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

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

You know it. You live it. We navigate the tumbleweeds of Broadway storefrontage every day.  And it is far from just our neck of the woods.

I've written about the blight many times in a blog series called Empty Storefronts and the Changing Streetscape:

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
Part 6, which I hope to post soon, will feature Jen Rubin's story of her family's store Radio Clinic or RCI.

So who is going to Save Our Stores?  Literally, SOS! I mean: who among us is going to the first town hall meeting planned by the new group UWS Save Our Stores?  

Their event "Vacant Storefronts and Visions for Neighborhood Revitalization," will be held Thursday, December 5, 6:30-8:30pm, at the NY Society for Ethical Culture, 2 West 64th Street. The event is free to the public. Doors open at 6pm, and the meeting will begin promptly at 6:30 p.m.  Venue is wheelchair accessible.

We keep experiencing it. Many keep talking about it. Others keep writing about it. But what are we DOING about it?  Surely no one agrees that vast swaths of our avenues should remain void of storefront life?  What's the next big idea? Where will it all go from here? What are the forces at play? 

There are so many questions....  Perhaps we need to craft the answers all as one.

SOS and See You There!  RSVP at UWSSOS.org.

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.
​

By Caitlin Hawke

Neighbors, as many of you already well know, there's been a true blue spectacle of a miracle come true. 

Our beloved West Side Rag got in there first to cover a familiar sad song and then, heroically, to amplify the message of a couple New Yorkers who'd thrown up their sashes, mad as Hades, screaming "I'm not going to take it anymore."

It all started just a few short days ago when WSRag writer Carol Tannenhauser and publisher Avi Salzman put out into the ether a melancholic story the likes of which we've read time and time before. Death by a thousand cuts of Mom & Pops gone down. This time it was Westsider Books, longtime purveyor of used books at Broadway and 81st Street, putting out the last call and walking over to the light switch to call it a day.

What ensued was just plain amazing to watch in real time. Bobby Panza, inspired by a line in Carol's article, fired up a crowdfunder page on GoFundMe. Local philanthropist Sally Martell fueled the endeavor with a jump-starting $10K donation; the Rag got in there with its great coverage (major hat tip to Avi for being the pillar of UWS communications), and then other press outlets and booklover fora amplified the message thanks to Bobby.  In what seems like a blink over $50K was raised from 818 (and counting) donors from near and far at an average donation of 64 bucks.

That's right. You heard me. A line in the sand was drawn. A few angels lofted up on their wings. And a veritable flood of good-willed neighbors and bibliofolks stopped 'taking it' and started a grassroots blaze of love for...wait for it...used books. Books! Old New York. Simple, old-time, hardworking merchants. Honest trade. City texture. Cultural color. Apparently, we, together, hold these truths to be self evident.

That 50K enables the store's owners to live another day, to bridge to the future, and to remain. For now.

Old Bloomingdaler Christopher Ming Ryan got in there like he did for Joon Fish Market (covered in Part 2 of this series) and captured it on film with Evan Fairbanks in yet another beautiful mini-documentary. (If you are an email subscriber of this blog, to see it you have to go to the blog post title above and read this post online). 

Readers, that is what I call an excellent day in the neighborhood. But we're not off the hook. Lights go out up and down Broadway every month. And if we are not putting our boots on the ground and crossing their thresholds to support them, we have no right to be perturbed.

Put down your tablets and laptops and go drop some cash at our hardware stores, cobblers, delis (if you can find them), small restaurants and specialty stores. Tell them you love them with your business. Tell our city officials that commercial storefront vacancies are intolerable and antithetical to thriving cities.

And then bask in the glory of this miracle come true. The miracle is you.


With thanks to Bobby, Sally, Avi, Carol, Chris, Evan and to the owners of the 818 feet that were put firmly down punctuating the collective cry: "no more!" My heart is full of love for you all. And to the owners and staff of Westsider Books, long may you ride.

Above I am embedding the film that Chris and Evan made. More of Chris's labors of love may be viewed here: https://www.facebook.com/DisappearingNYC.

And I leave you with the "Lagniappe du jour" courtesy of Barry M.

By Caitlin Hawke

On this blog, I've written a lot about enterprise on Broadway, so much so that there's a whole category at the right where I tag just those posts. (To dive in, you can see, in particular, Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 of the series I call "Empty Storefronts and the Changing Streetscape.)

Generally speaking, the series has chronicled the uptick in long-empty retail spaces, the loss of Mom & Pops, and the darkening of movie houses. Now I turn to the shuttering in October of three dine-in restaurants in such quick succession that if leaves me wondering if a new trend is afoot.

Either way, gone are Mezzogiorno, Il Gatto Nero and Henry's; all of these folded up shop in October.

Notoriously hard to sustain, eateries represent a key piece of the retail ecosystem. But they are as sensitive to rent and labor increases as any other commerce.  However, unlike the old Broadway shopper's pivot to patronizing etailers, New Yorkers still dine in their neighborhoods.

Take for example, the closure on October 14 of Mezzogiorno (2791 Broadway) which was in the old Indian Cafe space north of W. 107th Street. After a very lengthy, costly renovation, this gentrifier of an Italian spot opened in 2015 just as its owners were preparing to close the chic, decades-old SoHo location. A surprise to all, I think, they looked to Bloomingdale to resettle. I concluded at the time that the rent savings made the uptown operation viable. And yet three years later, it has closed. Perhaps Bloomingdalers didn't care for the higher price point or the flush old regulars didn't find their way uptown. The clock struck mezzanotte at Mezzogiorno, and their 31-year run is now over.

Then, Il Gatto Nero, just a block south at W. 106th Street (2758 Broadway), also closed suddenly in early October "unable to carry on in this economy." It had only been open a handful of months, having replaced the well-received but overpriced-for-what-it-was Macchina. That machine is now a ghost having died young, too. 

Yelp reviews praised each of these places (though there was the legendary takedown or two). And they attracted nods of approval from the Michelin guide, for what that's worth. They just didn't keep us pouring through their doors.

