By Caitlin Hawke


Well, folks, it's July 4. Version 2.019.  Today has me thinking about Independence Days Gone By. An America that preceded this America. One of nostalgic childhood memories of fireflies in the backyard and 'Our Bicentennial' fireworks on the great DC Mall -- and the colossal city-wide traffic jam that ensued. Three quarters of a million folks showed up for the fireworks and the Boston Pops under Fiedler's baton (lagniappe embedded below -- click on the post title to see the video and see if it doesn't stir you when the audience rises one by one to their feet to the rousing trills and flourishes of piccolos and flutes). Here, there was the incredible spectacle of the tall ships in New York Harbor dubbed by Abe Beame "the most magnificent and glorious display of maritime splendor of th[e] century." Barkers dressed as colonial town criers and and hawkers on stilts with outsized Uncle Sam top hats milled around the foot of the Trade Center towers promoting the birthday events. Americans were spurred on to engage with this national event. Two hundred years young with Vietnam and Tricky Dick in our rearview mirror, we were scarred, socially shaken, but looking ahead; the country was dusting itself off and ready for the party, proud of the democracy that we were rebuilding in a new image of cleaner politicians, of inclusion, and of opportunity. Standing in front of Independence Hall that fourth, President Ford (in an address that I urge you to watch for how is resonates two score later--also embedded below) heralded "the two great documents that continue to supply the moral and intellectual power for the American adventure in self government."

Ford made the most of the birthday celebrations in '76, a hotly contested campaign year. A bizarre if not utterly opportunistic example early on in the year of how his administration maximized the occasion was how he handled the appearance of one sole case of swine flu at Fort Dix in New Jersey. For health authorities at the CDC, the case set off a group-think panic that the 1918 flu was back. At the time, Dick Cheney and Don Rumsfeld were padding around the west wing as Ford's trusty advisors. With Ronnie Reagan nipping at Ford's heels in the GOP primaries coupled with a young, idealistic peanut farmer on the rise on the left, the White House signed on to the notion that a vaccination campaign was immediately in order to combat the specter of flu that could fell Americans left, right and center. Heaven forfend on our birthday Americans dropping like flies. From a draft memo I once dug up in the Atlanta branch of our national archives, the Ford Administration's health officials argued in favor of a rapid intervention: "undertaking the [Swine Flu vaccination] program in this manner provides a practical, contemporary example of government, industry, and private citizens cooperating to serve a common cause, an ideal way to celebrate the nation’s 200th birthday."  (Emphasis mine).

Just think about that especially in light of the measles recently! Vaccinating citizens to celebrate the bicentennial.  Hard to make this up!

But the strategy behind the strategy was one -- likely concocted by Cheney -- akin to a Rose Garden offensive: keep Ford's name in the newspapers all year long with this great vaccination campaign and the birthday appearances, and he'd sail through as a strong, protective, patriotic leader of our nation, and twinkletoe his way in to a November '76 victory (not his normal mode of bipedality!). For the flu campaign, he even coaxed arch enemies and heroes Jonas Salk and Albert Sabin, of polio vaccine fame, to a détente and enlisted their help in advocating for the flu shot program and branding it for the nation. (That's a whole long story in and of itself).  Out of nowhere, cases of so-called Legionnaire's disease showed up in Philly in July 1976 -- the place and date chosen by the American Legion to coincide with the 200th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Cases of the illness that struck convention goers were immediately mistaken for Swine flu as the symptoms are similar, and with this scare, health authorities were eventually able to connive and jackhammer away the legal roadblocks to Ford's national flu vaccination campaign.

Of course this whole strategy failed spectacularly for reasons I will write about another time, the primary one being there was in fact no pandemic at all. The fiasco came to be known as "The Swine Flu Affair."

Ford lost. Carter won. Reagan was but four years stalled.

All this -- and so much more -- came galloping back to me with the fabulous archival footage in Martin Scorsese's new Netflix film "Rolling Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story" -- a mixed-up, crazy quilted, unreliably-narrated, utter joy of a romp back to 1975 and 1976.

If you do yourself and loved ones a single good deed to celebrate our nation's birthday this week, fire up Netflix and watch this gorgeous, lush "documentary."

You see, Bob Dylan, too, had a vision for our nation's 200th.  He, too, had been watching our leaders with cold eyes during Vietnam and Watergate. He, too, had yearned to see a better nation reboot. And reappearing after a multi-year, self-imposed fame detox, he'd conjured a traveling road show with his friends. An ideal way to celebrate our nation's 200th birthday!  

This post was triggered by the visual seen on Broadway above.  It is a shot in front of Lincoln Center earlier this month when the Scorsese film premiered. The Rolling Thunder Revue tour, mysteriously mythic for fans, was equally mythic for those musicians and artists who rode shotgun with the bard for its first leg up and down the northeast corridor, dipping into Canada. The Rolling Thunder caravan first put down stakes in Plymouth Rock for goodness's sakes. From there, a quick stop in Lowell, Massachusetts, paid homage to Jack Kerouac, natch. By day, Dylan and Allen Ginsberg made a pilgrimage to the grave to sit and wonder a while. By night, the roving gypsies became a possessed musical ensemble, jamming for four hours a show.

Vignettes -- some true, some conjured -- abound in the Scorsese film. Sam Shepard lured in Joni Mitchell who then wrote "Coyote" in reply. Virtuoso and tour-sound-defining violinist Scarlet Rivera had a sword fetish, or did she? Joan Baez donned a fedora and painted her face white in a commedia dell'arte tradition and was mistaken for Dylan by the roadies. The tremendous talent, Roger McGuinn of Byrds fame, took the stage with Bob in the most intense and eye-talking duet you'll ever see. And that first leg of the tour all culminated just on the eve of the bicentennial year at Madison Square Garden for the epic "Hurricane" concert with Muhammad Ali present to bless the cause of justice for the 'Hurricane'. Through their eponymous song, Jacques Levy and Bob Dylan brought the plight of falsely-accused boxing champ Rubin "Hurricane" Carter to the attention of the country. The song itself is a film -- an economically-written poem set to music whose narrative flickers through your mind with all the real-life characters and racists in full flesh.

I know that fireworks and picnics and bbqs and even the occasional military parade are the more traditional nods to national holidays. But by the time you've read this, it will already be the 5th. So treat yourself to streaming this film, and walk back in time with me to our bicentennial to think about all that has come since.

