from a block or two away. This sign has feeling. It makes a person feel that Joseph Mitchell might just walk out from under it with a bottle of Old Smuggler. What advertising signs do that now? When looking at some of the modern sign in Times Square, instead of seeing Joseph Mitchell, I expect to see a 12 year old Japanese girl having a seizure in a tub of Palmolive dish soap and spoiled eggs. Not good.
Signs are no longer designed to be beautiful, functional or useful. They are only designed to trick you into buying something you don
't really need through gimmicks like flashing lights and corny video game characters with 'rebellious attitudes'. Our generation is so deprived of good signs, we don't even get to have simple historic brass markers that let us know that we're in Times Square, which is called Times Square because because it is where the New York Times' Offices were located. This is the same reason that Herald Square is known as Herald Square, because in the past, the offices of the New York Herald were located there. I learned those two facts while riding an uptown 'R' train several years ago. The motorman was quite talkative, and gave a little speech at each stop, where he explained to all the passengers how Herald and Times Squares received there names. He was the only motorman I've ever heard do that in all my years riding the subway, and what's more, he actually spoke in such a way I could clearly understand what he was saying. That's the real miracle here.
This nicely carved urn, on an otherwise non-descript office building, reminded me of the troubled Euphronius Krater at the Met. Inspired by the urn, John Keats poem, 'Ode on a Grecian Urn' is a fine example of how art of one stripe, a drinking cup, inspires art of another stripe, a poem. This decorative brick is a further example, whereas a poem or an urn, inspires an architect to bring a little bit of Keat's into his building, and into everyone's day that walks past.
When I was a teenager Times Square was SCARY. People often reminisce wistfully for the 'Deuce of the past. Now I'm no fan of the gross, sterile,commerce and advertising driven 42nd Street that is Mayor Giuliani's legacy the city. On the other hand, I can now make my trips to the Playpen without dodging bullets, aggressive syringe wielding beggars and cops who shake down scared
't really need through gimmicks like flashing lights and corny video game characters with 'rebellious attitudes'. Our generation is so deprived of good signs, we don't even get to have simple historic brass markers that let us know that we're in Times Square, which is called Times Square because because it is where the New York Times' Offices were located. This is the same reason that Herald Square is known as Herald Square, because in the past, the offices of the New York Herald were located there. I learned those two facts while riding an uptown 'R' train several years ago. The motorman was quite talkative, and gave a little speech at each stop, where he explained to all the passengers how Herald and Times Squares received there names. He was the only motorman I've ever heard do that in all my years riding the subway, and what's more, he actually spoke in such a way I could clearly understand what he was saying. That's the real miracle here.
When I was a teenager Times Square was SCARY. People often reminisce wistfully for the 'Deuce of the past. Now I'm no fan of the gross, sterile,commerce and advertising driven 42nd Street that is Mayor Giuliani's legacy the city. On the other hand, I can now make my trips to the Playpen without dodging bullets, aggressive syringe wielding beggars and cops who shake down scared
white teenagers trying to go to their first peepshow. Times Square used to be place after place like the Playpen, until Giuliani passed ordinances making it very difficult for any peep show, strip club or sex toy shop to stay in business. The Playpen is one the remaining few, and even they've toned down their facade quite a bit. Formerly emblazoned with a neon woman in a lewd position, now we have a neon World Trade Center. Which is more bizarre? In order to get a feel for what the old Times Square looked like, just imagine the facade of the Playpen (the lighting, the color scheme, the marquis) into the hundreds, lining every block. Add in an army of female hookers, several dozen strung out rent boys, screeching trannies, some real live pimps in full regalia, a few German tourists being mugged and you've got the basic idea. That's all gone now, but by some act of g-d, the Playpen defies all logic and remains.
The Playpen is housed in a unique building for it's location. Although, if buildings in Manhattan reflected their surrounding areas and general purpose, the Playpen would actually be a cardboard Maytag box, resting in a pool of vomit on a curb down the Bowery. Instead we have an ornate pink stucco building that reminds me of the Alamo, both physically, and spiritually. The Playpen is where porn is taking its' last stand on the 'Deuce.