Of the three, the one loss that stings was Henry’s. News came only a week or two before the October 21 closure, when owner Henry Rinehart announced in an email his plans to move on from his Frank-Lloyd-Wrightian restaurant that stood at W. 105th Street for 19 years and bore his name. Henry's replaced Birdland for those of you who recall back to the space's jazzier days. Rinehart’s reason was "a change in personal and professional priorities." The business has now passed to Henry’s partner chef Scott Snyder and his Boulevard Seafood Company, soon to be reviewed in these pages.  You may be relieved to learn that the famous kale salad will die another day since Chef Snyder didn't nudge it off the menu.

Under Rinehart, Henry's was, to many, a Cheers -- the sitcom bar made famous by an ensemble of wry barflies yearning for a 'third place' to take a break from their worries. Hopping bar scene. Sports mecca. Brunch spot. Outdoor cafe. Neighborhood sing-in club. An ample Thanksgiving table away from the hearth or for the weary home cook. A place where if they didn't know your name, at least they acknowledged you as a regular. Henry’s had it all and was a big player in the community. And if that isn't enough, Henry himself was an advocate for healthier school lunches.

I don't doubt that many felt Henry's had its gentrifying side when it first took root. It was always a bit above other local haunts in terms of cost. I noticed that prices crept upward recently. Perhaps to fend off what became an inevitable battle to reap profit out of such expansive square footage. Alas, Henry's is no more.

To paraphrase James Carville, I wonder if what I am observing isn’t along the lines of the temple-thumping exclamation: “It's the rent, stupid!” — similar to the problem with the Mom & Pop die off. But the answer may be more complex. Restaurants might be competing with the availability of high-end prepared foods that come from Whole Foods or West Side Market, or with the quality specialty ingredients home cooks can now find at Trader Joe’s and H Mart, among other groceries.

As I say above, restaurants don’t yet seem to be victims of etailers like Amazon, but is something other than rent pressure weighing on the old-style dine-in spots? Is it that the market only bears up to a certain menu price point around here? Or is it just a matter of time before more Serafinas move in, more large restaurants go vacant, or just more turnover occurs?

Fortunately, city council members regularly take up the topic of commercial rents, mindful of all the vacancies. Unfortunately, the needle never moves much. It seems early to say, but we might be seeing a little progress with new legislation sponsored and small business committee hearings held by Ydanis Rodriguez. Councilmember Helen Rosenthal is also a proponent.

Called the “Small Business Jobs Survival Act,” the bill aims to define conditions and requirements for commercial lease renewal negotiations, requirements for lease renewal terms, arbitration-triggering conditions, limits on security deposits, and prohibitions on landlord retaliation.

I’ve been writing about the changing streetscape a lot because some days I feel like we’re in the 11th hour, the 59th minute of what I view as a retail crisis on Broadway. And while restaurants may not be as endangered as Mom & Pop retailers, I truly hope we don't wait until the last minute to solve the economics of Broadway. We can see with our own eyes that the law of supply and demand has been subverted. But it can be fixed.  But sadly not in time to sing for our supper at Henry’s.

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!

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

In the February 2001 edition of the BA newsletter, Jock Davenport covered the opening of Silver Moon Bakery in November 2000.  Deep in the heart of Y2K.  In the very same month of the infamous "election."  A year before 9/11.  It's a veritable lifetime ago.  And yet 18 years have sailed by. 

Yes, other places mentioned in the piece like Mama Mexico and Turkuaz are gone, but it's nice to have moonlight glowing still.

If Jock's piece wets your whistle, there's more to read, such as the interview with Judith Norell here and an ode to a favorite hyper-local eat here.

On your 18th, I say, Judith, and to all your Silver Moon family: To life, to life, l'chaim!

Your lagniappe today is Lin-Manuel Miranda's rendition of the "Fiddler on the Roof" tune as a surprise to his bride at their wedding reception. You'll enjoy it for the showmanship even if the singing is a little dicey at times! Scroll down to view or if you are receiving this in an email subscription, click on the picture of Lin with his father-in-law below!

By Caitlin Hawke

A little slice of life on Broadway and a nod to the Mom & Pops of yore!

By Caitlin Hawke

If you are a regular or long-time reader of this blog and know one culinary thing about me, it's my fondness for Sun-Chan. That fondness is hard to dissociate from the late co-owner, Kumiko Imamura, who died suddenly just a couple of weeks ago. It makes me terribly sad that I don't have a decent picture of her, except for in my mind where she is alive and vibrant as ever. But the picture above captures her in context and in motion, as she aways was. And the picture below shows her at far left beside Tokishige, her co-owner and husband, at work in the kitchen.

If you want to know why I was a hugely appreciative fan, you could have a look at this post or this one. And I wrote this one, stunned by the news of her loss.

On Sunday, May 20, from 2 to 6 p.m. at the restaurant on the west side of Broadway between W. 103rd and 104th Streets, Tokishige and the Sun-Chan family will hold a remembrance. If you appreciate all that is authentic, slow, down to earth, communal, and kind, you join me in mourning her.

By Caitlin Hawke

A little more than three years ago, I wrote about a beautiful neighbor on this blog: Kumiko Imamura. A woman who worked as hard as anyone I've known, and always had a warm hello or good-bye and a smile.

Really, her smile started in her eyes - the smize - and then made its way across her whole face, like sun up at Sun-Chan. 

The quintessence of a hostess, she and her husband Tokishige own Sun-Chan, and Kumiko's way is to welcome you in, tuck you into her apron, make sure you have a hot cup of green tea, and take care of you while you were "hers" -- in her care at her hearth. 

If you've been to Sun-Chan, you know her hearth was, in fact, an inferno.  So this genuine hospitality was all in spite of standing long hours in the yakitori's scorching heat with constant motion around her coming from her loyal staff in a very tight space.

I wrote about her robata here and it's all still true, except it's not:

It's not true any more because tonight, I learned that we've lost this beautiful woman.

In Japanese, depending on how it's written, her name means beauty, forever, child.... To paraphrase James Joyce: She was Kumiko by name and kumiko by nature. And her loss is immense.

She weathered a terrible bout last year with the restaurant losing its gas, and she rebounded from the anguish of the saga with her arms spread wide to welcome her customers back. It's too cruel a twist that she's now gone.

In mourning, the staff and her husband Tokishige have closed the restaurant this week to bid her farewell. I understand there may be a service at the New York Buddhist Church in roughly six or seven days. If you would like details should I learn them, please leave a comment below and I'll be in touch.

