By Caitlin Hawke

Happy New Year, neighbors. Have you ever in your life been happier to slam the door shut on a year?

There is always hope, anticipation, and refreshment in the embrace of a January first. We didn't have the crazy post-holiday hubbub to heighten the anticipation of NYE this year. And of course the Times Square situation was transformed by you-know-what. It's just different.

I chose this lovely NYC rooftop picture as the way to ring in 2021. Taken by neighbor Bill Altham a few years back, the image of a cozy snowfall, perhaps a day dawning -- perhaps waning -- the lights of neighboring apartments scintillating in the crisp winter duskiness, all conjure up the current interior lives of New Yorkers. The ones we've become intimately familiar with as we changed pace under Mother Nature's huge "STOP" sign.

It's a little Hopperesque in the way it telegraphs solitude. This year, we've all been there: seated near the window, looking out in the wee hours, searching for another being, breathing in masklessly from a safe perch, breathing out patiently asking for 'serenity now' as we motor through what was not conceivable to us one year ago today. Yet all the signs were there, and by January 1 of last year, our Annus covidus was foreordained.

It was a tremendously painful year. Our country has collectively decided not to dwell on the unquantifiable losses but to focus on the upbeat news of coming vaccinations. But I take homefield pride in how our neighborhood banded together: masking up, helping each other, supporting local businesses, dining out gamely come wind and rain, gratefully acknowledging essential workers, particularly at 7pm. I have profound respect for every worker in every shop, on every subway train, and on the frontlines. I have profound sorrow for and solidarity with every business owner struggling to make it to the pandemic's end. And respect for any landlord who has forgiven rent or worked with commercial tenants caught in the clutches of the insta-nightmare that befell us early last year.

Most poetic, most powerful, most beautiful, most lasting was how a state of illbeing -- catalyzed by the inequities of covid's toll -- helped power the voices of Black Lives Matter and woke us from our sleepwalk.

We have come to. We cannot go backwards again. We hold these truths to be self-evident.

Welcome to 2021, Bloomingdalers. May it find and keep you healthy. And may our elbow bumps soon transform into handshakes, hugs.

Credit: Bill Altham, 2015: Looking southward over West 104th Street toward Amsterdam Avenue

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By Caitlin Hawke

Here's a chance to show your Block Association some love. At our monthly meeting last week, Anthony Bellov gave his wonderful "Candela Corners" presentation about the embarrassment of Bloomingdale buildings designed by the "star" residential architect. I am sharing the recording below. If you are receiving this in your email subscription, click on the blog post title to view the video online or click here.

​Like most organizations and like everyone of us, the Block Association has felt the pinch of the pandemic.

If you haven't renewed your membership or if you are able to make a year-end contribution, here's a great occasion. Click here to donate in support of the Block Association, and then enjoy this wonderful tale and armchair tour featuring the magnificent architecture of Rosario Candela of the 1920s and 1930s.

And when you are done, if you missed my interview with Anthony yesterday, click here to read more.
​
With thanks to Anthony and with best wishes to you for the season of lights.

Thank you for reading! And don't forget to spread the Blove! There are lots of history and neighborhood tidbits to come.

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By Caitlin Hawke

If you missed Anthony Bellov's "Candela Corners" talk for the West 102nd-103rd Streets Block Association last week, fret no more. The recording will be posted here tomorrow for your viewing pleasure. Blog subscribers will have to click on the title of the blog to view the embedded video online.

In the meantime, I caught up with Anthony, a former Block Association board member and longtime neighbor. We share a fondness for the corner at W. 102nd Street and West End Avenue where most every pre-war era collides in an explosion of styles and housing variations. I've written before about the early buildings like the Townsend House and my personal favorite, the St. Andoche.

Now it's time to pay some mind to the great Sicilian American architect Rosario Candela who left a mark on the way New Yorkers live by way of the incredible number of residential buildings he designed in the 1920s and 1930s. The Upper East Side boasts a fair number of them, but Candela Corners belong to us, Bloomingdalers.  With fine examples of his work at 800, 820, 865, 875, 878, and 915 West End and more south of here, you can't hold a candle to us!

You'll enjoy the intimacy of Anthony's talk as he infiltrated almost every Candela on West End to bring alive the architectural features that Candela was known for and that make living in one of his buildings a classic New York experience.

So keep your eye out tomorrow for the blog post with the video. And, now, as a little hors d'oeuvre, read on for my sit-down with Anthony.

Q&A with Anthony Bellov

Caitlin: How long have you lived in the neighborhood?
Anthony: I moved into 865 West End immediately after graduating from Pratt Institute School of Architecture in 1979. I really wanted to try "the City thing" for a while and Bloomingdale reminded me so much of my native Park Slope I felt right at home. Over 40 years later... I'm still here.

Caitlin: Ha! With echoes of Elaine Stritch. So how long did it take you to get involved in the Block Association?
Anthony: Not long! Lil Oliver, an 865 neighbor and Sy Oliver's wife and head of the American Guild of Musical Artists (AGMA), invited me to produce a show for one of the Block Parties - titled "On the Streets Where You Live" given in the early 1980's. I used my students - along with the many other things I do, I've taught singing since 1978, trained by my own teacher to do so - and I was immediately embraced by this wonderful community. It's terrific to feel so at home in supposedly uncaring, unfriendly Manhattan.

I've been active with the Block Association in many ways since then. I was a board member for seven years and spearheaded the efforts to stagger traffic lights on West End and have stop signs installed on the Riverside Drive service road. After stepping down I've continued being active; I deeply believe in community involvement. I've always believed that if I'm not part of the solution then I'm part of the problem.

I suggested to the board that we hold a Yard Sale in the spring to bookend the one 104th Street does each fall - I guess that was around 2004? I offered to manage the vendors in order to kick it off. I then served in that function for 13 years consecutively. In 1983 I thought it would be nice to do some holiday caroling and initially organized friends in my building to wander around singing. The Block Association offered to get involved and our Annual Solstice Caroling was born. Since then I've been happy to lead it each year, with the exception of three years when the weather was simply too brutal for us to hold it. This is our first pandemic - and virtual caroling - however. (Note: to join in the remote Caroling on December 21, you should write to solstice@w102-103blockassn.org for details).

Caitlin: It's an impressive amount of leaning in. And now you've just given your Candela Corners talk for the BA. What sparked your interest in Rosario Candela?
Anthony: I first learned of him when I was studying architecture at Pratt institute in the 1970s. Paul Goldberger of the New York Times had "outed" him around then, and I recall my instructors praising his work. Years later I was thrilled to learn I had been living in a Candela building when Andrew Dolkart's report for the West End Avenue Historic District was published.

Caitlin: Yes, Dolkart is epic and that report is a Rosetta Stone for folks interested in our history. I know these research projects are really about the hunt. As an introvert, I've found that getting lost in a topic is one of life's great gifts, conjuring our forebears and imagining who came before. Could you describe a little about how you did your research and what resources were of most value to your story?
Anthony: Andra Moss of Landmark West! approached me with the idea to do a series of talks on the Upper West Side. Among the topics we explored, never realizing what a "hit" it was going to be, was one on Rosario Candela, since we were both fans and both disappointed at the exhibition the Museum of the City of New York had put together.