The best possible way to end this is in the words spoken by Allen Ginsberg at the end of the film musing on the raucous, joyful road trip and its ragtag ensemble:

"Take from us some example. 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."

In four sentences, Ginsberg redeemed himself forever for me. And how timeless these words are.

Readers, this is your community at a time we truly need one. The Block Association is a perfect example of what the Beat poet spoke. I know this was a long, winding way to get here. And don't misunderstand: it's still a great idea to get your vaccinations. But these were the thoughts jangling in my mind on the morning of July the fourth in the year two thousand and nineteen.

​Happy 243rd to U.S. all. And here's to a more perfect 'union' built together.

I couldn't find the clip with Ginsberg, but above is a whistle-wetter for the film of Dylan singing "One More Cup of Coffee." For those reading this in an email subscription, click here for the video above, here for the Fiedler video below and here for the Ford address at bottom with a great look at the tall ships of OpSail 1976.
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By Caitlin Hawke

The extraordinary Bloomingdaler Florence Clinton Sutro (1865-1906) came to my attention thanks to reader Wilbur J.

He also shared the interior shots below of her home, with husband Theodore, at 320 W. 102nd Street. Designed by Alonso B. Kight, the Renaissance Revival townhouse at 320 W. 102nd Street, was first occupied by the Sutros. The interiors were meticulously photographed sometime soon thereafter and below, thanks to Wilbur, you will find the rosetta stone to Bloomingdale living 125 years ago. Daybed and desk huddle near the grand fireplace. Heavy velvet drapery stands at the ready to buffer the winter entering through the main door. High molded and vaulted ceilings top off burnished wood trimming everywhere. And an impressive cast iron stove gives rise to imagining the meals that must have come out of the kitchen (below).

The Sutros were on the NYC circuit of elites. And Florence was in many a vanguard. Cultural, social, intellectual.

Depicted above at the time of obtaining her law degree, she was better known as a painter and musician. Her musical talent manifested at a young age; she took a $1000 prize at 13, besting 950 other young musicians with her interpretation of Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2. She went on to study at the Grand Conservatory of New York where she was the first woman to graduate with a doctorate in music, all the while displaying her paintings at the National Academy of Design. Urged on by her financier-lawyer husband to take up his field, she graduated in 1891 as valedictorian from her law program at the University of the City of New York. In 1895, she published her book Women in Music and Law -- for which I am now hunting a printed version, but view the Hathi Trust digitized version here. Quite the niche she targeted. But hers was a quest to raise the profile of women in the arts and probably the law, too.

Together, the Sutros were champions of women's suffrage. In an April 1894 suffrage meeting, to warm applause, Theodore said: "That women do not have the privilege of the ballot seems to me contrary to all ideas of justice in this free country. It is only in accordance with principles of logic - and I might say grammar - that the word 'male' should be stricken from the Constitution."

It is highly likely that Harriot Stanton Blatch and Florence moved in the same circle living just six blocks apart.

I have not yet scratched the surface of the lives of these erstwhile neighbors. Theodore's two brothers Otto and Adolph have intriguing trajectories. Adolph was the first Jewish mayor of San Francisco and responsible for the Sutro baths, the ruins of which are out by the Cliff House near Land's End, San Francisco.

Florence is best remembered as the founder of the National Federation of Women's Music Clubs where her mission was to undo the discrimination against female musicians who were "not able to excel...due to existing prejudice." 

One can easily imagine these parlor and study rooms below filled with guests and tunes and intellectual discussions of all in this world that is just and beautiful and artful and female.

Something like a slice of Bloomsbury in Bloomingdale. 


h/t to Wilbur J. for flagging the Sutros!

​If anyone has any photos of the West 103rd Street head house of the subway station in the median from any period, please share them: blog@w102-103blockassn.org. Wilbur and I are interested in all details about it and in particular good images of it over the years it existed.

By Caitlin Hawke


A holiday, the opening shot of summer, and a day to remember the fallen and our veterans.

Terence Hanrahan shared these two photographs from the nearby service in honor of our veterans today. And it got me thinking.

I've always had a thing for Memorial Day. It brings out the Main Street USA in all of us compelling young and old to stop and reflect. This year, it struck me as inconceivable that D-Day was 75 years ago. A VA estimate calculated nearly half a million WW2 vets are alive. That, too, is an incredible number, given it's out of more than the 16 Million who were enlisted. Those with personal knowledge of the combat are rarer than ever.

When I was 11, I met a middle-aged visitor who, I was told, was my cousin and had been taken prisoner and survived a concentration camp. It was hard for me to understand how this dashing foreigner with his exotic accent could be related, much less a survivor of something I couldn't much comprehend.  (He was in fact my grandmother's first cousin and hence my first cousin twice removed thanks to the two generations separating us). Over the years, I learned much more, not all good.

Family memories have probably garbled information that was passed to me, but the name of Texan Jack Williams looms large in my mind today. I was told by a great aunt that Williams was a 1st Commander in the 6th Infantry Division of the US Third Army led by General George S. Patton; the division was the liberating force at the Buchenwald concentration camp. Williams was put in charge of the Buchenwald refugees. Those refugees weren't at the camp when it was liberated because they'd been forced on a death march in advance of the US arrival by skittish guards who feared for their lives knowing Patton was upon them. In those confusing days after the camp's liberation, Jack Williams was good to my great, great uncle and his son in some of their harshest hours, Hungarian survivors of the war. To them, America was the greatest nation on earth.

For Memorial Day 2019, I find myself remembering all this, thinking of Jack Williams and the people in his division, all sparked by these photos of our neighborhood's commemorations.

By Caitlin Hawke

Neighbors, mark your calendars, save the date of May 17, and RSVP to DOROT for this special talk by Michael V. Susi. Michael is the historian extraordinaire of Columbia University and parts south. From his historic postcard collecting, he produced two excellent books chronicling the Upper West Side and the Columbia-Morningside Heights neighborhoods.

Alas, the books are rare and hard to find, but lucky for us he's planning this free talk on Friday, May 17, 12:30-2pm (DOROT, 171 W. 85th Street) on all the bygone beauties of Riverside Drive.

Trust me: Go!