I hope Tokishige and Rie and all the Sun-Chan extended restaurant family know that Kumiko is a neighbor who will be missed dearly and that Sun-Chan's community mourns alongside them all.

I won't soon forget this Queen of Queens.

With warmest thoughts of Kumiko and deep sympathies to her loved ones.

"We want to thank everyone for all the years of fun. It has been a journey that has meant the world to us. Please come in and see us one more time this week. I love you all. Thank you, Paul"

I really could go on (and go off) about this.  But I think I'll leave it at "Res ipsa loquitur."

Denial? I got something for you! Tuesday night, you can catch some live music at 8 p.m.

I give you Abbey Lincoln as my outro. (If you receive this via email, click here to listen to Abbey).



h/t to Terence Hanrahan for the scoop about this news.

Abbey Lincoln signs Bobby D.
(Click here if you are reading this in an email subscription).

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

I miss freekah. I miss bringing my own bottle of vino and hanging out in relative quiet with a date or a close friend. I miss the salmon. The flaky guava puff lagniappe at the end. The bold Cuban art. I miss Fidel's edge and conversation and his blunt opinions, and I miss Glenn's gentleness and scrumptious food.

I miss Buster's.

Before you criticize me, let me be clear: I think it's good to be able to voice an opinion and engage directly, keep folks honest, call out truly bad practices, and more. And I get that we're all paying a lot of money to survive in NYC. But I don't have a lot of patience for "mobbing" a store or restaurant due to one incident simply because you have access to a platform that can amplify your message and exact your pound of flesh.

Crabbing about bad products that aren't to one's taste or about one-time mishaps is just so easy in this era of iPublishing.  Words live on for ever.

I'd like to see some of the commenters walk a mile in an owner's shoes. Prior to ranting, some margin of maneuver needs to be factored in: did you ever have a bad day at work? Or deliver a substandard job to your boss? Imagine your boss's rant on Yelp that day and then looking for another boss, the next. Ouchy.

I suspect that dealing nobly with customers whose expectations are unreasonably high is one of the hardest things a Mom & Pop can face.

I have sympathy, I really do. Fidel's flames, I will admit, were not for the faint of heart -- and yet there was some bold-faced honesty in them.

So here, in one from the vault from December 2006, is Hedy Campbell on the subject of a now lost Mom & Pop, or Pop & Pop: the late, great "spa-tinental" hole-in-the-wall kitchenette oddly known as Buster's.  Sadly, the story of the name is one I never got.

For Busterfans, rumor has it Fidel is serving it up from a truck at the Jersey City side of the ferry. I don't think the critics are the reason the shop pushed on. I think it was the razor-thin margin of making a micro-restaurant go 'round without alcohol and with human-scale hours.  Apparently that formula is DOA in NYC, and I'd venture the guess that it's one reason some of the smaller spaces aren't snapped up by new entrepreneurs.

I hope Fidel and Glenn know they are missed.  At least by some.  I hope their hours are saner.  I hope their critics are gentler.  And I hope someone is gobbling up a guava petit four right this very second and feeling their love.

Buster's. Closed two years ago but not forgotten.

By Caitlin Hawke

On Thursday, March 22 at 7 p.m. at the Master (310 Riverside Drive at West 103rd Street), you are invited to the Block Association's Annual Meeting.  The focus -- the Crisis in Commercial Real Estate -- is a topic readers will recognize from the blog a mini-series entitled Empty Storefronts and the Changing Streetscape.  For further reading, see the following:

• Interview with Judith Norell, proprietor of Silver Moon Bakery
• In Joon, Our Fall: The last day at Joon Fish Market
• and my favorite: Stowin' Away the Time & Peelin' Back the Years on the decline of the Korean deli

I think it's going to be a great discussion. Hope to see you there!

By Caitlin Hawke

Neighbors are taking the loss of an Upper West Side film institution personally.  And I must say, I have a lump in my throat.

Alas, this is the dawn of a gloomy week for culture on upper Broadway: we say farewell (sayonara, adios, adieu, arrivederci) to beloved foreign and indie film mecca Lincoln Plaza Cinemas (LPC) for good on Thursday.  LPC goes out with a bang on January 28 when staff plan a tribute to the nonagenarian owners, the late Dan Talbot and his widow Toby.  

Sadly Dan died on December 29 (of a broken heart, perhaps), soon after the announcement that the cinema's partner/landlord Howard Milstein would not entertain lease negotiations. Petitions were drafted. Pleas were made. Emails went out fast and furious.

I'm susceptible to speculation about the motive for not renewing the lease and about what will happen with the space.  Indeed all kinds of rumors now swirl -- that Lincoln Center's Film Society will take it over in a premeditated deal. (Very likely, if you want to place bets). That it will become part of the Alamo movie-beer empire or something similar. That LPC will move into the Metro. (This last one's not gonna happen. I've come to believe that the not-so-benign neglect of our local landmark is a strategy to let it crumble-in-place.  And Toby Talbot has lost her programming partner-in-crime.  And the Metro is completely gutted inside, which is rumored to have killed a local Alamo deal a few years ago for the Metro.  But it sure is a nice Bloomingdale thought.  As Gary Dennis has so beautifully documented, Bloomingdale used to be a contender in the realm of theater and cinema.  But no more.  I always whisper a little prayer for the landmarked Metro exterior to stand tall as long as possible and maybe some angel will bring it back.  A naive little dream, yes.)

While most of these rumors would receive open-armed welcomes, it's sort of hard to believe that anyone would get into the retro business of art-house films these days with everyone glued to their phones, streaming their lives away. The old-time concept of a dark room full of silent strangers collectively sharing the magic is just about as quaint as hailing a yellow cab will soon be. 

But there are fine examples of models that work (more on that below); and there are fine examples, such as the Talbots for the past 40 plus years, of what the hip would call "tastemakers."  Nonprofits and small cinemas who still keep the fire burning for those who refuse to watch on a postage-stamp screen.  The tributes to Dan and Toby Talbot have been effusive and, as owners of New Yorker films, the New Yorker Theater and LPC, Dan and Toby earned their spots in the film pantheon by being market makers for the foreign and independent film circuit. Columbia University houses his papers and this blog makes for more good reading if you are interested.  So while Hollywood kicks Harvey Weinstein to the curb, let us hold the Talbots on high.  Cinematic history will be very kind to their legacy.