As soon as word got out that I was preparing a talk several people approached me, like Alan Sukoenig and other residents of 915 West End Avenue who had been avidly fighting their building's owners over the disfigurements in the name of "renovation" that were going on in that building. They put me in touch with the Candela family and Andrew Alpern, the author of "The New York Apartment Houses of Rosario Candela and James Carpenter," who were all happy to share info, support and advice.

Caitlin: That's exactly what I mean about the hunt: it's all about the journey. One thing you did so beautifully in your talk was give us that "you are there" feeling by shooting the interiors. So smart. How did you pull that off?
Anthony: Two local realtors, Leonard Gottlieb and Jesse Berger, arranged for me to gain access to several buildings I was especially interested in, and my singing teacher happened to live in Candela's first project - The Clayton, on 92nd and Broadway - so I had access to that building as well. Everyone was so helpful and committed to letting me into spaces so I could see firsthand what a Candela unit felt like and share it in my talk.

Caitlin: Did you coin “Candela Corners” for our stretch of West End?
Anthony: Yes. When I realized there was such an extraordinary density of Candela-related buildings centered around the intersection of 103rd and West End I jokingly coined it "Candela Corners" in passing one day and then realized how apt that nickname was, so I used it in my presentations. Now there's talk that we petition the City to rename that intersection "Candela Corners" permanently - which I find very exciting.

Caitlin: What is it like to live in a Candela apartment and what features have been preserved in yours?
Anthony: As fate would have it, 865 is one of the worst-kept buildings on West End Avenue. And so, my unit is more intact than those in many other Candela buildings because so few improvements have been made. Apart from the kitchen (which was thankfully updated prior to my moving in - new sink, new stove, that sort of thing) and some other minor changes, Rosario would have no trouble recognizing his original choices in details. The fact that I've been in the unit for so many years has contributed to its "preservation" as well. I've kept the "remuddler" at bay all these years.

Long before I knew I was living in a Candela unit, friends and visitors would comment regularly on how my apartment didn't feel like an apartment, but rather, it felt like a home. The layout is gracious, and it's easy to live in the unit and feel comfortable. And I love the wonderful single-paneled doors, the oversize crystal doorknobs, the high ceilings, the gorgeous oak parquet flooring and the gracious moldings throughout - elegant without being fussy.

Although it was an "accident" that I moved into a Candela unit, one could argue it wasn't. Of all the apartments I saw when apartment-hunting, the one I chose simply stood out from all the rest. It was that "Candela magic" I guess.

Caitlin: Yes, maybe it was destiny or maybe as Louis Pasteur said "Chance favored the prepared mind." As you know,  I’ve also been a lover of Bloomingdale history having researched 855 WEA which preceded 865 by roughly 30 years. I have a soft spot for the intersection of W. 102nd Street and West End because so many different eras are represented just at this crossroad. I know you are a Candela groupie, but what’s your second favorite building at or near this intersection?
Anthony: LOL! You're assuming a Candela building is my FIRST favorite building! I can't really rate them numerically but I, too, am enamored of the 102/WEA intersection. Just to name a FEW of my local faves:

I love the Ralph Townsend House (link above) at 302 W. 102nd because of its charm, its antiquity (built in 1884, it's the oldest house in the vicinity) and its unique history of having been built first on West End and later lifted and moved around the corner to 102nd as you recount in your talk and blog post - to make room for your beloved 855! I'm very fond of the Dewey at 850 West End because of the truly unique carved details on the building - take a look at the supports under the bay windows - one has a bird being stalked by two cats, and another has two monkeys fighting over a pineapple - not to mention the portrait of Admiral Dewey on one of the buildings cartouches.

858 WEA is outstanding as well - that wonderful tower serving as an exclamation point on the corner of 102nd and West End (I hear tell there's a Mary Pickford/Douglas Fairbanks connection to this building) and across the street those wonderfully ornate window surrounds on the 102nd St side of 860 WEA... and as I walk home from the 103 St subway station I always delight in the fanciful carvings in the row of brownstones, one of which was Humphrey Bogart's birthplace.

So, honestly, I can't pick a "favorite" building - I simply revel in the richness of the architecture on our blocks. It lifts my spirits and elevates me above the everyday stresses of life.

Caitlin: I completely concur. I also love 858. It reminds my partner of the building near City College on Convent Avenue that was a main character in the film "The Royal Tenenbaums". And how funny it would be to have a Mary Pickford connection directly across from 855. In 1915, Pickford made the film version of "Fanchon the Cricket." It was Maggie Mitchell's stage presence in the play decades earlier that made her wealthy and enabled her to build 855 in 1895. So it would be ironical to trace them to living quarters directly opposite one another...if only for an afternoon delight in Pickford/Fairbanks case. We'll have to dig on that to see if Pickford and Mitchell crossed paths on West End.
Of the Candelas on WEA, which is your favorite?

Anthony: THAT is a REALLY TOUGH question - but I think I would have to pick 875, on "Candela Corner" per se. That lobby simply can't be beat - and the apartments are laid out really well, in Candela's mature style - so I suppose, if wrestled to the mat, that would be my fave. But honestly, I love 'em ALL!

Caitlin: I can hear all my friends in that coop swooning with pride. It is a fabulous lobby which you can't quite tell from the little entry.
What is Candela’s biggest legacy to the city and to New York living?
Anthony: Rosario Candela showed us that a skilled architect, with the proper training and perspective, could create spaces that are gracious, easy to live in, and that contribute to a positive experience while living in a large, multi-unit building in a dense urban environment in a building which could still be economical to build. He laid out his rooms in the way people live best. I'm sorry to say his was an approach that ended with the collapse of the economy in the 1930s. When development resumed after WWII it was largely "pack 'em in as tight as you can, give 'em as little as possible, and charge 'em through the nose." I feel truly fortunate that I lucked into a Candela apartment.

Caitlin: What’s your next research project?
Anthony: I actually don't have anything in the pipeline right now. I just completed a series of three documentary-style videos for the Merchant's House Museum - on its architecture, and its furniture and lighting collections - that have left me exhausted. But you're not the first person to ask me this. It has crossed my mind that Candela's mentor, Gaetan Ajello, might be a really interesting project, and I've become very aware of just how important the Paterno Brothers were for the development of the Upper West Side, Bloomingdale and Morningside Heights. Potentially there are really interesting stories there. But I have not committed to anything at the moment.

Caitlin: What’s the best and worst kept secret about Bloomingdale?
Anthony: I'm sort of sorry to say the formerly best kept secret about Bloomingdale is now the worst kept secret: that is what a GREAT part of Manhattan this is to live in. It used to be "you live all the way up THERE?!" which has now changed to "Oh wow - you live up THERE?! It's really NICE up there!" I'm afraid our secret's out....

Caitlin: Yeah, I used to get that all the time. As the song in "Hamilton" goes: "You don't know til you know..." So to loop back, I guess Maggie Mitchell was ahead of the game when she sunk her flag here and built our first 'high-rise' -- The St. Andoche -- at 855 West End. It was only a matter of time before Candela and other architects of the "grande dames" of West End caught on with the subway opening things up.