By Caitlin Hawke

Neighbors, I don't think you'll regret coming out on Thursday evening at the youth hostel for this homegrown story about the now-gone applicance store, RCI, and the time when Mom & Pop businesses filled our streetscape. Hats off to the wonderful folks over at the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group, a neighborhood treasure in and of itself.

I've been writing a lot about Mom & Pops on our blog pages. You can scroll through old posts here.
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By Caitlin Hawke

Some know her as Audrey. Some as Memory. She lies in suspended contemplation of those who perished on the Titanic, including Bloomingdalers and notable New Yorkers of their day, Ida and Isidor Straus.

The group named Friends of Straus Park invites you out to contemplate along with her on Saturday, April 13th. Details and a lot more of this history may be found in the flyer below.

I've written previously about Straus Park here, here and here. ​So brush up on your Bloomingdale, and, on April 13, come on out to the trivium where beauty lies in memory: Broadway, West End Avenue and W. 106th St.

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By Caitlin Hawke

The subway comes to Bloomingdale in this great shot on Broadway looking northwest from about W. 99th Street on the east side of Broadway. Note the three-story Grimm building at the NW corner of 100th Street and Broadway toward the right edge of this picture. (For more on the Grimm building, see prior posts here and here.  This shot is prior to the subterranean postcard I put up several years ago here.
Note, too, that the site soon to house the Whitehall on the SW corner at 100th Street is empty. 

By Caitlin Hawke

Behold 330 Riverside Drive, The Davis Mansion at West 105th Street (exact photo date unknown) now owned by Opus Dei and undergoing major interior renovations these past many months.

The Daytonian in Manhattan blog has written extensively about 330 Riverside Drive which was built on spec by Joseph Farley in 1902.

Neighbor Dan Wakin in his recent book about the stretch from 330-337 Riverside Drive also tells the story of the eponymous Davis Baking Powder fortune that enabled the Davis family to move into this beaut.

​Thanks to this building and the townhouses between Riverside Drive and West End Avenue, W. 105th Street has enjoyed landmark status far longer than most places around here. The landmarking report for the so-called "Riverside-West 105th Street Historic District" dates to Mayor Lindsay's days, compiled over several years. (I was amused to see the name Deborah S. Gardner as a main author of the report; she currently serves as the in-house historian of Hunter's Roosevelt House.)

An interesting aside for lovers of the "Bloomingdale" moniker: the landmarking initiative was originally referred to as the "Bloomingdale Historic District" but later changed to reflect greater specificity.

Landmark status was designated on April 19, 1973 by the Landmarks Commission citing the streetscape's visual harmony and fine preservation of the buildings.  By and large, the Beaux Arts buildings in the district -- all built within about three years of each other -- had the good fortune to have housed tenants of long occupancy and, as a consequence, suffered little remodeling, making them ripe for preservationists to rally around. For the report, I've extracted below the case to preserve 330 Riverside Drive and a description of its architectural features.

Also in this gem of a report, there is a fine history of the neighborhood and its development all the way back to the 1660s! It's worth clicking on the link above to read more.

Just a final thought: one must marvel at the date of 1973. Forty six years ago, our city and neighbors saw fit to protect the 30 buildings that sit in the shaded area of the map below, to lock in their existence for us all to enjoy, to ensure the neighborhood's grip on the past.  On your next walkabout, make a point of delecting this breathtaking block.

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The text below is an excerpt about 330 Riverside taken from the 1973 case to landmark the buildings in the bounded area above.

By Caitlin Hawke

Depicted below are numbers 863, 865, and 867 West End Avenue. This, of course, is the west side of the avenue, between W. 102nd and 103rd Streets, and it puts into perspective how the contemporaneous eight-story 855 West End Avenue stood tall on the avenue in its early days.

The residences below were built in the mid-1890s and are in keeping with those that still may be seen directly across the avenue on both the northeast and southeast corners of W. 102nd Street, which thankfully have been preserved as landmarks. To see what those looked like circa 1911, see this old post.

In 1923, the northern half of the block below was demolished to make way for Rosario Candela-designed 875 West End Avenue, and in 1924-25 the entire southern half of this block, including these three, was demolished for the construction of 865 West End Avenue, the apartment house on the NW corner of W. 102nd Street, also designed by Rosario Candela.

Candela was born in Sicily and emigrated in 1909, just the year before these photos were taken, to train at Columbia University. He earned his degree in 1915 and less than a decade later he was churning out luxurious designs for east and west side living. For more on Candela, see this piece or google him. Or better yet, just go outside and look up at pediments for the entwined carving 'RC', and you'll begin to see him everywhere.

The second shot, below, is the same three houses as above but a closer view of 863 and 865, taken in 1910. Notice detail of the doorways and the front stoops, and the figures in relief.

The maps above show, in 1912, the make up of West End Avenue, averaging 10 buildings per block.

By Caitlin Hawke

​Nice and simple today: The Marseilles in all her glory.  For another historic image of the Marseilles, see this post.

By Caitlin Hawke

Ok, for folks who park on the street, this post might get your Irish up. It entails the eventual loss of three parking spaces on Central Park West.

That's the bad news.  But the good news is that what I am about to report is a story of grassroots efforts to increase safety and improve aesthetics of "Strangers' Gate" -- the W. 106th Street portal to Central Park.

Thanks to neighbors' efforts, in particular to transportation advocate Peter Frishauf with help from Henry Rinehart, in mid-January Community Board 7 passed a resolution to improve access to this entrance to Central Park by opening the curb and prohibiting parking immediately outside it. Department of Transportation signage should be updated soon so that the approach will look like the photo below instead of the view in the photo above.

This will protect pedestrians who flow through Strangers' Gate, affording them better visibility of traffic on Central Park West and giving drivers a much better chance of seeing exiting and entering park goers.

I love the name of this gate and was vaguely aware that many of the park's entrances bear names. In fact, there are twenty named gates. Each honors a special population of New York City in an early nod to the fact that this vast green space was to be 'the People's Park.'  You might have been entering the park at W. 100th Street all these years and not have realized that that is Boys' Gate. Of course, anyone can go through it. But if you want to use Girls' Gate, you're going to have to go clear around to E. 102nd Street. Or you can pop down to the Dakota and enter through Women's Gate.

The key to the 20 gates is below.

The bitter irony of naming the gates for different NYC populations is that in creating Central Park, land was taken by eminent domain, and the African-American neighborhood known as Seneca Village was demolished in 1857. You won't see a Seneca Gate on the list below, but the rich history of Seneca Village is becoming better known.

