By Caitlin Hawke

Even if it means repeating an image I've posted, there is no better Throwback Thursday than one where I can deliver news of a local organization paying tribute to the neighborhood's past.

In fact, the organization will be commemorating a commemoration of a world tragedy: the sinking of the RMS Titanic on April 15, 1912.  She was bound for our city on that maiden voyage and aboard were illustrious New Yorkers including Bloomingdale residents (2747 Broadway) Ida Straus and her husband Isidor, an owner of Macy's.  That fateful night, Ida chose to remain behind and stay aboard with her husband when she was offered a seat in one of the lifeboats: "I will not be separated from my husband. As we have lived, so will we die, together."  And so they did.

Three years later, the city dedicated Straus Park to their memory (below).  Looking back and reading contemporaneous accounts, I get the feeling that the memorial was as much in honor of Mr. and Mrs. Straus's mutual devotion as it was in defense of New York's successful men who were seen as "grasping and lack[ing] a spirit of sympathy and social service" according to a New York Times piece. Interestingly this was also the time of the Revenue Act of 1913 reinstating the Federal Income Tax, which would have considerably hampered "New York's successful men."  But I digress.

Fifty-nine designs were submitted, with the winning submission receiving $10,000.  Architect Evart Tracy and sculptor Augustus Lukeman won the competition to design the Straus Memorial.  Evart said: "we have sought to make the peaceful spirit of the monument and the tiny pool in front of it the one dominating note—an eternal peace that runs through the spirit of the world deeper than its turmoil."  I'd say they fairly well succeeeded!

And so have Friends of Straus Park who now maintain plantings and support gardening of this park in the spirit in which the park was designed. It is thanks to the Friends of Straus Park that a centennial fête for this triangular oasis will take place on Saturday, October 3rd.  It's an all-day affair called "Art in the Park." From 10 am to 5 pm, there will be art of all sorts (think jewelry, photographs, paintings...). There's also music and food planned. And at noon, neighbors will commemorate this park's centennial.

When you are done here, amble down West End Avenue to West 104th Street for a rollicking good yard sale put on by our friends at the West 104th Street Block Association.

It's bound to be a beautiful day in the neighborhood. And we have our very own peaceful park in which to contemplate it.

By Caitlin Hawke

With a h/t to the West Side Rag, the Museum of the City of New York and photographer Arthur Hosking who shot the top picture in 1920 or 1921.

By Caitlin Hawke

By Caitlin Hawke

In 1925, 865 West End Avenue was constructed replacing town houses on the west side of West End Avenue which may be seen here.  On the southwest corner of the intersection of West 102nd Street is the "Standoche" or "St. Andoche" shown below with fetching awnings.  Bring them back!

By Caitlin Hawke

As often is the case this time of year, my thoughts turned from summer to fall one August day.  Usually triggered by a certain crispness in the air or the perception of a slight change in the sun's angle, this pre-autumnal premonition is linked to a back-to-school wistfulness for me.  "Summer's over, get back to the grind," Mother Nature calls out sternly.

But this time, the feeling had neither to do with dry, cool air, nor with a lowering of light.  It was a shabby carpet of leaves, brown and yellow, littering the pavement in front of 878 West End Avenue.  "Fall is here," they screeched as I kicked through them on my way home. But a month too soon.

And then I stopped.  Looked up.  And realized.  Not at all, chump.  It is still summer.  But we've lost the tree.  You know the one.  The ginkgo that when all is said and done will have been felled violently yet in slow motion.  Begun by an axe to the trunk early this past spring, the end will come with the city grinding out the stump sometime one full orbit of the sun later.   And in between we will watch this stressed tree wither and die and stand there as atrocious punctuation.

This year, the vandal will not smell the ginkgo berries. This year, we will not behold a fiery yellow and orange canopy.  This year, instead, out will come an adolescent killed before its prime. And, if we're lucky, next year in will go a twin. Perversity dictates that it be a fruit-bearing ginkgo.

A before and after for your consideration below.  But what about us, before and after, neighbors?