The Music Box Theater is somewhat low key for a Broadway theatre. Unrestrained gaude and lights a plenty are the usual order of the day, so this Federal Revival facade is a nice change of pace from its' neighbors. I especially like the row of dormers jutting out from the roof. The Music Box was designed by Crane and Kiehler and completed in Broadway's first heyday in 1920.
Yes, I do continually rag on advertisements here on Buildings, Bikes and Books. I will make an exception for Mr. Peanut, mainly for the reason that he is wearing a monocle. It's sad that monocle's have gone out of style. It is also odd that monocle's immediately conjure up images of creepy Nazi overlords and stodgy art critics, otherwise I am certain that monocles would have made a comeback by now. The only thing better than Mr. Peanut wearing a monocle, would be Mr. Peanut wearing TWO monocles. That would be hip.
Maybe the North Pole is technically the center of the Christmas world, but the Tree at Rockefeller Center is much more accessible and sees many more visitors. For generations of New Yorker's, the Tree symbolizes Christmas in New York. Visiting the tree on a Sunday afternoon is an enormous mistake. It makes a European soccer match seem like a picnic, and is the fastest way to lose every drop of Christmas good cheer that may be residing in your body. The crowd are staggering. People push and shove you out of the way, so their bratty little kids can get a better look at the tree. People hit you in the face with telephoto lenses. Overflowing Macy's bags are used as bludgeons and clubs. Parents scream at the poor suckers working the ice skating rink when they hear there is no chance that their family, who did make reservations months in advance, will not be skating that afternoon. Melees break out over Santa's lap.
In short, there is nothing less in the true spirit of of Christmas than heading out to see the Rockefeller center tree. A few years ago, a friend who has just moved to the city begged me to take her to see the tree. Begged. I agreed on one condition, that we would go after 10pm on a week night, when all the horrid children were in bed, and their parents were far , far away in the suburbs of New Jersey. We arrived at the tree shortly after ten and amazingly, there wasn't a person in sight. It was perfect, and for the first time in my life, I was actually able to see the tree in full view, and still be in a good mood. It actually did look beautiful in quiet, and was somewhat majestic when able to be seen without jostling. I started to actually feel the overwhelming spirit of Christmas overtake me. Then, they shut the lights off.
I was hoping that this wooden soldier would come to life, and begin attacking the mobs of revelers with his drumsticks, beating them away from the tree. This Sunday also happened to be the day a Tuba Convention was scheduled. I'm not kidding. Just to add to the chaos, there were several hundred people blaring on tubas, and a man singing who had the worst voice I have ever heard perform in public. This combination hurt not just the ears, but the soul as well. Rockefeller Center at Christmas is scarier than any horror movie made in the last 10 years.
I was hoping that this wooden soldier would come to life, and begin attacking the mobs of revelers with his drumsticks, beating them away from the tree. This Sunday also happened to be the day a Tuba Convention was scheduled. I'm not kidding. Just to add to the chaos, there were several hundred people blaring on tubas, and a man singing who had the worst voice I have ever heard perform in public. This combination hurt not just the ears, but the soul as well. Rockefeller Center at Christmas is scarier than any horror movie made in the last 10 years.
One thing you can always count on in New York City is diversity. Here's a woman wearing a garbage and nothing else. The light from this photo comes from the windows of a store where they sell shoes that run $2,000 (USD) a pair. She is about to be arrested by the police, and is surrounded by people dropping $6 (USD) a cup for hot chocolates. Maybe someone should show her the true meaning of the holiday and help her out?
On the bike front...Pedicabs, or pedal taxis have been in the news quite a bit lately. We've heard cabbies complain about them, saying they are stealing there business. Drivers in the city are complaining that they are unsafe and take up too much room (less room than your SUV, but hey, who measuring right?). Cycling and environmental advocates say they are a great solution to traffic and exhaust problems. Who knows. If you've been reading BBB for a while, you'll have seen me mention these way before the 'real' news guys caught on. I used to work as a bike mechanic at one of the only shops in the city that would touch one of these, so I've met and spoken with the drivers for quite a while and I definitely side with them. I'm also someone who rides a bike in New York City a few thousand miles a year, so I'll always side with the cyclist. Now this picture is something a bit different on the pedicab front. The Eight Person Bike!