Thanks for sharing all this with me. I hope readers will tune in tomorrow for the video of your talk.

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By Caitlin Hawke


While I don't doubt that Y2K20 has a disconcerting number of disappointments left to wing our way, I am starting to see a brighter and brighter pinpoint of light coming into focus at the end of the tunnel.

[I am thankful for the dot of light.]

Often that tunnel feels long and lined with toads and snakes and other biblical pests -- the allegories for threats to our mortality and well-being. But the tunnel's length is finite, and the pinpoint of light at the far side gets a hair bigger, a shade brighter, with each day passing. Something akin to the lengthening days following the winter solstice, imperceptible and in seconds at first, then palpable, and then again luxuriously prolonged.

[I am thankful for the nearing solstice.]

And so we begin the holiday season. Knowing our limbo will not last. This American holiday -- itself rooted deeply in unsavory mythology -- may be spent in relative isolation from our loved ones, but we have our community.

[I am thankful for Zoom.]

Having slouched toward Bethlehem for hundreds of days, we now see that things did in many ways fall apart, but by and large the center held.

And 'what rough beast slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?' That, neighbors, is Y2K21. Because in 2021, we have a true crack at a second coming. I am not speaking of the second wave. That will have to be endured as there seems no political will at hand to fend back its tide. I am speaking of the transformative potential of our collective experience in Y2K20.

[I am thankful to 2020 for mirroring back to us that we are up to the task -- I saw what the collectivity can do. It is fierce, it is large, and it contains multitudes.]

The revelation that W.B. Yeats spoke of is at hand: we'll need to bring our fierce, large multitudes across the year's threshold.

So tuck into your savory meals. Fatten up for the trying weeks ahead. Be safe and be smart.

[And let the giving of thanks begin.]

All the best, to you, Bloomingdalers, for today, for tomorrow and for 2021 -- now knocking hard at the door.

Someone, please get up from the table and let it in: Its hour comes round at last.

By Caitlin Hawke • Photos courtesy of neighbor Bill Altham

There's nothing more breathtaking than nature's firework of colors on a beautiful fall day. Pre-peak, peak, past-peak: it's all good. In decades on planet earth, I am still just a babe when it comes to the seasons, each one's beauty taking me utterly by surprise. That new green of spring seems unreal every year. And those maple reds deeper.

Some years the intensity is overwhelming, such as the new growth that gave us such comfort and hope this past spring when we'd been pushed to our limits. The new season galloping in was reassuring. I have been experiencing the changing colors with similarly new appreciation. And with similar assurance that we are marching through this cataclysm.

As we face down the aerosolized gantlet once more, we will again assume -- among the powers of the earth -- the station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle us. Our mortality, for one. And our community, for another.  Mother Nature is a mighty and beauteous force. And one clearly not to be tangled with. She has protested often this year.

And so, with the events of the past weeks and the growing spread, let the untangling begin.

Mother of Muses unleash your wrath
Things I can’t see - they’re blocking my path
Show me your wisdom - tell me my fate
Put me upright - make me walk straight
Forge my identity from the inside out
You know what I’m talking about

~ Bob Dylan
​"Mother of Muses" from Rough and Rowdy Ways, 2020

By Caitlin Hawke

Down to the quadrennial wire, I find myself thinking about this day four years ago. Reading the blog post “Finding Strength in Pain” now makes it seem like I knew what would go down in the 2016 contest. But 20/20 hindsight is not exactly a superpower. I surely did not know then.  And I don’t know now: what indeed will happen Tuesday and in the weeks to come?

On that election morning, I was already seeking the balm of Bob Dylan and distracting myself with the glow of his Nobel Prize. Even without a single live performance this year — a first that I know of since 1977 — Bob Dylan pierced through the lockdown with explosively creative and beautifully haunting new songs on his album Rough and Rowdy Ways. Seeing the certainty of the Never Ending Tour — and that of all other cultural institutions — shaken and taken right to the brink of existence has been humbling.

The state of cultural institutions pales in comparison to the astounding toll of human lives. But the loss of the industry is a maiming to New York’s identity, and one that we will contend with for years to come if only for the economic impact, which to me is not the most of it. That said, if we’re tabulating perversities such as the silver linings of Covid, I’ll happily add to the list an unimaginable coming boom from our artists experiencing a world on pause. A balm to look forward to.

For Election Day 2020, the pandemic has enhanced the intensity, increasing the stakes and the risks people feel worth taking. The early voting lines in our neighborhood alone and the ambiance of neighbors talking to neighbors in those lines indicate an engagement we’ve never experienced before and put me in mind of the 1994 general election in South Africa, which we watched high on our horse. Little did we know: there but for the grace of voices unheard would go we. Our 2020 lines were more spread out due to social distancing, but the snaking and voter tenacity in the face of potential disenfranchisement rhyme.

I feel as if I am experiencing all of this in a state of Rushed Limbo. I want to see more change, more enfranchisement, more civil society in action. Again, such are the perverse silver linings of this moment in our country — things we shouldn’t have to suffer through a constitutional or healthcare meltdown in order to harness. But perhaps this is just human nature, that action comes at the 59th minute of the 11th hour.

Limbo. Yes, I want the limbo of uncertainty to end. Rushed because I want to savor and let ferment all the powerful potential that’s coalesced in 2020. I want to herald the vindication of all the Colin Kaepernicks who knew. Who tried to tell a country not ready to hear. I want this massive populist potential to be what saves us after three branches of government have neither checked nor balanced one another or our sinking democracy.

The time signature of 2020 defies notational convention. It’s more like a warping than anything else.  To borrow from an astrophysical metaphor, I feel like I am sitting just beyond the event horizon of a black hole watching a clock slow down to imperceptible forward momentum. Y2K20 has done all it could to spaghettify us.

Hang tough, fellow Bloomingdalers. See you on the other side of this event's horizon.

The video embedded below is my lagniappe to you -- a balm in the form of Bob Dylan's "Key West" from his recent album. As one commenter on youtube wrote "You could walk alone down a long and winding road, swim across the seven oceans, climb a steep snowy mountain with a smile on your face if you had Bob Dylan singing the song in your ears." I hope you will enjoy it. If you are reading this in your email subscription to this blog, you'll have to click on the blog title to go to the post online and stream the song.

And alas it is true, there will be no Bob Dylan residency on the Upper West Side this year, but you can relive Bob@Beacon (1) here, (2)here and (3)here.

(1)http://www.boblinks.com/112319r.html#2
(2)https://www.westsiderag.com/2019/12/10/an-appreciation-bob-dylan-keeps-coming-back-to-the-beacon-theatre-and-i-havent-had-nearly-enough
(3)https://www.w102-103blockassn.org/blog/bob-on-broadway

By Caitlin Hawke

The year 2020 has thrown just about everything up into the air. We've paused, and in the pause our hyperlocal selves have had time and space to re-embrace our immediate environs. You've enjoyed your roof, your stoop, your sidewalk, your bike, and, when needed, your street as you spilled into the curb to give wide berth to each other. But you've also enjoyed each other, bumping into someone -- anyone -- after days of solitude was the highlight of many a 2020 day. 