Just one week more. Forget any conflicted feelings you may have for the Plaza. Yes, it was worn from years of non-stop cinephilia. Yes, yes, a bit dowdy. Yes again that it harbored an occasional pickpocket or two.  But think back and tell me with a straight face that Lincoln Plaza Cinemas didn't open your world. Delight and dazzle you. And upon occasion blow your mind?  

For me it would be like choosing a favorite child, there have been too many delicious films screened there to single out just one. Though I do have a photographic recollection of the cloud I wafted out on after seeing the 1999 Paul Thomas Anderson film "Magnolia."  Yikes, nearly twenty years ago. One frigid Saturday night, I emerged from the late screening and streamed up Broadway humming Aimee Mann's beautiful soundtrack on my way home.

Five days left to get in there and pay homage.  And I have just the right rec: neighbor Manfred Kirschheimer's "My Coffee with Jewish Friends."  Known as Manny, this Bloomingdale documentarian is getting his due after decades in the business and an impressive body of work.  MoMA gave him a retrospective last year; their copywriter put it better than I can when qualifying Manny:

"[he] weds the aesthetic exuberance of modernist urban chroniclers like Walt Whitman, Joseph Stella, and Charles Mingus to the leftist populism of Studs Terkel and Jane Jacobs. His documentary (and quasi-fictional) films are intricate montages of sound and image that thrum with hard bop or proto-hip-hop energy. They are fanfares and requiems for New York’s immigrant working class and demimonde, its art and artists, buildings and builders, haves and have nots."

"My Coffee with Jewish Friends" is a klatch on film.  And Manny makes you a fly on an old-time Upper West Side kitchen wall.  The film is playing every day though Thursday at LPC.

And if after "Coffee" you're jonesing for more Manny, visit the Metrograph.  Just this past Friday, Manny spoke there at the opening of the run of his 2006 film "Tall: The American Skyscraper and Louis Sullivan." "Tall" is also around through Thursday.

Above I mentioned cinema models that could work in the era of smartphones and boom-boom rents: well there is one right there. Perhaps a bit precious on the concessions front, the Metrograph has a calendar that is part old Cinema Village, part Quad and part Film Forum. It's quirky and satisfying programming; and though it's a world away from the Upper West Side, it's well worth a visit--if only to say loud and proud that NYC can and should sustain such art houses.

So vaya con dios, dear Plaza. Fare thee well, Daniel Talbot. Best wishes to the entire LPC family for your next chapter. And to the filmmaking son of Bloomingdale Manfred and our Queen of UWS film Toby, much mazel.

The Metrograph gives me hope.  The good things that the plate tectonics of NYC real estate subduct to the molten mantle do come round again.  Hopefully, we'll know the real ones when we see them and not just follow the next shiny thing.

I am looking at you, Mr. Milstein.

If you are reading this post in an email, you have to click through to see the video below.

By Caitlin Hawke

As an antidote to recent posts that I titled "Empty Storefronts and the Changing Streetscape," which you can read here and here, here now is a feature that celebrates those Mom & Pop businesses, whether old or new, that are in the trenches making it work in Bloomingdale.  Like this week's little juiceteria, a business needs to maximize the output of its square footage to make a dent in the monthly commercial rent. And this is one explanation for all the food and alcohol that's being purveyed around town.  Volume is another must.  That makes Mom & Pop gun shy to say the least. It's hostile terrain for them.

coming out of the ovens and what's in the planning for upcoming feast days and holidays of all denominations.  Just like she was your next-door neighbor.  Because she is.  She is a Bloomingdaler of longstanding.  And now she's the owner of one of the oldest Mom & Pop purveyors around, though many still think of her as the new kid on the block.  But she's endured.  And that's not nothing!

In one of the earliest posts in the "Hyper-Local Eats" blog feature, Judith Norell's Silver Moon Bakery was a first stop.  You can read that old post here, an ode to her ginger blueberry muffin.

Since I have long admired Judith as an entrepreneur, a businesswoman, a second-careerist, a neighborhood champion and an emblem of the Mom & Pop potential to rebound on our avenues, I wanted to feature her again.  

SMB anchors the charming, unchanged historic building, that is captured over the years in these shots below. Judith was able to open SMB because her then landlord, Georgia Stamoulis, became her partner.  To this day, Georgia remains Judith's partner, but Georgia's brother, Michael Rose (who owns Broadway Cellar) is the current SMB landlord. To Georgia and Michael, we owe a word of thanks for keeping this vibrant bakery right where it belongs, bespoke for their special, low-lying corner of Broadway.

So, in 2018, my wish for us all?  Honor thy Mom & Pop.

If we let down our guard, they'll pave paradise and put up a parking lot (under a modern luxe condo).


Q&A with Judith Norell, proprietor of Silver Moon Bakery

Caitlin: Where does the name come from?
Judith: My original thought was to call it Silent Moon Bakery after a Zen poem about the Buddha who, like the moon in the sky, silently illuminates everything.

Caitlin: Artisanal bread baking is a second and illustrious career for you after your work as a professional harpsichordist that I read about here, here and here.  How long did you think you'd be in the baking game when you started SMB?
Judith: I never calculated.  My choices have usually been approached as “an adventure” -- I do it with my full heart, but, like an adventure, it may succeed and may not.

Caitlin: How has business evolved for you as your reputation has been more and more burnished over the years?
Judith: I don’t really know how to answer that question. We opened, and still are, an artisanal neighborhood bakery, and in spite of any publicity we have received, we rely on our immediate neighbors to keep us open. Personally, being an Upper West Sider for many years, I am familiar and comfortable with the political and social attitude in our neighborhood.  This means – at least in my experience – open criticism when things are not perfect, complaints about “high prices” (although in 17 years, our prices have increased much less than most other food items have. Check out our local supermarkets and compare their prices with those of 15 years ago). I personally have not profited financially from our increased reputation, but have tried to benefit our employees whenever things got a bit better.