The story has been told in recent plays and films, by creative writers, historians and archeologists. I will be posting more about it over the month of February. But while thinking about our newly visible Strangers' Gate, I wanted to pause and think about those who are largely invisible, those who were dispossessed of their homes, whose community was razed, and whose story was mostly lost -- all in the push to create a park that is a stranger to none of us.

Choose any of these 20 gates and enter this urban sanctuary with a thought toward Seneca Village on your way in.

By Caitlin Hawke

One of the posts I never got to last year was this charming shot. It comes from a gentleman who grew up around here and recalled, among other things, going to the Horn and Hardart automat, to the Armstead beauty salon (where Henry's was), to the TV store nearby and the candy store, Pollak's. Suba was Armstead Pharmacy back then and had a soda fountain where Mark's brother worked.

So readers may recall when the Hudes sign reappeared after the 103rd St. deli closed. Mark recalls that whenever he went into Hudes, the lady who ran it would give him half a salami sandwich.

Those were the days, my friends!

If you know someone who went to Booker T. in the early 1950s or if you know someone in the picture, email me with your stories! 

By Caitlin Hawke

This is the second in what you might think of as a diptych of posts. My last Throwback post digging into the story of the Beastie Boys' genesis in the Grimm Building led me down a long rabbit hole of fascination for the structure. If you didn't see that one, click here to read the nitty gritty Beastie story.

For part two now, here in images from 1867 to present is a documentation of that remarkably unchanged site, the NW corner of 100th Street and Broadway.

​It's rare that a building is so well documented over the years, so the gallery was great fun to pull together.

Recall in my prior post that this site does not enjoy landmarked status thanks to the gimme carveouts all along Broadway -- see the map on the prior post to understand what this means.

I don't know. Maybe I am just too in love with the past. But it defies any sort of reason or logic that our preservationists wouldn't protect this special building. Before the wonky land use and real estate savvy folks start to get impatient with me, I do get that it has been altered over the years, and that the Metro owners put a lot into it to bring it back from decrepitude.  But so many readers have a huge place in their Bloomingdale hearts for this one, it just seems like a no-brainer that we, as a community, might go the extra mile for this nigh on 150 year-old structure.

​Enjoy the picture show below.  

To navigate this photo gallery, click on the arrows or press the play button.
Note: If you are reading this in an email subscription, you may have to click on the
blog post title to view the gallery, or click here.

By Caitlin Hawke

A good while back, when I posted a quizlet on the architectural detail seen here, many readers replied quickly. Of course Pam Tice got it in a heartbeat, as did Lorne Sharf, Anthony Bellov and others. Anthony wrote that the Grimm building (aka 2641 Broadway, home of the Metro Diner) is "definitely the oldest remaining building on the Upper West Side - period." 

The wooden structure was built in 1871 and run for a few years by Henry Grimm as a grocery, with apartments above. Grimm was foreclosed on and the building soon became The Boulevard House, a respite for travelers, reflecting the slow to develop state of upper Broadway (then known as the Boulevard).

Anthony also shared that, "in 1894, a German immigrant named Peter Doelger, a brewer who owned many saloons, bought the building. The bar was in front and a respectable restaurant in back. He lived at 280 Riverside right down the street. The saloon closed with Prohibition and became a seller of ladies' finery and then even a theater."

Interesting side note from the wonderful Forgotten New York: Peter Doelger was Mae West's uncle. So she may have lifted a pint or two there.

For more on Doelger, see this great post from the Daytonian in Manhattan.

At the time of the quizlet, neighbor Elizabeth del Alamo also quickly chimed in that the Grimm building is reputed to be the last wooden building in Manhattan. I haven't fact checked that but am sure she's right about it being the oldest on the UWS. Elizabeth recalled that the Grimm building was the subject of a New Yorker cartoon, probably from the early 1980s. I failed to find the cartoon and would love it if a reader would send it to me at blog@w102-103blockassn.org.

Emily Berleth told me that when she was a youngster, there was a pottery studio on the second floor where the salon is now.

I, of course, remember it in the late 1980s as La Tacita d'Oro. The album cover above and below depict Tacita faithfully. And I'd give anything to have their café con leche in my little golden cup again. The Metro Diner replaced it in 1993, and I recall that Tacita moved south before it shuttered completely about 12 or so years ago.

All these are great tidbits, but Jim Henderson topped them all with his tip off that this was where one of the first (white) hiphop supergroups -- the Beastie Boys -- had their inaugural concert on August 5, 1981, in founding member and guitarist John Berry's father's building on Adam Yauch's 17th birthday. John's father, also John, was a "1930s-style left-leaning intellectual with a serious work ethic" who was editor in chief of Library Journal" (p. 52 Beastie Boys Book). As a single dad, he gave his son a lot of leeway in terms of band practice but when he got home, the band stopped playing in deference to his intellectual downtime after work.

The bassist had his buddies over to practice in his third floor bedroom, and, according to Rolling Stone, the "first Beastie Boys shows took place at Berry’s old loft...where a small crowd gathered to hear the fledgling hardcore/punk band." The site popturf.com reported that that same evening "Dave Parsons of the Rat Cage record store said that he wanted to start recording bands, and asked the Beastie Boys if they were interested. They said yes, and the Polly Wog Stew EP was the result" and the Rat Cage label was born for what that is worth to music historians.