While not without controversy, the opening up of streets to people undeniably gave pedestrians refuge -- a huge port in the storm of Covid. Perhaps you've noticed that W. 103rd Street has been one of the streets that opened for neighbors -- especially kids -- to enjoy. New York City calls these 'Open Streets' as they are open and safe for walkers, bicyclists, and those in wheelchairs. Cars, delivery, and service vehicles have access, subject to a 5 m.p.h. speed limit.  A harbinger of things to come?

There are many neighbors who hope that with all these open streets, we've crossed the Rubicon. Many have been buoyed by this unexpected momentum of prioritizing people over traffic. Of cleaner air and quieter airwaves.

It turns out that the groups Open Plans and Street Plans have been re-imagining a lot about W. 103rd Street, which near Broadway is home to an older adult community -- The Marseilles. Also, in the Marseilles's vacant storefrontage, the Purple Circle early childhood program will soon take up residence. Young and old cheek by jowl and in need of green space.  That might also be an engine for the re-imagination of W. 103rd Street.

So here's a chance for you to come learn more for yourself about what's being tossed around. At a socially-distanced, outdoor occasion this Friday, Open Plans and Street Plans will welcome your input and invite you to complete surveys about how you might use W. 103rd Street as a magic-carpet connector from Riverside Park to Central Park. 

If 2020 has taught us anything, it's that we have to be prepared for everything! We must be willing to roll up our sleeves to make the society, the city, and the neighborhoods that we want.  When coronavirus is no longer a threat, we need to be able to find each other and commune again. We need to seed the next generation of street-level commerce that has been chiseled away by years of our neglect, which I've written about at these links:

Part 1: We Got the Supply. Where's the Demand?
Part 2: In Joon, Our Fall
Part 3: Lincoln Plaza Cinemas: Fare Thee Well My Honey
Part 4: Three Restaurants Go Down in One Month
Part 5: A Glorious UWS 800-Person Wave Turns Back the Tide

Incredibly, we saw a remarkable reanimation of Broadway and Amsterdam with the recent outdoor café life, and perhaps there's a whole new business model there for our restaurants. But we do know that block after block of empty storefronts coupled with fewer pedestrians is a bad combo.

The pressure is still very much on for those very businesses who were hanging on pre-pandemic, and who now have been dealt a coup de grace by months of closure. Countless -- literally countless -- are lost and gone forever. Transformation can happen -- and often does happen -- quickly. Or at least tipping points come fast without warning after a long priming.

As we grind through these very hard times, there is so much potential right now to build back the way we want it, to push to the tipping point of our choosing. To demand reform at the commercial storefront level. To support greener streets and more vibrant avenues. To favor the strengthening of the fabric for all to benefit from.

I love this neighborhood and can imagine only the sky as the limit for Bloomingdale.

So mask up, come out on Friday to the SW corner of W. 103rd and Broadway, and tell the folks who are driving this innovative project what you think about their rethinking.

In the morning, you may find a parking space or two transformed into a parklet. And starting at noon, the Open Plans and Street Plans folks will be standing by to hear your take.
​
Rain date is October 30th. More below.

By Caitlin Hawke

​Okay, 2020 has done its more-than-fair share to coop us up. Some of us are returning to the life we love of walking the neighborhood and soaking in the city, masked and somewhat anonymous. We have a governor who is on the qui vive, watching Covid-19 positivity test rates and hospital admissions like the proverbial hawk. He's got one hand on the valve that seals our fate as to whether we walk freely or return to our confinement.

We know not what the following weeks will bring.

But we do know that November 3 is galloping in.

Come Election Day, how will you cast your actual vote? Not who will you vote for. How will you get that vote registered. Do you have a plan? Like a great chef, with a mise-en-place first in mind, then in deed, have you envisioned how you will act on what you visualize: physically casting your ballot for POTUS and all the other races in play?  Are you going -- first thing -- to your poll the morning of November 3rd? (Do you know where you poll is?! Find it here.) Are you worried about being in a long line, a crowd, exhalate circling? Perhaps you envision mailing in your vote? Did you request your absentee ballot? Do you know if your application for the absentee ballot was accepted? Are you certain you are registered to vote?

There's word from the board of elections that absentee ballots should be mailing out this week. When you get yours, will you mail it in or drop it at a polling place?

A lot of questions!  Solace may come in the good feeling that having a concrete plan brings.

You must request your absentee ballot by October 27th, but that is very late in the game given our snail mail system. Why not request it today right here:  

https://nycabsentee.com/absentee

We are all eligible to vote with an absentee ballot as we've been affected by Covid-19 or are concerned with the potential of contracting the virus. In your application for an absentee ballot, make sure to check the box for "Temporary Illness". The definition has been expanded to include "a risk of contracting or spreading a disease" such as Covid-19.

Your ballot must be postmarked by November 3rd to count, but get it in early. You never know which gremlin will gum up the works of the ghosted sorting machines.
​
Perhaps you've already requested your mail-in/absentee ballot. Did you know can track your request to learn if your application (or request) for your absentee ballot was approved and learn whether it's making its way to you? Yup! You sure can, right here:

https://nycabsentee.com/tracking

Make certain to enter your information exactly as it appears in your voter record. Failure to do so may result in a “Record Not Found”.

This does not mean you are not eligible! For further assistance, you can call 1-866-VOTE-NYC or email AbsenteeHelp@boe.nyc.

We spent all spring getting our houses in order. Now is the time to attend to our civic houses. Only 58.1% of our voting-eligible population voted in the 2016 election or some 138 million people, down from 58.6% in 2012 and a recent high of 61.6% in 2008.

Lamentable.

Of course, behind those percentages are literally millions of poll stories of effort and perseverance, of dismay and disappointment, of iron wills and of towels thrown in.  

Get ready to vote your hearts out. Stay safe. Stay vigilant. And most of all: make your plan for how to cast your vote.
​

An edit to yesterday's post: After publishing "Getting Our Civic Houses in Order: Part 1, The 2020 Census," I added the information that while federal U.S. District Judge Lucy Koh ruled last week that the 2020 Census count be extended until October 31, 2020, the Trump administration is appealing that ruling. Conclusion: get your count in and fill out the census without delay: www.my2020census.gov.

By Caitlin Hawke

This is Part 2 of a three-part series of posts on civil society since it seems worth wondering when the check and balance of the citizenry has ever been poised to have as big an impact as it will on November 3, 2020. We have gone through the gantlet of a cruel year, and we went through it very much together in New York. I saw you out there in your windows in the darkest days banging on pots. I saw you ferrying groceries and staffing stores as essential workers. I saw you poking your head up and returning to a (masked) semblance of normalcy. And I see you now, ready to hunker down and keep NYC safe for the indoor season. But the cruelty of a once-in-a-century pandemic has put emphatic punctuation on how crucial leadership is in our time of need. Leaders are of our choosing. And we have many times-of-need bearing down on us still. I am looking at you: ravaged New York economy, west coast fires and rapidly changing climate, and vaccine of our deliverance.

Who do you want governing through it all?