Caitlin: What is important to you in business as part of your life view?  
Judith: To try to create a harmonious work atmosphere, and to realize that the most genius person can't do it alone, but relies on everyone working with him or her to be successful. People spend at least a third of their day at work, and it should be as pleasurable or at least benign as possible.  I speak from experience; during my apprenticeship in a bakery, the owner didn't know how to talk to those working for him; he was not a mean man, but like many of his generation, started as an apprentice, which meant abuse by his boss, and that he passed on to others when he had power.  He would never praise, only denigrate or criticize; the first time he did this to me, I was sure I would be fired, but, no, it was just his way. If he didn't say anything, you knew it was great.  He also talked down to many of the immigrants from other societies who worked for him, many of them former teachers, doctors, etc., with more education than he had.  So when I started SMB I vowed that it would be different, no fighting, no shouting or screaming.  (We've had a few incidents but they basically resolved peacefully.)  

Caitlin: What is the main challenge you face as a small business on Broadway?
Judith: Rent, rent, rent.
There is absolutely no protection for businesses from the whims of a landlord regarding commercial property.  In our case, when Silver Moon opened, our neighborhood between W. 96th and W. 110 Streets was a neglected area.  Below 96th Street were many co-ops, and fancier stores.  Above 110th Street was Columbia University and all its potential customers.  Our neighborhood was the black sheep, drug-infested side streets, etc.  Now that has all changed, and the landlords are often doubling the rent. Academy Florist, in the neighborhood for over 100 years, had to move because rent was doubled.  Bank Street Bookstore took over.  Henry’s swallowed an enormous rent increase.

Caitlin: So what is the key to SMB’s sustainability?
Judith: I have always believed in “mom & pop” shops, i.e., small, personal stores where the customers are known and catered to.  Too many business in our society care only about the bottom line.  I started Silver Moon Bakery because I love to bake, and also love to communicate with people.  Our counter staff, our bakers, almost everyone knows our customers, many by name, many by their favorite items, coffees, teas or sweets.  I think that, plus my passion for searching out new products, rather than just being another business, is the main key to our sustainability.  In fact, SMB is my culinary playground.

Caitlin: We are living a period of ever-widening economic disparity. Much has been made of this topic in the context of housing in New York.  And one hears more and more about the loss of Mom & Pop businesses.  You are one of the most successful examples -- and I think of you as a relative newcomer (despite that you've already been here for 17 years!) who seems to have the key to Mom & Pop success. Is that true?
Judith: No! See your question about main challenges.  There are many people who would love to live and work in their own community, even here, on the UWS.  But rents are prohibitively high.  Look at the many vacant stores on Broadway – the landlords are waiting for a bank or a chain drugstore who can afford to amortize by having many branches, little labor or production costs, and a high profit margin.

Caitlin: Could you give readers an insight into how commercial rents work in this city?
Judith: There is no limit to what can be charged on commercial property.  At one period, there was a form of commercial rent control, which expired in 1963. An article in the Fordham University Urban Law Journal discusses this:

Caitlin: Do you have any protection from lease to lease?
Judith: No, there is no protection.

Caitlin: How long is a typical lease?
Judith: It can be anywhere from 8 to 15 years.  Ours was originally 10 years, with a 5 year extension. The current lease is for 7 years.

Caitlin: If your rent were to double from one lease to the next, what would your next move be?
Judith: I don’t know. We cannot afford higher rent, since our profit margin is quite low and the two ways to reduce costs are not acceptable:  I will not reduce the quality of our ingredients, or the pay scale of our employees.  We would probably look for another space, but the cost of moving our ovens and equipment might be so high, it would be unrealistic to move.  In that case, we would have to close.

Caitlin: In addition to being a business owner, you are a longtime neighborhood resident.  What do you think about the climate on Broadway?
Judith: It’s terrible.  Chains typically charge more and pay employees less than neighborhood stores. Compare Suba’s prices with Duane Reade’s -- and Mr. Suba’s employees know their customers. The quality of neighborhood life decreases, becomes more impersonal.  Empty storefronts are depressing and destroy neighborhoods.  

Caitlin: Are there still commercial deals to be had on Amsterdam or above 96th Street?  
Judith: I have noticed the new dining corridor, and hope the small restaurants succeed. So I think Amsterdam Avenue will attract diners, but I don’t think residents west of Amsterdam will readily go there to shop.  When I first looked for a place to have a bakery, the manager of the old Gourmet Garage at 96th and Broadway told me: “people will not travel more than a few blocks at most to shop. But to dine is another matter.”  I never forgot that.

Caitlin: What is your understanding of the term gentrification?  Was Silver Moon’s appearance the product of gentrification?  Will gentrification be the demise of businesses like Silver Moon?
Judith: When I moved to 105th Street and West End Avenue, the neighborhood was considered dangerous -- not West End, but the side streets. I actually took a few self-defense lessons before moving in, and learned to walk in the middle of the road when coming home at night.  At that time I shopped at a used childrens’ clothing store on Broadway, bought sashimi from the little Japanese grocery shop on 105th off Broadway, drank café con leche at the Latino restaurant on Broadway & 108th Street [La Rosita], got my videos and dvds from Gary’s Movie Place, and my vegetables from the Korean greengrocer between 105th and 106th Street.  All were small, neighborhood places.  What became SMB was Loretta’s Lingerie, which had red flocked carpeting in the windows.  I moved in because I was a musician, the rents were low and the walls were thick enough so that my practicing wouldn’t disturb others.  Most of the musicians in my building who became successful moved out to more “gentrified” neighborhoods.  

Now, with many old buildings co-oped by the landlords and newer buildings being offered as condominiums, median income has shot up as new tenants came in.  Even rentals are now called, “luxury rental residences” in some cases.  This is my understanding of gentrification – more money flowing into the neighborhood, the quality of life changing, goods becoming more expensive. The mix of working class, artists and middle class which existed when I first moved here, has totally changed.  The druggy side street tenement apartments are now being rented to young, professional couples, and what was once a multi-cultural mix of Latino, Black and Caucasian has disappeared.

Caitlin: What would you like to be doing in five years?
Judith: I would like to travel more, explore the world -- and visit bakers and learn their ways of baking! Listen to music, hike, be with my grandchildren, meditate more and relax.

Caitlin: In 10 years?
Judith: The same!

To join the SMB mailing list, send Judith an email and she'll add you: [email protected]. 

Normalized by tv (hello "Mad Men"), promoted by the restaurant industry, essential to covering vertiginous commercial rents, and induced by current world events: drinking is plainly on the rise, and it's not just in Britain.

The 'French paradox' pointing to the potential benefits of red wine notwithstanding, alcohol is probably best used in more moderate ways -- and definitely more moderately than the year-end dictates.  That's why today, I wanted to celebrate not a hyper-local eat.  But a hyper-local drink.