A great description appears in the new Beastie Boys Book:
"How do I even begin to describe this place? Start with the fact that it was an old, squat, three-story wooden structure in the middle of a concrete jungle, like someone had forgotten to tear the place down when they were building the rest of the modern city. Also, for a wood building, it was ancient, literally a hundred years old; it had been a saloon in the late 1800s -- before the streets up here were even f*&*ing paved -- and the place looked and felt like it hadn’t been touched since. It was a dilapidated, sagging, slant-roofed structure of rotting wood, parked in a sea of concrete, brick, and steel. At that point there was a greasy Cuban-Chinese restaurant on the ground floor (that’s right Cuban Chinese). John and his dad lived above the restaurant. John's bedroom, where we practiced, was the building's third-floor loft; the second floor was a single open room, but not like a glamorous designer loft. Large windows were set in rotting and splintered wooden frames. Fading and chipped paint covered the clapboard. Every piece of furniture looked like it had been found on the street.... Framed picture of Che Guevara, books on Lenin and Trotsky, and pamphlets about the IRA lay around the house.... Upper Broadway at that time was like a multicultural mixtape. Salsa blaring on one block, a JVC boombox playing rap outside a housing project on the next, sounds of AM broadcasts from Panasonic clock radios coming out to the opened windows on the next. Across 100th Street from John's place was the large residential hotel -- politely known as an SRO (single-room occupancy) building, and impolitely known as a flophouse....The constant hubbub across the street worked out well for us...because it allowed us to play music as loud as we wanted....We were pretty far down the precinct to-do list. So we'd just set up and practice after school on the third floor....When we weren't actually practicing, our whole cast of characters just hung out and played music full blast... [For the inaugural 1981 makeshift concert] maybe two dozen people showed up. Us. the Bag Ladies, a few of Yauch's oldest friends, and Dave Parsons and his girlfriend, Cathy, from a newly opened and really cool downtown record store called Rat Cage." (pp. 51-55, Beastie Boys Book)

Berry was sometimes credited for coming up with the name for the group which, perhaps tongue-in-cheekily, was said to be an acronym for "Boys Entering Anarchistic States Towards Inner Excellence." Other early members included Kate Schellenbach, "Mike D" aka Michael Diamond, and "MCA" aka Adam Yauch. "Ad-Rock" (Adam Horovitz) joined later after the departure of Berry and Schellenbach.

The Grimm building was also the location where, again thanks to the Berrys, Beastie side-project Big Fat Love formed in 1984. The structure in all its wabi-sabi greatness was featured on their album "Hell House" in an illustration on front and in a photo on the back. An homage to the building (was it in fact the hell house?) appeared in the album's liner notes:

"Big Fat Love's sound is unlike any other Beastie Boys side-project and may take a few listens before one gets into it or out of it, as the case may be. The music though is a wonderful document to just how creatively diverse this group of musicians could be. When people ask about this period in the band's history, Thomas Beller described it best in the liner notes: "Big Fat Love was organized around a particular living space, in this case a house, where several of the band members lived and where, in the mid-80's, an amorphous and slightly derelict group of people spent time. Big Fat Love didn't move to the house as a band, they just sprung up out of the house the way that, in the right conditions, a random bit of plant life springs up from a crack in the sidewalk." (Quoted from the site Beastiemania.com; also more here.).

Sadly John Berry died at the age of 52 in 2016.

If you weren't a Beasties fan, you might at least recall their top Billboard hit "(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!)" in 1987.  Their place in rap history was sealed forever by the success of the album "Licensed to Ill" which was the first rap album to hit No. 1 on the Billboard 200 chart. 

If you were a fan, you might enjoy the audio embedded below from the NPR radio show "Wait wait...don't tell me" that I heard on December 22. It seems the surviving members have a new book out. The last of the beasts now tamed, the boys have turned to men, less anarchic and ever so slightly more capitalistic, now packing a license to shill.

Times change. The Grimm building has remained, but the scary part is that this wooden relic is not landmarked. So, stay tuned for next week's continued homage to the Building Grimm.

The Metro owners put a lot of cash and TLC into the refurbish they did before opening in the early 1990s. Thankfully, the diner seems to be going strong. But, incredibly, the Grimm building site was included in the controversial Broadway carveouts and didn't make the cut in the 2015 landmark ruling that protected so much of the area west of Broadway.

I hope the Grimm building will endure given the New York miracle that it's pushing 147 years old without landmark status.
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Many thanks to all the above readers for chiming in. Clearly, this building has captivated many of us, if not the powers that be at LPC!
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Note: If you are reading this via an email subscription, you'll have to click on the blog post title to listen to the radio audio.

By Caitlin Hawke

Well, neighbors, we’re coming quickly to the end of 2018. And I don’t know about you, but it sure flew by for me. I remember last year’s polar vortex like it was yesterday. 

Taking stock, I can measure the year in the number of blog posts I've gotten up, despite that I have such a backlog of potential posts. It puts me in a perpetual state of disappointment that I don’t have more time. Still, I looked at the log and see a grand total of 85 posts in 2018. That’s the most in one year since I started maintaining the site in April 2014. But the guilt persists, and I will try to roll out some of the treasures sitting in my desktop folder ominously marked "Blog To Do."

As I often write, our neighborhood is a very inspiring muse. Like Bob L. or John K. and so many others of you who love to “noodle” in different neighborhoods, I always enjoy a good city walk — looking for a bit of old New York. Or at least authentic New York. It’s getting harder to find, but it’s there in pockets. And those walks, no matter where, always remind me how much I love my home turf: bookended by two great parks, sleepier than the now mall-like UWS, relatively low-lying in terms of the architecture, and so luminous. Bloomingdale has it all.

Add to that the great history, and that’s what makes it so satisfying to chronicle.

Bloomingdale also has a tradition of community -- from the "Old Community" supplanted by Park West Village whose spirit truly lives on (and gave rise to the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group), to the community fostered by this Block Association with half a dozen events and four newsletters each year, to the communities that our neighboring block association and the one Bloomingdale Aging in Place has built over the last 10 years. That's just four quick examples, and there are many micro-communities in between, too.

When I reflect on what at times seems to be the electronic and political dystopia taking hold, I have to say all this community-building that has come naturally in Bloomingdale gives me quite a bit of hope going forward -- especially if new neighbors will join in, roll up sleeves and take up the tradition.

As part of my ongoing love letter to our piece of the Manhattan pie, I wanted to offer back up some of the slices from the year gone by — posts that have received great traffic from readers together with the ones I most enjoyed writing. It's far from an exhaustive list of the 2018 posts. But it's perhaps the cream.

Have a look at the links below and then perhaps you’ll write with your favorites to blog@w102-103blockassn.org or in the comments section of this post.

In any case, I appreciate that you read along throughout the year, and I send best wishes for an excellent 2019.  If you know nearby neighbors who would enjoy the blog, send them this link where they can subscribe.

And now to the Year in Blog Favorites....


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To read each post, click on the corresponding image at left or the hyperlinked text. If you are reading this post in an email subscription, it may be easier to view directly on the website.