Dear neighbors, as if you needed reminding, Election Day Approaches. And it is finally our turn again.  Your house may be pristine from months of winnowing, but is your Civic House in order?

For one, are you registered to vote?

Friday, October 9th, is your deadline to register to vote. But don't delay; go to vote.nyc or call 866-868-3692 to verify if you are registered or to obtain registration instructions. Once registered, vote early or request your absentee ballot, also known as your mail-in ballot. Act now or forever hold your peace.

Register to vote here:
www.vote.nyc/page/register-vote

Verify whether you are already registered to vote here:
www.vote.nyc/page/am-i-registered

What else can you? Talk to your family and friends and see if they have their civic houses in order. Share this blog post. Ask them what their plan is to cast their vote.

Tomorrow, you'll see information here about absentee voting. Stay tuned. Stay vigilant. Remain present. But if needed, vote absentee.

For Part 1, see yesterday's post about the 2020 Census. You still have time to tidy up that room of your civic house. Be counted not just for the sake of the NYC and NYS budgets and representation, do it for the historians to come and the future that is unfurling at breakneck speed. The US Census report is a goldmine for researchers and genealogists. And it is a critical tool for equity in our society. 2020 has asked you to look her in the face and accept her painful lessons about what just society looks like. She got us out the door onto the long road. Now comes the time to count every person, seize our enfranchisement by registering to vote (today's post), and make sure your vote is cast (tomorrow's post).

​

By Caitlin Hawke

Edit: Post-publication of this blog post, I am adding the information that while federal U.S. District Judge Lucy Koh ruled last week that the 2020 Census count be extended until October 31, 2020, the Trump administration is appealing that ruling. Conclusion: get your count in and fill out the census without delay: www.my2020census.gov.


This is one of three posts this week about civil society. As a community of citizens, we are -- for better or worse -- linked by our collective activity. I can't recall a time in my life when the check and balance civil society represents had more potential for impact.

So here is part one. We all have two days to complete the 2020 Census. It closes on September 30th. In my innocence, I have always loved the historic censuses -- some on microfilm, some digital -- to search for ancestors and make other inferences for research purposes. The idea of a census that so vastly undercounts our population -- in this so-called advanced and digial era -- smacks at the gob.

Have you been counted? Have yours been counted?

Here's one last push. To make sure you're in there so NYC, NYS, the USA and future historians may all benefit from a full and accurate count, go to www.my2020census.gov. The clock is ticking loudly at this 59th minute of the 11th hour.

By Caitlin Hawke

Today, I left my home just as FDNY members were streaming past, down 100th Street toward the Riverside Park firefighters monument where they remembered their fallen for the 19th time in their annual rite. 

I realized it was, again, September 11th. 

In the first years, it was so raw. As time passed, the anniversary provided a chance to summon back the day's events, to remember and pay tribute. To mourn. Now nearly twenty years since 9/11, a generation gone by, I remain incredulous.

Waking New Yorkers soaked in the morning's perfection, readying for work. Not a hint of the waning summer's humidity. A clear, deep blue sky. A cool edge on a late summer day or a warm edge on an early fall day -- take your pick.

I get hung up when I think back, looping memories of the weather in the hours before disaster struck, the perversion of such a fine day juxtaposed with the date's murderousness.

And nineteen years later, I find solace in the poignant telltales, pictured here, left by firefighters remembering their own. It rekindles the solidarity I experienced with my fellow New Yorkers that whole autumn long. And I feel the throughline of that solidarity now in our current ordeal from which we momentarily emerge for a fine fall day. 

​
~~Dedicated to the West Coast Firefighters with respect for their valor and hope for their safety.~~

The monument -- which needs to be updated with mention of women -- is inscribed:
To the men of the Fire Department
of the City of New York
who died at the call of duty
soldiers in a war that never ends
this memorial is dedicated by the people of a grateful city.
Erected 1912.

A memorial offering, above right, to Joseph P. Spor, Jr. from Rescue 3 in the Bronx, who perished in the South Tower with seven others from his team. He was a father of four, the youngest of whom -- Caitlin Marie, like me -- was just nine months old.

FDNY lost 343 members on 9/11.

A recognition to horses, the fire engines of yore.

By Caitlin Hawke

There's still time to make plans to join us for Tuesday's history talk via Zoom (July 14 at 7 p.m.)! I'll be presenting at the annual meeting of the Block Association. To tune in, send an email to AMZoom@w102-103blockassn.org. You will receive the log or dial in information for Zoom.

If you haven't heard the talk, it revives a 125 year-old piece of our neighborhood's history. Once known as the St. Andoche, 855 West End Avenue (at center above) was constructed by beloved Civil War-era actor Maggie Mitchell, whose fame was second only to Edwin Booth’s, brother of John Wilkes Booth. Her story is largely forgotten, but the eight-story colonial revival St. Andoche still stands proud on the southwest corner of West 102nd Street where Maggie retired and lived for the last two decades of her life. The talk is equal parts early U.S. theater history, Bloomingdale history, and neighborhood architectural history.

Hope you can make it but make sure to register at the email above. Please share this with your Block Association neighbors.

By Caitlin Hawke

Neighbors, I have two pieces of news for you. If you did not receive an email in June from the Block Association about the publication of the Summer 2020 edition of the quarterly newsletter, it means you are not on the Block Association's email list. To join the list, make sure to visit this page so you don't miss future news (https://www.w102-103blockassn.org/join-us.html).  Fill out "Step 1" and you will be all set. If you wish to support your BA, continue to "Step 2."

I will send you the newsletter once we receive your sign up.

The second piece of news is that on Tuesday, July 14, at 7 p.m., at the annual meeting I'll be repeating the talk I gave for the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group in January: "From Ford's Theatre to 855 West End Avenue: Maggie Mitchell and the Story of the St. Andoche."

In a past blog post, I've written about Maggie Mitchell, the famous Civil War actor who built 855 West End Avenue. I'll be telling the story of her acting career and the beautiful building she mysteriously named the St. Andoche, located on the Southwest corner of W. 102nd Street and West End Avenue.

Known throughout the country for her stage presence and for her literally enchanting performances, Mitchell's success was huge -- she was out-earned only by Edwin Booth, America's leading man and brother of Lincoln's assassin John Wilkes Booth, both of whose paths Maggie crossed repeatedly. A child of New York, Maggie grew up on the stage, traveled the country and retired to Bloomingdale, settling at 855 West End Avenue, where she died in 1918.

All are welcome to Zoom into this talk on Tuesday, July 14 at 7 p.m. Please register by RSVPing to AMZoom@w102-103blockassn.org to receive the Zoom details to log in.

Hope you will join us to learn about this little nugget of neighborhood history!

See you on Tuesday.

By Caitlin Hawke

Apart. Like we have all been for months. A Part. Like we are coming to be, of a movement.

It's now rattled our windows and shaken our walls. I don't think I will ever forget the despair-to-hope ride of the past seven days for the rest of my life. They say you forget pandemics. The worry subsides and the world returns to normal. I'm always taken aback when someone doesn't recall the AIDS crisis, especially in New York City. I fully expect for Covid-19 to recede quickly into the recesses of our minds, once it packs its bags and moves on. 