My obsession with the 8 Person Bike began about 5 years ago, when I moved to Midwood Brooklyn and started hanging around Coney Island a lot, both winter and summer. I spent a lot of time on the boardwalk just watching the ocean, sketching and writing. I began to notice that every now again, a guy in his early 30's, with a few senior citizens would come whipping down the boardwalk on an 8 person bicycle, similar to the one pictured above. Being a total bike junkie, I became very curious about this apparatus. As it passed by one day, there was a cardboard sign taped to the front of the contraption which read, 'Free Bicycle Rides: Inquire Within'. I jumped out from my usual table at Ruby's on the boardwalk and flagged the bike down. I asked about a free ride, and the guy told me to jump on. It was the younger guy I always saw piloting the bike, what turned out be his 79 year old mother, and another senior citizen couple and myself, riding down the boardwalk. I soon learned that The Driver had this bike specially made in Sweden, because his mother loved to cycle up and down the boardwalk,but had become a little weak in her old age, and was nervous about losing her balance and riding alone.
Her son purchased this crazy bike so his mother could still enjoy riding,and they could spend time together, while some other folks from her old age home could also get some fresh ocean air. This honestly blew my mind. The bike was an amazing piece of engineering. The 'Pilot' would steer, and everyone had the option to pedal. Considering the weight of this machine, it was surprisingly easy to get going at a pretty good clip. The best feature, in my eyes, was that everyone on the bike sits in a circle, so it lends itself to conversation. I had a really good time kibitzing away with everyone on board, hearing stories about Old Coney Island before I was born, and getting snippets of daily gossip about people I didn't know. This also gave me tremendous respect for the son who got this bike imported from Sweden, just him and his Mom could spend time together. That's real respect for your Mother, and it greatly impressed me. Over that winter and spring, I took a few other enjoyable rolls down the Coney Island Boardwalk. As the summer came, I told more and more of my friends about this Rube Goldberg bike, but sadly it never appeared. I wondered why the old folks rolled all winter long, but as soon as the weather turned nice, they disappeared. With older folks being involved, I sadly thought the worst. I got my answer a few weeks into summer, with a small article in one of the local South Brooklyn papers. There was an article that explained that the 8 person bike had been stolen from the parking lot of a supermarket where the owner let them chain it up. Crazy, who could possibly steal something so large, unique and obvious as an 8 person bicycle? It turns out, crackheads. The article explained that the bike was reported stolen to the Coney Island Precinct a few weeks ago. One night, in the pouring rain, two officers on patrol noticed an 8 person bicycle cruising the back streets of Coney Island with 5 passengers singing, yelling and whooping it up. What drew the officers attention more than even an 8 person bike taking a cruise at 2am, was that one of the passengers appeared to smoking crack as he pedaled down the road! The cops gave chase, and after a block of pedaling, the occupants got off, scattered and ran. The police managed to catch one of them, who told the cops they had found the bike just sitting in the middle of Surf Avenue and decided to go for a ride. The man was arrested and the bike was recovered and returned. Pretty amazing story from every angle.
From Wild Neon signs, to monocles, Neo-Classical facades and crackheads riding 8 person bicycles, such ends another installment of Bikes, Books and Buildings. Thanks for reading about my adventures as I wander around New York City with my trusty Nikon documenting architecture, bike culture and interesting goings on. Thanks for wasting some time with me.
From Wild Neon signs, to monocles, Neo-Classical facades and crackheads riding 8 person bicycles, such ends another installment of Bikes, Books and Buildings. Thanks for reading about my adventures as I wander around New York City with my trusty Nikon documenting architecture, bike culture and interesting goings on. Thanks for wasting some time with me.