​• Bob on Broadway: Dylan's Powerful Residency at the Beacon
Then if you want, gild the lily with a post to honor his 77th birthday here.
Yes, a bit of a stretch for the Bloomingdale catchment, but I'm counting on you to humor me. It took all I had to refrain from writing about The Public's Girl from the North Country and its superb cast including the luscious drummer in red, the boxer, and Mare Winningham -- three actors who stole the show. Look for Girl on Broadway soon.

​• Beautiful Block of Riverside Drive: Seven Beauties in Our Midst
Author Dan Wakin digs into the history of 330-337 Riverside Drive.
Pictured at left: Bennie the Bum with the sawed-off leg, not pictured!

​• Women's Suffrage & Bloomingdaler Harriot Stanton Blatch
Elizabeth Cady Stanton's remarkable daughter Harriot (a babe in arms at left) lived right here. Read more about the fight in NYC to get women the vote, including the effort to get Columbia's men to the polls.

​• Nightmare on 102nd Street
Always a blog favorite, the annual Block Association Halloween Party "Ghouls' Gallery", replete with a visitation from King George the Wee. The party is just one offering of the Block Association; for other B.A. event coverage in 2018, see this link.

​• Estelle Parsons: Triple Threat of a Neighbor
What do I love about Miss Parsons? Everything!
Her intensity and her energy are her superpowers that allow her to thieve every scene she's in. Catch her in this Bloomingdale walkabout. Probably the year's most-viewed blog post!  The lady has a legion of fans.

​​• Manfred Kirchheimer's Time Encapsulated
​What do I love about filmmaker Manny Kirchheimer? Also everything!
​A Bloomingdaler for five and a half decades, he's chronicled the city in his contemplative documentaries along with the odd fiction such as the film "Short Circuit" at left, shot entirely in our neighborhood.

​​• Throwback Thursday Spotlights 1920 Victrola Store
​Throwback Thursday: Bloomingdale Edition is the section of the blog where I feature historical pictures and tidbits. A trove of these await publication, time permitting in 2019. Emanuel Blout's Victrola store, circa 1920, was my favorite this year. Have a TBT favorite? Let me know in the comments.
You can view all TBT: BE posts here.

​​• Throwback Thursday: The Divine Tight Line & Philippe Petit
​This TBT: BE post comes in a close second place.
​Discover the neighborhood feat of the great tightrope walker Petit, high on Amsterdam Avenue. And divine as ever.

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​​• JFK Impersonator Vaughn Meader on the UWS
​JFK would have turned 101 in 2018 and in his honor this post unearths the wonderful two albums that comedian Vaughn Meader turned out before the stars fell down and the curtain closed on Camelot.

​​​• Catching Up with Hedy Campbell
​Four years and 330 posts ago, Hedy asked me to write for the blog. The idea was to pick up where the creators had left off and fill in the gaps between quarterly Block Association newsletter issues. Without breaking a sweat, Hedy has turned out the publication since 1987 -- a massive feat if ever there was one. The blog is child's play by comparison. I end the highlights of 2018 with Hedy because she is a neighborhood jewel whose efforts have helped build and sustain a community feeling now for over 30 years. It's a team effort to be sure, so this hat tip goes to all folks who value this organization.

And now is your chance to help sustain it!
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Join us by becoming a member here.


Catch you in 2019 for more Throwbacks,
more Hyper Local Eats, more Bloomingdale,
and, yes, probably more Bob Dylan.
​Thanks for reading.

By Caitlin Hawke

Spearheaded by neighbors Nancy Macagno and Pam Tice, the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group have pulled together a program "Bloomingdale Blocks" featuring the history of how block associations got started in these parts with help from the Citizens Committee for New York City. Note the groovy detail from our June 15, 1972, newsletter showing the then-directors of this BA looking like they stepped right out of the musical Hair.

David Reich, Mort Berkowitz and Jean Jaworek all will present.Details in the flyer below.

​Come on out on Tuesday and give thanks.

In the meantime, a very happy TG to you all!

By Caitlin Hawke

It's late on a Thursday so you'll have this throwback on Friday. But do come travel with me in time to just about two months after Black Tuesday, 1929. The new year 1930 has been rung in, it's good and cold, the Great Depression has begun. But unemployment won't peak for three more years in the city. 

And the great bellowing lung of our neighborhood, Straus Park, pays it all no heed. For here is a town square where folks of all ages come to inhale the fresh, crisp air and to entertain one another. An era before TV, the golden age of radio shines by night, but by day by golly the folks are out.

Fortunate in many ways, but in one we are not: we lack a town square. We lack that knowledge that you can fall out on a daily basis into the local pocket park and meet all your neighbors. It's why I love the yard sales that the Block Associations put on.  It's why BAiP's community-building mission is so needed.

We have forgotten how to commune in our own backyard.

The video below is extraordinary for its quality, its crystal clear sound, and the uncanny you-are-there feeling. See Straus Park -- less green, ok -- but more vibrant than you've ever seen it before. See all modes of 1930s transportation, including a rollerskater and a period pram. Get a good gander at Broadway looking north from its intersection at West End Avenue. And get a peep of the back of "Memory" -- far from the star of this movie.

It's perfection. A talkie of a time capsule. And it's yours if you click on the image above since if you are reading this in an email subscription the video won't play.

​Enjoy!

h/t to the West Side Rag comments section for bringing this beaut to the surface.

The "One from the Vault" feature plumbs the archives of back issues of block association newsletters for new neighbors and lovers of our community and its history.  To read others pieces from the vault, click on the category at right.


By Caitlin Hawke

First, I want to note the kindness of Chris Brady who gave me permission to illustrate this post with his technicolor photos of the Movie Place (TMP), the way it was. I found them at Chris's photo feed here a while back, and they stopped me cold, for the love of a place I remember so well. I've been saving them for you.

Incredibly, gone for 12 years already, the Movie Place hasn't come close to being replaced around here in its role as a neighborhood hub drawing from north, south, east and west. Never mind its mom-and-pop-edness.

The last owner of TMP was Gary Dennis, who is equally known for his efforts to get Humphrey Bogart his due by the dubbing of W. 103rd Street for him, replete with a ceremonial appearance of Bacall. Yes, right here in Bloomingdale.

I wrote a piece about that here last year. 