But the power harnessed by the people in our streets protesting peacefully is stunning. The tipping point is in our rear view mirror, but we don't fully trust it yet. And there's so much still to fight for.

The curfews this week have been yet another chapter in "2020: How Surreal Can It Get." Tonight, itching to flout, but mostly hoping to soak in my strange neighborhood, I took a bike ride through the Upper West Side. Below are some images from that ride. As much as I want my city back and for the virus to remain under control, I also want the roots of what is happening to go down deep and buckle the macadam, rendering the old byways unpassable and forcing us to lay down new ones. 

It's almost as if the fact that we were apart enabled so many to become a part of this. Certainly the fact of our limbo helped hasten the outrage about the senseless murder of George Floyd, galvanized by the inequities of Covid's toll. 

I'm still thinking about Ex Uno Plures and E Pluribus Unum. Written only two months ago. I find myself believing that it's coming to fruition before our eyes. But "2020: How Surreal Can It Get" has many a chapter to go.

UWS Curfew Gallery: Part 1 - Hell You Talmbout
​​The first images I noted were these solemn panels -- memorials to victims of police brutality. If you haven't heard Janelle Monáe's song, it is what was going through my head when I saw these blades.

​(Keep scrolling down for more images; to view the gallery properly, click on the blog title to view it online).

If you received this in an email subscription, to listen to Janelle Monáe's "Hell You Talmbout" please click on the blog title to view the post online.

UWS Curfew Gallery: Part 2 - Lincoln's Center Under Cover

UWS Curfew Gallery: Part 3 - On Broadway Where Wood Meets Glass Under Bright Neon Lights

UWS Curfew Gallery: Part 4 - Check Point Nine Six
After 8 p.m., no through traffic is permitted south of 96th Street these days. I rode freely up the middle of the avenue toward home past a deserted 87th Street.

Below, a police officer checks in with a driver and let's him pass.

​In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand

​-- Bob Dylan, "Every Grain of Sand"

By Caitlin Hawke

West End Avenue is deafeningly silent early this morning as the curfew has curtailed most car traffic south of 96th Street. It's a street I recognize less and less yet one that I've come to know deeply. I find myself studying it. Each bird chirping. Each passerby. Each delivery truck. Each siren. Each neighbor at his or her window in my sightlines. All targets of my gaze in a way I have never gazed before.

Looking out my window in sleepy Bloomingdale all day today I perceived a strange vibrato. Tension thick in the air. Anticipation. Trepidation. And the gaze from apartment to street of all these neighbors still cooped up is one of watchful, worried eyes. The First Wave scarcely receded, the Second Wave is roiling and swiftly rolling in.

But I am not talking about the virus. Like a Rube Goldbergian contraption, infection has become the vector of infection. Instead of picking up with some semblance of normalcy coming off the first wave of coronavirus, we are now again waist deep in. Begat by the first wave but not precisely in its own image, the Second Wave of which I speak looks and feels very much like a growing revolution, where people the city over -- the country and the world over -- have been swept up as it crests. 

Chalked on sidewalks, hung from windows, held up in protest posters each day at 1pm in Straus Park, called out by peaceful congregants making their noontime way down Broadway, the revolution beckons: manifest in support of justice for all, manifest in opposition to police brutality, manifest in acknowledgment of the grotesque and disproportionate toll Covid-19 has had on people of color.

The solidarity of the Second Wave equals that of the first, but its fury surpasses it. Both share uncharted waters, unpredictable consequences, unimaginable cost, unfathomable pain.

Experts tell us that there will be another wave of viral infections. But they didn't tell us that our social isolation would finally make us immune to complacency and catapult us into the work we must now do. 

I'm still too jaded to believe that in corona there could be salvation. But at a minimum there is transformation. And we are most definitely not coming out of this the same.  Prepare ye.

Above photos courtesy of Sharon Waskow

Daily protest near Straus Park near W. 106th Street, where neighbors gather at 1 p.m.

By Caitlin Hawke

Reflecting nigh on 100 days of solitude, I should be writing a love letter to Bloomingdale Aging in Place, or "BAiP" as everyone calls it. A bit over ten years old, this network of neighbors has proven itself to be the insta-community just waiting for anyone who wanted to join and meet-up hyperlocally. Did you ever watch "Cheers"? It's like that bar. But without walls. And no taps. You walk in, and everyone knows your name. BAiP is a perfect third place.

Its network of neighbors has launched nearly 100 different social and activity groups in the last decade. Groups that meet monthly, weekly and in some cases daily. 

But when Covid-19 hit and flung all BAiPers into their respective corners, with a halt to in-person social activities, it was hard to predict what might happen.

Three months later, there are more than 100 people meeting up -- sometimes three times a week -- to join remote yoga classes and then stick around in a post-yogic haze for breakouts just to schmooze, share, check in, be.

Many of the activity groups have not missed a beat, moving swiftly online and picking up when Mother Nature thwarted them from meeting together in cinemas and museums, in parks and living rooms. Each group its own mini-community led by a neighbor, when beheld together these dozens of groups weave into a tight-knit fabric of connectivity for nearly 1500 people throughout Bloomingdale. The grassroots, neighbor-to-neighbor model not only has proven resilient and responsive, but it has also been a lifeboat ferrying from desert island to desert island keeping us castaways connected while we all endure the strange pause.

Knowing that with a click, three times a week, I can jump in for a yoga class, instantly connect, and lay eyes on all these neighbors makes me feel a solidarity like the one I feel at 7 p.m. sharing glimpses and furtive waves with neighbors across the street, ringing my bell as fast and hard as I can to keep up with the cheers.

And while these classes are great for body and spirit, BAiP's neighbor-led groups are the community-building engine at its core, and despite worst initial fears, many have found a way to persevere online.

One of BAiP's oldest living room groups, Photography, is led by Block Association cameraman and ubermensch Ozzie Alfonso. Just as Covid-19 struck, Ozzie sent out word to the neighbors in his group that the next theme to shoot would be "Life in the Time of Coronavirus." Slightly ahead of the wave, the crew got out there way back a lifetime ago when the crocuses were starting to come up.  Over the weeks, they began documenting our neighborhood, our stores and streets, our residences.

Below is the very special, personal gallery that these local photographers produced. To view more of this group's work, see the dozens of their beautiful galleries here.

For me, coronavirus is a clarion call, like the one intoned by Allen Ginsberg at the end of Scorsese's documentary on Bob Dylan's magical mythical tour, the Rolling Thunder Revue. It's as if this virus is saying the same:

"Try to get yourself together, clean up your act, find your community. Pick up on some kind of redemption of your own consciousness, become more mindful of your own friends, your own work, your own proper meditation, your own proper art, your own beauty. Go out and make it for your own eternity."

Here's hoping that if we take one kernel of truth back out into the social world with us when we emerge it is one akin to BAiP's truth: build the community you aspire to and they will come.

This Block Association and its sister organization, BAiP, spawned here 11 years ago, deserve your TLC. ​We have work to do, people. And redemption of our consciousness may be the one true gift to arise from this ordeal.

Credit: Gallery "Life in the Time of Covid '19" courtesy of BAiP's Photography group led by Ozzie Alfonso. Note: if you received this post in an email via your subscription, click on the title of the blog post to view the gallery online.