What I dip in there for is the following hyper-local eat of the day: a kale-apple-carrot-lemon juice.

Oooh wee!  Does this hit the spot.  I tell them to go easy on the lemon, but a little citrus foils the sweet of the apple and carrot and sets off the herby kale. I know that people love to throw shade on this leafy green. A friend, let's call him Herr Doktor T, likes to harsh on kale the way Graham Chapman harshed on Spam. That just means more kale for me.  Honest to goodness, there's only one way I don't like to eat it and that's sautéed.

Chop it to eat raw like Henry's does for its best salad (that link includes the recipe).  Throw it in a fritatta.  Or juice it to detox.  Kale is scrumptious. Oh, no, you won't hear me rag on kale. And while this juice treat probably clocks in at a small meal's worth of calories, at least it beats the nutritive value of a Unicorn Frappuccino.

Yes, you heard me. That's a thing. Or at least was a thing for a brief hallucinatory moment.  Its full name (trademarked, bien sûr) is Unicorm Frappuccino Blended Crème.  (I'm guessing that its purveyors cannot legally use the word "cream" when advertising it.) While I am not sure it qualifies as a beverage, it may qualify as entertainment since most of what I know I overheard in a surreal conversation about the Unicornuccino. 'It changes colors!'  'It's sprinkled with pink and blue fairy powders.'  Apparently it doubles as a fidget spinner-lava lamp.

OMG. Such is "food" in our day and age. It's enough to drive you to drink!

And drink you should:  at Cool Fresh Juice Bar.  Stop in and let me know what you order. It's the perfect hyper-local eat to kick off 2018.  You can't go wrong with a kale-carrot-apple-lemon juice.  It's what the gods drink when they run out of mead.  I swear.  And if you are attentive, you might even see it change colors.

Happy New Year!

P.S. Cool Fresh Juice Bar is supposedly open 8:30 am til 9 pm for when that hankering hits.  It'll set you back $6 for the smaller size, and while less entertaining than a Unicornuccino, it is less than half the price of an aperol grapefruit spritz with smoked jalapeño salt at some wannabe bar.  And much more delicious.

Remember: December is "Spread the Blove" month.  If you enjoy these blog posts, won't you share this with a nearby friend, family member or neighbor? It's a great way to stay in touch between newsletters of the W. 102nd & 103rd Streets Block Association. So tip off a neighbor who can then receive local news directly to his or her email by just filling in an email address at the bottom of each post.

Love the Blog?  Spread the Blove!


By Caitlin Hawke

Building on the prior post about the loss of Mom & Pop and the vagaries of vacancies, this post is about one specific closure.  Covered by the West Side Rag last month, the shuttering of Joon's Westside Fish Market was felt like a body blow around here. Joon's stood on the southwest corner of W. 98th Street and Amsterdam Avenue until November 6th. But it had been in lease turmoil for months, with no certainty of retaining its space (and indeed a kosher Japanese restaurant is moving right in).

The WSR story caught the eye of filmmaker Christopher Ming Ryan. Chris co-owns Wheelhouse Communications. In his spare time he makes films for himself.  This closing, he thought, should be documented.  And so, for Joon's farewell, Chris grabbed his equipment and headed over. The result is a gem of a short film "Disappearing NYC: Joon's Last Day" that I first saw in the Rag (again, thanks Avi).  It exposes a sad story about less than level dealing, but it also holds the mirror up for each of us to look into since we -- with our new-fangled habits -- probably precipitated the loss.

I reached out to Chris, and he agreed to be interviewed.  It turns out that Chris is a born and bred Bloomingdaler.  Though he moved away as a grown-up, his parents continued to live on Broadway around W. 98th Street, and this kept him connected to his childhood streets. He gave me permission to repost his film below and kindly agreed to answer some questions (for the interview, keep scrolling down).  His four-minute documentary is a parable for our changing times.  And more than anything it captures the personal toll that a closure can exact on faithful, hardworking employees.

[Remember: If you are reading this as an email subscriber, you'll need to click on the blog post title above or click here to see the videos below.  It's worth your click!]

 
There's a lot more to say about this and a lot more we're going to have to do together as neighbors and voters to ensure we're living in a community that values neighborhood and is a fair dealer when it comes to small business.  We've done it before thanks in part to efforts of Block Association members.

For inspiration on this front, I caught up with Chris.

Q&A with Christopher Ming Ryan

Caitlin Hawke: Chris, you made a beautiful short film documenting the closing of Joon's, the Mom & Pop fish store at W. 98th Street on Amsterdam Avenue.  Did you have any personal connection to that store?
Christopher Ming Ryan: Thank you for the remarks. No personal connection. I grew up on W. 98th and Broadway so this particular part of the Upper West Side is home to me.

Caitlin: I understand your film about the last day at Joon is part of a bigger project. Can you say more?
Chris: I can't get into the details of the proect too much because we are just beginning. I have spent some time in Greenwich Village documenting the scene on Bleecker Street. Generally, if I hear of a Mom & Pop that is being forced to close, I'll go down and investigate with camera in hand. I've been a producer/director of marketing and communications videos since the mid-90's. About six years ago, my company Wheelhouse Communications invested in film equipment, and I hated to see the cameras and lights in my storage closet sitting there idle when I didn't have paying jobs. I started making short films with collaborators that I hired in professional jobs, and I began editing the films because I didn't want to pay anyone to do it. I keep returning to the theme of celebrating "old school" ways of doing things. You can see some of my past work here.

Caitlin: I noticed your film's title "Disappearing NYC." Do you have any connection to the great Jeremiah Moss, aka Griffin Hansbury, author of the blog and book Vanishing New York?
Chris: I have corresponded with Jeremiah Moss, and I'm well aware of his work. I just finished his book, Vanishing New York, which is terrific and puts hyper-gentrification into a context. His advocacy is so important and he has motivated lots of people like me to gather, protest, and do outreach about the issue of saving Mom & Pop stores.  In 2015, when Moss was getting a lot of press for the #SaveNYC campaign, I first reached out to him and created this PSA for the Small Business Survival Act. The last image should have probably been Katz's Deli but, hey, I'm an Upper West Sider!  I'd love to collaborate with him.