Now I love Bogie and Bacall as much and perhaps more than most. But it takes a force of nature like Gary to move city elements -- NYCHA et al -- get the naming done. So I want you to remember that when you are walking the block between West End Avenue and Broadway on 103rd staring at a "This is Us" rerun on your smartphone. Look Up! For the love of the silver screen, look up. Look up from your big sleep and appreciate that you trace Humphrey DeForest Bogart's footsteps as he left his home at 245 W. 103rd St. and padded over to the Trinity School. He lived there from about December 25, 1899 until he enlisted in the navy in 1918.

But I digress.

I still see Gary around from time to time. At a Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group meeting last year, he gave a great presentation on the neighborhood as portrayed in films. Many chase scenes later, he had the audience eating out of his hands.

He used to keep a wonky blog on lost cinema houses. And I think he still gives tours.  Bloomingdale born, Gary grew up loving movies. Ironic then that when it was a novelty, everyone said his was the voice that used to animate the old "Moviefone" reservation line. And that amused me. You remember the Moviephone? It's the line you dialed that responded in a quasi-human voice: "Hello, and welcome to Moviefone! Using your touchtone keypad, please enter the first three letters of the movie title now."

If you don't know the voice I am talking about, here's a fun clip. It's not, spoiler alert, Gary Dennis. But he sure coulda been a contender.

TMP lasted in situ for 22 years, and it is now gone for 12. Together, that's more than the full lifespan of the Betamax.

Yes, 12 years ago, our mecca of movies closed, and it was noteworthy enough for the New York Times to weigh in. If you never had the pleasure of pushing through the door into the high-ceilinged space bustling with first dates, lonely hearts, groups of buddies and old couples riffling through bins of movie titles, you haven't lived.

Sorry, but it was a thing.

People came from many neighborhoods away to partake. To feast in the selection.  And to go home with armfuls of movies. To come back three days later and do it all again.

It wasn't just the selection. It was the connoisseurship. The guys and a couple of gals behind the counter each had a specific taste. You could ask anyone anything and with just a few hints at what you liked, out poured 5 or 10 suggestions of other films to watch. An algorithm in flesh and blood. It's called a brain and memory, actually. And it worked.

Yet it wasn't just the connoisseurship, it was also the place.  Patina would be a nice way of describing the layers of this loft-like store. Grime would be a bridge too far. Let's call it wabi-sabi.

If the Movie Place were a rock star, it would have been Keith Richards.

Yes, technology has transformed our world since then.  And yes many don't even feel the need for a screen bigger than an iPad to enjoy a film, old or new. And yes, I'll even cede that streaming a movie is more convenient.  But algorithms will never replace synaptic encyclopedias like the brain that is Gary Dennis's or that of the employees, some of whom, thankfully, still live in the neighborhood with their dogs or their now-grown kids. And for what the human touch is still worth, you can't get that kind of prickle online. Or snark. Or voice. Or, truth be told, that warmth.

Starbucks will never replace the town-square feeling that was the Movie Place on a Friday night.  And Tindr will never be as electric with possibility as browsing the Nouvelle Vague section over a handsome guy's shoulder.

Seek no more the ghost of the Movie Place, let loose to wander since 2006. For it is here. And this one from the vault of Block Association newsletters is a David Reich original. Scroll all the way down to read it.

Enjoy!

By Caitlin Hawke

Thanks to the considerable efforts of a load of brave people of the female persuasion like Elizabeth Cady Stanton, her daughter and Bloomingdaler Harriot Stanton Blatch, Susan B. Anthony, and Gertrude Foster Brown, it was 101 years ago tomorrow that New York State accorded women the right to vote, helping to pave the way three years later for the 19th Amendment. And by New York State, I really mean New York City, because if you look at the county by county breakdown (scroll all the way down), our urban forebears padded the 80,000 vote margin of victory.

The day that women's suffrage was on the ballot, 12,000 women stood on corners throughout the city encouraging people of the male persuasion, aka the then voters, to grant women the vote.

They were angry women. Docile women. Black women. Chinese women. Uppity and arrogant women. Handsome and plain women. "Women who knew their place." Working women. Moms and daughters. Religious women. Temperate women. Righteous women. Organized women. Women who loved men. Women who loved women. Women who persisted.

And lo! That day nearly half a million men voted with -- and really for -- them all.

The NYC Women Suffrage Party was looking for twice that turnout in support. They advertised in Columbia's Spectator the day before shooting for a million-man team. But I can't fault them for dreaming big.

In and among all of this rich history of suffering for suffrage, there's a gem: the overlooked story of Elizabeth Cady Stanton's daughter, Harriot Stanton Blatch, is one my readers will relish. Harriot, according to Douglas Feiden writing in Our Town New York for last year's centennial, was an inveterate upper west sider who  lived at 250 Riverside Drive, right here at W. 97th Street.

Harriot had the distinction of living through most of the battle for women's suffrage, beginning as a babe in the arms of her mother, the battle's field marshal. Harriot grew to be a force to be reckoned with in Manhattan as the battle waged on to its glorious end on November 6, 1917.

Says Feiden: "Among [Blatch's] triumphs: In 1907, she founded the Equality League of Self-Supporting Women, which trained working-class women to campaign for suffrage and was “open to any woman who earns her own living, from a cook to a mining engineer. Then in 1910, she organized the city’s first blockbuster suffrage parade, a march down Fifth Avenue climaxing in a giant rally in Union Square. Blatch and thousands of like-minded activists transformed virtually every nook and cranny of Manhattan — its streets, salons, townhouses, tenements, clubhouses, concert halls, vaudeville houses, boarding houses, hotels, parks, pools, auditoriums, alleyways and office buildings — into a living, breathing operational base for the suffrage movement."

New York was far from the first state to let women into the voting club. But that's a digression. What's important is that the ultimate change came through the grassroots of the states. And that it took a long, long time. Ohio voted women's suffrage down on that same day. But New York's upvote cranked the motor hard.

Vagaries of our 'states rights' vs. 'federal rights' dynamic are evident throughout our legal system, from managing voting, to our banking system, to the electoral college to name only a few. These will likely persist, thanks to our country's reverence for its founding documents. And anyone who rides the subway knows the vagaries of state-controlled city budgets despite larger urban tax bases and headcounts.

What the story of 1917 tells us is that our populousness in the Big Apple matters. It matters to the state. And it matters to the federation. Our votes do count. History bears that out.

Today, I am grateful to those excellent women, like the ones above, who got out there 100+ years ago in each neighborhood of NYC. The women who patiently organized for decades. The people who made up the Women's Suffrage Party. And to the half million male voters of New York State on November 6, 1917 who just plain did the right thing.