And lastly, my lagniappe for you is the Ginsberg benediction of the Rolling Thunder Revue. Again, if you are reading this in an email via your subscription, click on the blog post title to view the video on the blog.

By Caitlin Hawke

I won't go much into my complicated relationship to my patriotism. Except to say, while I could have done without all the lapel pins that later ensued, when I saw the first flags appear in solidarity in the immediate wake of 9/11, it took a deep emotional toll. I don't think I'd ever before realized how powerful a symbol a cloth flag could be.

When I was in grade school, I remember learning "Lift Every Voice and Sing" and being awestruck by its beauty. It shook awake in me an explosively optimistic feeling, perhaps the birth of my complicated patriotism.

Today, cheering at my window, watching my partner cheer beside me, hearing his voice projecting over West End Avenue, listening to but not seeing my downstairs neighbor ringing her school bell, and seeing my counterparts across the avenue materialize from behind closed windows night in and night out: these are small moments of solidarity I never could have imagined would be mine. 

Like the flags after 9/11 and the voices lifted in song of my DC childhood, the evening cheers touch a deep nerve within. Collective and rallied around a single cause. A patriotism.

Here now come the airborne elite. In a military tribute to the legions who've kept our fates from a downward spiral -- the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds and the Navy's Blue Angels will flyover our punch drunk city today at noon in a salute to the people whose debt we are in: our essential workers and the frontline Covid workers.

These glorious flocks of flying machines are guaranteed to take your breath away.

I can't imagine any aerobatics, but the metaphor of the jets passing in impossible proximity at impossible speed is akin to what our medical, city, and essential business workers have done these past two months. Lockstep. No margin of maneuver. In sync. All ramped up at full speed.

As I said at the top of this post, my patriotism has its complexities. But when it comes to the Blue Angels and the Thunderbirds, when they fly over, all is forgiven and forgotten between me and Uncle Sam: I am American to my core. The sight and stunning sound of them, too, make a deep emotional mark -- like a roaring promise that anything is possible, anything achievable. If we come together.

Deep inside we know it's time to face the rising sun of our next new day. With the Blue Angels above, let it resound loud as the rolling sea.

By Caitlin Hawke


A big hat tip to neighbor Win Armstrong for sharing news of this episode of "George to the Rescue" wherein the Bloomingdale School of Music gets the full "surprise reno" treatment that the show is known for.

While we are socially isolating and dreaming of the days of yore when stepping out to a concert didn't require biosafety level 3 gear, here's a feel-good story about how the little tuneful powerhouse known as the Bloomingdale School of Music gots its groove back. You may have seen the prodigious schedule of BSM concerts featured in our newsletters and website calendar. And you may have passed by this modest landmark just west of Broadway at 323 W. 108th Street, but never thought about what goes on inside.

Founded in 1964, this school is all about making music education accessible. It's one of those neighborhood gems like the temple of Shinran Shonin known as the New York Buddhist Church, or the Nicholas Roerich Museum -- institutions that quietly populate our residential streets and are getting on in years. Pushing 60, BSM has been so focused on educating, that sprucing up its backyard or performance hall has had to wait.  Until the angel-makeover show "George to the Rescue" got wind of its aspirations. Now that time has come, and the full transformation is unveiled in the video below.

On pause like the rest of the city, BSM will come roaring back one day soon because one of the things that makes us human is our need to make and experience music in live performance. Maybe this lovely little tale of its recent sprucing will make us all jump at the chance to attend one of their student or teacher concerts. That is, once we are delivered from our surreal sequestration. But it's something to look forward to in our Bloomingdale backyard.

Click on the image below to view the video directly on youtube (you know you have time!), or click on the blog post title to view this on our website where the video is embedded.  While you are thinking about it, now is a great time to share this blog with your neighbors while we are all in hyperlocal lockdown. It's easy to subscribe via the links below and receive posts directly to your email in box. So tell a couple of friends or neighbor about this site.

​

By Caitlin Hawke

Neighbors, I feel more connected to you than ever. I can barely hear you. Can't see you, except at 7 p.m. when you fling open your sash.  But you are beautiful at the top of that hour. And your cri de coeur is mine, too.

I've been thinking about how we got here. 

Out of one, many. That's for the pangolin, or whichever creature this zoonotic nightmare leaped forth out of and upended the lives of billions.

Out of many, one. That's for us. U.S. This country, with all its fault lines and political red and blue blocks is, for better or for worse, now 'one' in a way it hasn't been since 9/11. The sooner we embrace that, the stronger we'll emerge from this catastrophe. Roughly a month in, it's not a moment too soon. But it's not just domestic. Our family of man is global. Have you ever felt the purely human connection across borders and societal divides more profoundly? And yet, here we all sit. Alone. Out of many, one.

When we come through to the other side, when we have metabolized how we have behaved, how we were led, for better for worse, who we have lost, and how we'll go on, we had better reckon with the Anthropocene. We're so busy saving ourselves, we've forgotten that the real work ahead is to save our planet.

And if we can do this, surely we can do that.

Reservoir
by Caitlin Hawke

By Caitlin Hawke

People of Bloomingdale, what a surreal ride we are on together. I don't pretend to speak for us all, but for me it's been a week of heartbreak, solitude, angst, and the good old telephone. Oh, and ice cream. But I noticed you are eating ice cream, too, since there's never any in the store. We apparently all like the same flavors, and desperation forces us to consider the unthinkable. Strawberry, I am looking at you.

I have zoomed a good deal, too, and while I am growing used to videoconferencing, nothing beats a good, long dystopic gab on the phone with a good or long lost friend. So, count that as a silver lining.

Heartbreak is rolling in past the bulkhead in waves. Reading back a couple of posts, I was feeling it three weeks ago (also known as another lifetime) and my imagination is not as stretched as it once was: I do still greatly fear for our Mom & Pops, both the flesh and bone kinds and the brick and mortar kind. The so-called impending lockdown makes it all the more concrete. But it's not just the little guy; when I called to cancel a hotel-room block today for an academic event that had to be postponed, the echo of not one, not two, but three sales staff members furloughed, really shook me. There are a host of poignant stories, and I expect we will all be deeply touched by many of these as the weeks wage on. And so much more.

Solitude and angst, thankfully, don't go together for me. I like my community, but I also like my space. The angst comes from being out on the sidewalks and having to pass anyone who believes 3 or 4 feet is 6 feet. I guess we all have our sense of what is socially acceptable social distance! But don't make me take my tape measure out, because first I'll have to sanitize my hands, then pull it out, tap you, ask you to edge further to the east, snap my tape measure back, wipe it down, put it in my "clean" pocket, and try to remember which is my clean hand for when I have to repeat this process. It's meshuganah-making.

But through it all, so far, I am observing little touches of commonality. The urge to hug someone shaken because her dog got into a skirmish was powerful; but the 6 feet remained between us. Still we had a connection. The tilted heads and gaped mouths and "can you believe" gestures from nearly every neighbor passed who has dared to take a walk reinforces our bonds.