Caitlin: In a poignant way, your film makes a compelling case to shop locally.  The store manager Polo's loss of his job at Joon is deeply felt by the viewer. And we are connected immediately to the people who give life to small businesses.  What do you think shopping locally in this neighborhood (or others in the city) will look like in 5 years?  In 10 years? 
Chris: I don't want to speculate. As Jeremiah Moss says, people created this problem -- people can fix it. Thinking that this is just evolution or the ways of capitalism is the wrong way to think. Advocacy can do a lot. We should celebrate small victories like the new rollback of the Commercial Rent Tax. Small incremental changes like restoring the original look of the Hotel Belleclaire on Broadway and West 77th Street on the surface looks like a grain of sand when it comes to change. But, more grains will turn into piles, and soon we'll have a castle.

Caitlin: We've had cyclical outcries to protect small business owners by instituting policy changes.  But I am unclear about whether there's any progress except the recent rollback of the Commercial Rent Tax. What is your understanding of the issues and what could be done to reverse the tide such as move toward commercial rent control, vacancy taxes, etc.?  I know Manhattan Borough President Gale Brewer is a big proponent of small retailers and trying to protect them.
Chris: I recently attended a town hall with President Brewer, State Senator Brad Hoylman, Jeremiah Moss and Tim Wu. There were not a lot of answers. There was a lot of looking at the ceiling, shaking of heads, and blaming the whole thing on Albany and the Real Estate Board of New York (REBNY). Borough President Brewer has her heart in the right place, but it seems to me she has been resting on the laurels of her work in the City Council when she introduced and succeeded in putting in zoning laws on the UWS. The Small Business Survival Act which she helped write up as a Council staffer has been languishing for over 30 years. I don't know if it's ever been put up for a vote. I found this article in Our Town that shows that MBP Brewer wants to focus on smaller steps.  I'd like any steps at this point.
 
Caitlin: I understand you grew up in the neighborhood and that your parents lived here until they passed away.  What was life like here during your childhood and how did it change over time and for your folks who remained here?  Do you recognize the old streets? 
Chris: I grew up on W. 98th Street in the 1960's and 70's. Our neighbors were artists, musicians, social workers, and teachers, and I don't remember one lawyer, doctor or Wall Streeter. We spent a lot of time in Riverside Park, the public library on W. 100th Street between Amsterdam and Columbus, and in movie theaters (matinees were 75¢).  But let's not kid ourselves. There wasn't a lot of diversity. In our building, the only person of color was my mother who was Chinese. Everyone was Caucasian. I'm sure the landlord forbid people of color to rent in the building. The big change happened in the mid 80's when they tore down the Riviera and the Rivoli at 96th and Broadway and put up the Columbia apartment building.

Caitlin: Do you have a lot of ghosts when you look at new storefronts but see old "friends"?
Chris: No ghosts really. I miss the cobble stones on West End Avenue. I miss old people who were all dressed up on the Broadway malls. I miss the movie theaters. The neighborhood has kept its character, but its soul is gone mainly because it's not a place for the middle class anymore. One thing I get a huge amount of nachas from is that my kids love the taste of Sal's pizza.
 
Caitlin: What were your favorite shops growing up? 
Chris: Well, speaking of Sal's....Every Friday night we would have Sal's. Saturday night we would go to various haunts: Hanratty's (Honey-dipped fried chicken, Carol King on the Jukebox and Mucha posters on the wall), Eastern Garden (those green steps transported you to a timeless place), Harbin Inn (great spareribs), Willouby's (which was this old bar my Dad liked that Dock's took it over and now there is pricey vegetarian place). We often went to The Library for the comfort food and the warm pumpernickel bread on the table. Sometimes we ventured to 79th street to Tony's Italian Kitchen. Growing up, I loved Berman Twins where in the basement they sold model kits of planes and rockets. We shopped at Morris Brothers on W. 98th to get our Mighty Mac coats in winter and our names sewn into our undershirts and underwear for camp in summer. I miss the Chinese laundry on the corner of W. 99th and Broadway that would wrap your items in brown paper and string. They would ring you up on an abacus. Cake Masters was a daily addiction for my mom. I miss the simple Saturday night entertainment which for me at 10 p.m. was getting the Sunday Times on W. 96th street and devouring the Arts & Leisure section. You start with the counting of  Hirschfeld's "Ninas" and then study the movie ads, then the articles.

Caitlin: Yes. Wow, I think your reminiscences are going to touch a lot of people. Did you ever go to the Metro theater? I find that old landmark to be a painful example of a changing streetscape, as it sits empty, right in the shadow of Ariel West and Ariel East whose newer storefronts are also often empty. Overall those towers left gaping holes in Bloomingdale's Broadway commerce over the last decade.
Chris: The Metro had many incarnations. I remember seeing The Towering Inferno there in the '70s. Then, they chopped the place up into a few screens and later on they returned it to its original glory and played art films. In the '80's, I saw The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover there with my girlfriend (our second movie together) who became my wife.
 
Caitlin: Thank you for looking back with me. It's always a pleasure to meet a neighbor of longstanding.  Let's end by looking forward.  What is your New Year's wish for New York City?
Chris: Shop less on Amazon. Shop more on Broadway.

Remember: December is "Spread the Blove" month.  If you enjoy these blog posts, won't you share this with a nearby friend, family member or neighbor? It's a great way to stay in touch between newsletters of the W. 102nd & 103rd Streets Block Association. So tip off a neighbor who can then receive local news directly to his or her email by just filling in an email address at the bottom of each post.

Love the Blog?  Spread the Blove!


By Caitlin Hawke

Anyone who has lived here for, say, over 10 years knows of the sea change at the retail level on Broadway.  Gone are the fabulous mini-neighborhoods of the Upper West Side.  I have recollections of typical Saturdays running around doing my local errands, dropping snow boots off to be waterproofed, buying a fillet of salmon at a fish monger like Joon's, or a lamb shank at Oppenheimer Meats, stopping in at the greengrocer on the east side of Broadway for veggies and then across the street at the Korean deli for a bunch of flowers before heading home to prepare dinner for friends.  Or a winter Sunday afternoon spent at the Metro or Olympia cinemas.  Or a lazy morning at a local coffee house like Au Petit Beurre, contentedly watching Broadway walk by while other patrons idled around playing backgammon.