Tomorrow, five score and a year later, the country will be looking to New Yorkers again.

Find  your poll. Tip your (big, black, feathered) hat to the Stantons, mère et fille.  Grab your umbrella. And hit the street, thinking about what corners all across the city looked like 101 years ago: 10, 15, 30 women deep. Recall for a moment those men who voted to enfranchise at long last their wives, sisters, mothers, grandmothers, aunts and lovers in the great state of New York.

And make your way to cast your vote as if someone else's suffrage depends on you.
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By Caitlin Hawke

What I would LOVE is for some kindly neighbor at the Broadmoor somewhere up top to try to capture a modern day image looking west southwest out toward West End Avenue and the river over the rooftops.

This picture is a gem for, really, how much has remained so. The east side of West End Avenue both north and south of W. 102nd Street should be familiar to viewers as should be 855 West End Avenue dead center with its nearby neighbors, just as you'd see them now. I love it for the way 299 Riverside at the south corner of W. 102nd Street and Riverside Drive dominates the view. And for the absence of 300 Riverside Drive. You'll note that William Foster's second mansion sits where 300 Riverside Drive is today at the north corner of W. 102nd Street. Scroll down for an image of that house, built in 1888 by the glove mogul, and read more here, in Gary Dennis's blog, about the two Foster mansions that occupied that lot.

Of course, 865 West End as we know it today hadn't yet gone up, and the shot is remarkable too for a rare shot of the row of houses at the northwest corner of 102nd Street and West End.

Ah, but look at Jersey!!

Enjoy these nearly contemporaneous 1912 Bromley maps from the Atlas of the Borough of Manhattan.

The "One from the Vault" feature plumbs the archives of back issues of block association newsletters for new neighbors and lovers of our community and its history.  To read others pieces from the vault, click on the category at right.


By Caitlin Hawke

This one from the vault makes a nice diptych with last week's post about the Roerich Museum.  There's no end to my appreciation for the rich history of 310 Riverside.  In fact, you don't have to go far to get elbow-deep in the Horsch archives if you are inclined.

 By Caitlin Hawke

A heads up on two events for you this week.

First, on Monday, October 15 at 7:30 p.m., librarian Fred Michel from our local library branch would like you to know that author and civil rights activist Susan Burton. Winner of the 2017 Goddard Riverside Stephan Russo Social Justice Book Award, Ms. Burton will be discussing her memoir Becoming Ms. Burton with special guest and Pulitzer Prize Winner James Forman, Jr., a professor of law at Yale Law School. Her book deals with the devastating impact of mass incarceration and identifies the structural changes necessary to restore the lives of formerly incarcerated people. The free event is co-presented by Goddard Riverside, The New Press, and Book Culture and will be held in Goddard Riverside's Bernie Wohl Center at 647 Columbus Avenue (at W. 92nd Street). For more information, click here.

Then, on Tuesday, October 16 at 6:30 p.m., our friends at the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group have a program on the architects of our beautiful buildings! This takes place at Hosteling International New York, 891 Amsterdam Avenue (at W. 103rd Street). The flyer is below.  Here's more:

This presentation focuses on the most influential architects in the Bloomingdale neighborhood from the end of the 19th century to the middle of the 20th--Richard Morris Hunt, Rosario Candela, Schwartz and Gross and others.

Before the  presentation begins, the first annual JIm Torain award will honor Peter Salwen. The Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group has established this award to honor the memory of Jim Torain, a neighbor who worked tirelessly to preserve the legacy of the Old Community where he grew up. The Old Community is the name given to the African American neighborhood that flourished on West 98th and West 99th Street between Central Park West and Columbus Avenue--a neighborhood that was destroyed in 1955 as part of the city's urban renewal plan. Without Torain’s work, the history of this vibrant neighborhood, once home of so many talented and accomplished people, may have been lost to time.

I've written about Jim Torain and the old community on this blog here and here.

The "One from the Vault" feature plumbs the archives of back issues of block association newsletters for new neighbors and lovers of our community and its history.  To read others pieces from the vault, click on the category at right.


By Caitlin Hawke

Born 144 years ago today in Saint Petersbourg, Nicholas Roerich is part of our neighborhood history. In the 1990s living just one block away, I learned of the Roerich Museum from a cousin visiting from Budapest who was horrified I'd never been not to mention never even heard of it!

Suffice it to say, this little-known pocket of culture dedicated to the painter, spiritualist and theosophist is worth checking out. Roerich's connection to Louis Horsch is a whole other saga.  It was Horsch in 1921 who financed The Master Institute of United Arts, which in 1929 became the site of magnificent deco 310 Riverside Drive, known as the Master Apartments! 

Read more below and here.  Spoiler alert: it doesn't end well for the Master mystic.

By Caitlin Hawke

I couldn't resist posting this 1934 ad from the Columbia Spectator beckoning neighborhood dancers from, wait for it, 4 p.m. to 3 a.m. What, may I ask, is even open anywhere at all on Broadway at 3 a.m. nowadays?

A cocktail for 20¢. No cover. No minimum Dancing all night. To my mind, it's pretty much what we could all use to take our minds off "other things."

For long time blog readers, you'll recall Old Algiers from these posts here and here. It replaced the famed Archambault where Mexican Festival now sits.

Clearly, they knew how to get around the longstanding Cabaret Law that was finally repealed last year.

By Caitlin Hawke

I've written again and again on the blog about the Bloomingdale Neighborhood History Group. They've adopted a tag line that really encapsulates their raison d'être: "discovering, preserving and sharing the history of our neighborhood."

Make no mistake: these folks hardly need any help filling their auditorium when it comes to their excellent public programs -- all free and all organized with deep love of history if not just of Bloomingdale but of all the Upper West Side.

Now, on September 27, comes a special treat: social and architectural historian John Tauranac with stories from his new book about Manhattan's mysteries and secrets, one of which, you will learn, involves the re-purposing of some stones taken from a French donjon.

Tauranac is best known as something of a mapper, and you know his legacy as chair of the MTA's 1979 map committee if you've ever seen this map!

If you go to the talk, here's a tip you'll thank me for unless you like the floor: get thee there early!

If you can't find the info you need on their site, you can reach the BNHG at (212) 666-9774.