Distractions abound. Like you, I am receiving rafts of amazing offers from the suffering but stiff-upperlipping culture emporia that make our city and world so rich. From the fabulous Laura Benanti's hashtag movement (scroll down for some) to get any kids whose spring musical was cancelled to share their performance with her so she could be their audience, to the scads of streaming performances like my mad crush Ivan Fischer's Quarantine Soirées by way of the Budapest Festival Orchestra members at 19:45 each day (heure de Budapest), to this very special clip embedded below from the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra: the human power to create, entertain, empathize and innovate is as daunting as the probability that some poor poached plated pangolin would have us in the state we're in.

So. Don't eat pangolin. Wash your hands. Don't go out. But exercise every day. Maintain your distance. Destress. Sleep. Complete the census. Skip your tax deadline (til July). Vote. No, I mean really vote. Vote like suffrage had been taken away from you and you just got it back after a many-month house arrest. Vote like you are Kate Winslet as Dr. Erin Mears tracking down the index patient in Contagion. Vote like you've just come upon a shelf full of gallon squirt-bottle hand-sanitizers on a Duane Reade shelf. And most of all, appreciate the irrepressible, untouchable, fellow Homo sapiens sapiens all around you.

Until we touch again...be safe, stay well, and just one more thing: would you mind holding that door open for me so I don't have to touch it? I can't remember which hand is which.


H/T to my dear friend Hanako for Rotterdam and BFO tips. Enjoy.

Sunshine Songs below from high schoolers around the country, a trending hashtag for their performances that were canceled due to the pandemic with thanks to triple threat Laura Benanti.
Click the links to view the performances.

By Caitlin Hawke

Those are the words of the terrific UK internet information source on the current outbreak of novel coronavirus, John Campbell, PhD.  His youtube channel is here. Campbell posts short videos daily that I find strangely calming. Below I am embedding his tips on hand washing, but have found all of his videos filled with evidence-based information.

Below, there are links to documents put out last week by the NYC Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, which include a fact sheet, a guide for residential disinfection and a poster that you can download and print and share as needed with your neighbors or building managers.

If you are receiving this message in an email subscription, you'll have to click on the post's title to view the video directly on the blog. I heartily recommend it. You will also find it on his channel at the link above.

Lather up and stay vigilant, neighbors.

By Caitlin Hawke

Talking heads everywhere.

If you are like me, you are on circuit overload. Impeachment, primaries, debates, newsmageddon week after week. Everything has stopped making sense. And now, really? We've got once-in-a-lifetime virus for the world to contend with, like there wasn't enough on our plate?

Pass the Purell and, please, Calgon, take me away.

I've been thinking a bit about what life in NYC might look like weeks and months down the road. And I am finding the limits of my imagination. I don't want to trivialize the risk we may be up against nor overdramatize it, but it's very hard to imagine a life when the subway isn't an option or we cannot convene in large numbers or worse. 

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you may recall that I've written quite a bit about the state of Mom & Pop stores in our area. And I must say that in those limits of my imagination, I do worry that something terrible like an outbreak in NYC could be the final breaking point for so many small businesses already surviving on the thinnest of margins.

So this is a shout out to those businesses. And a call to arms to readers that they will need us more than ever. And we may need them, more than ever before, too. We may also need each other and our Block Association. Community is a powerful force, and we're lucky to be in a neighborhood with strong connections.

In the naive melodic lyrics of songsmith David Byrne who is fresh off a Broadway run of his show "American Utopia", this must be the place. And home is where I want to be. But it sure is a wild, wild life these days.

Hang tough, Bloomingdale. And, Mom & Pop, I hope we'll have your backs, same as it ever was.

For subscribers, please note that the lagniappe videos below won't show up in the email subscription feed. Please click here to view it on the blog.

By Caitlin Hawke

Neighbors, just a reminder that this talk -- the story of the building once known as the St. Andoche on West End Avenue -- will be held on Tuesday, January 14, at 6:30 p.m. at Hostelling International, 891 Amsterdam Avenue at W. 103rd Street. Hope you can make it for this lost slice of Bloomingdale's history! It's a free presentation in the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group series. All are welcome!

By Caitlin Hawke

As a teaser for the talk I'll be giving on Tuesday, here's a little Throwback Thursday entry which I hope will entice you to come hear more!

For the past many years, I've been digging up tidbits about the apartment house that stands at the southwest corner of West End Avenue and W. 102nd Street. Built in 1895, it's a little building, filled with charm. Its solid construction is thanks to the fortune that bankrolled it -- one amassed by Miss Maggie Mitchell powerhouse of the American stage in the Civil War era.

For about 22 years, Miss Mitchell called this building her home. Sadly, she died there in the wee hours of March 22, 1918, but at the ripe age of 81. Hailed at her passing as "one of the most popular actresses of an earlier generation," and "one of the most famous of American actresses," Mitchell left the stage in 1892, and retired to Bloomingdale where her well-constructed, eight-story, colonial revival building still stands, but where her name has been all but forgotten.

I'm hoping to rectify that on Tuesday, January 14, at 6:30 p.m. To hear how George Sand, John Wilkes Booth, Laura Keene, Abraham Lincoln, and a shadow-dancing waif with enchanting powers all cross paths with Maggie, come over to Hostelling International for this free presentation in the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group's wonderful lecture series. More details in the poster below.

​

By Caitlin Hawke

Bob Dylan has been in a long-term relationship with Greenwich Village, but he's been spotted in the throes of a torrid affair with the Upper West Side.

Even non-fans know the story of how he hunted down Woody Guthrie and then settled into the basket-house scene of Greenwich Village in early 1961. From his first apartment at 161 West 4th Street to his Stanford White townhouse uptown near City College on “Striver’s Row” Dylan is, at heart, a New Yorker.

I, like 20,000 others, will never forget the November 19, 2001, concert at Madison Square Garden when he played “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” to a packed house of aching souls, still in shock after 9/11. As he got to the last couplet — “I’m going back to New York City/I do believe I’ve had enough” — the hometown crowd erupted in a cry of solidarity and civic pride. I recall that he spoke between songs that evening — a rare occurrence in the second half of his career. He didn’t say much, but in acknowledgement of the tragedy he said simply that no one had to tell him how he felt about New York. Again a cheer brought down the house.

I could go on about all the Dylan landmarks and connections of this town — how he picked up violinist Scarlet Rivera on an East Village corner and convinced her to record with him on the seminal album “Desire.” Or that half-mile taxi ride with Lenny Bruce. How the fabulous folkloric “Rolling Thunder Revue” tour of 1975-76 was cooked up at a back table at the Other End with Bobby Neuwirth. As landmarks go, the one with the tightest connection to my heart is the legendary Supper Club, where on November 16, 1993, Dylan played an acoustic show that fans have traded bootlegs of with abandon for the last quarter century.

​But thanks to his two-week stay at the Beacon Theatre from November 23 to December 6, Bob Dylan was shaking the sugar down in our very own Sugar Town for ten sweetest of shows on positively 74th Street.

Read on here at the West Side Rag where I wrote an appreciation and here for a review of the first concert of the run. 

It's all over now, baby blue, but buck up, because in 50 short weeks, he'll be back.

Til then, I am pressing on.