Those were the days of lower commercial rents, to be sure. (They were also the days before etailers and mega-chains.) And each 10 blocks or so had a micro-economy, the backbone of which was a squaredealing Ma and Pa, business owners who knew their clientele and ran their own show.

We are quite fortunate in that there are still quite a few Mom & Pops left between W. 96th and 106th Streets on Broadway (see my P.S. below). Some are merchants of longstanding, anchoring their corners. Others are more recent arrivals.  We need them all. But each time we lose one, it hurts. I'll write more on this in the next post.

So, have you, like me, been walking up and down Broadway and other of our avenues wondering both how do those small businesses that still exist hang on, and where have all the erstwhile Moms and Pops gone to work now? The vacancies are so bad that the New York Times ran a November 19th editorial about why New York's -- and particularly the Upper West Side's -- storefronts lie dormant.

It ain't pretty.

Is there some baked-in incentive in commercial real estate to keep stores empty and subvert basic supply-and-demand tenets?  What happened to rents that fell until a tenant was found?  Has it been replaced by "hedge fund urbanism" a speculative way to keep rents high?  What is going on here?

But it's not just the empties.  Further changing our streetscape, national chains have doubled since the last survey ten years ago; these chains now occupy 40% (up from 17% in 2007) of the storefrontage along the UWS stretch of Broadway. As rents rise, the presence of national and local chains will continue to be strong -- who else can afford unregulated and artificially-inflated commercial rents? (Yes, supply-and-demand subverters, I am looking at you.)  Methinks there is a connection.

Relief might be in reach. Starting in July 2018, the threshold that triggers the Commercial Rent Tax (CRT) in Manhattan will double thanks to a brand new City Council reform.  So any business whose annual rent is below $500,000 will not have to pay CRT.  This is definitely a step in the right direction with some 2000 businesses poised to benefit from this tax relief.  But without even more protections, we might as well all help Ma and Pa pack. 

Seriously, $500,000 is the rent threshold for the CRT.  Think about what a small business would have to gross just to cover half that overhead: it's 3500 fresh juices at $6 a pop every 30 days.  Or the monthly sale of 1000 lbs. of salmon fillets.

Just. To. Pay. Rent.

I'm not saying every cobbler, juicery or fishmonger pays a quarter mil in rent each year, but many small businesses do. So we ought not be surprised when they go *poof!* when a massive rent increase hits them.  And, more importantly, we need to do our part to support them while they are still here both with our wallets and our voices.

There are a lot of bloggers chronicling disappearances, especially this one, the gold standard, by the indomitable Jeremiah Moss. I also appreciate that Mom & Pop news outlets like the West Side Rag keep us abreast.  Its founder and editor, Avi, has been bringing attention to commercial rent issues when he gets the chance, and the Rag's column "Openings & Closings" often cites rent hikes as the culprit that precipitates the death of a shuttering business. The tumbleweed storefront often follows in swift succession.



P.S. This is a big topic.  So my next post will have more on the theme of the loss of Mom & Pops, with a hat tip to Avi over at the Rag whose coverage led me to my next topic.  Also, for a future post, I am thinking celebrating the Mom & Pops on Broadway and Amsterdam from 96th to 106th and on our side streets from West End to Amsterdam.  Have a particular favorite? Send me an email and tell me why  you're a fan: [email protected].  Better yet, send me a photo of the shop's facade.  Mom & Pop's should be small owner-run, independent one-offs, i.e. not chains or franchises and no corporate backing.

It seems like delis disappear at a faster rate than cell phone stores appear here on the Upper West Side. By deli, I mean Korean deli, of course. In January, we lost one near the subway station called 103 Grocery & Flower, and the site has since sat vacant. 

Of course, "deli" also conjures up that mouth-watering aroma of full sour garlic pickles and juicy corned beef and pastrami.  Ah, but for the delicatessens of yore!  Gone but not forgotten, the Jewish delicatessen is buried even more deeply in the city's history than the newly vanishing Korean deli. And right here — mid-block on the west side of Broadway between West 103rd and 104th Streets — time superimposed them, like an archaeological site attesting to the changing eras of immigration.

Recent work has unveiled a handsome telltale of a bygone era: a sign for Hudes Delicatessen Sandwich Shop.  This deli sat in that exact same spot from the late 1930s into the 50s, according to Manhattan Mark, a commenter on the West Side Rag where a blog post and some photos caught my eye.  Mark says that the Hudes family later took over the famous Carnegie Deli, 50 blocks south. The Carnegie is holding on in name and in nature thanks to the tourists, but it is not what I'd call a local joint anymore. The Hudes' uptown locale, with its warm, welcoming owners, is remembered as the quintessence of a mom-and-pop shop, the likes of which are fewer and further between these days.

Of course, the Korean deli is also a uniquely New York phenomenon. An all-service spot, these delis were a mainstay of many an avenue, particularly where grocery stores were scarce or non-existent. The picture of efficiency, the stores' virtue was getting you in and out in a New York minute.  When did New Yorkers come to terms with those gargantuan lines at Trader Joe's and Whole Foods?  This is not the New York I know!

Remembering, for example, the East Village in the days before Whole Foods, I can still see the Korean deli south of East 7th Street. It was an oasis in the otherwise hostile landscape of Avenue A, offering up fresh fruits and veggies, an occasional fix for a late night snack attack, and that beloved old Saturday night must: six-inch thick Sunday Times hot off the press.  Maybe we should have known something was up when the delis stopped carrying the newspaper.  I can't even remember the last time I saw -- never mind bought -- a Sunday Times on Saturday.  But I digress.

Deli retrenchment is, sadly, alive and well in these parts with booming retail rents and mega-food stores. And our little strip of Broadway has taken the hit. But, as awnings come down, history is sometimes revealed.  And the plate tectonics of Broadway fold era into era.  Nostalgia for delicatessens begets nostalgia for delis.  And somehow there is poetry in all of this loss and renewal.


By Caitlin Hawke


P.S. Aangan?  It used to be Hanscom's bakery...but that is another story.
P.P.S. The NYPL has some great Jewish deli ephemera here; totally worth checking out if only to see matches made to look like hot dogs.

h/t Avi at the West Side Rag where you can read more.
Photos courtesy of Avi at the West Side Rag and his tipsters Stephen, Clifford & Claudia