A Very New York-y Street

A few hundred feet along the southeastern corner of 39th Street and Eighth Avenue may be among the most New York-y stretches of sidewalk left in Manhattan. I'm talking old New York, of course, the one filled with scrappy, independent, local businesses, the one free of chains, the one populated with working folk who provided humble but necessary services, the one with a little grit in the seams.

The street features a barber shop, a shoe repair shop and a liquor store, all of considerable age. (Try to ignore the fried chicken joint.) I've written about the liquor store—officially, Cambridge Wine & Liquors—before. It's one of the oldest spirit sellers in the city. Not only does it date from the fall of Prohibition, but the space was occupied by a liquor store before Prohibition as well. The beautiful neon sign dates from the '40s at least.

Read more »

The Faded Ad Wall on West 36th: Sam Landorf & Co.

Sam Landorf & Co. is the ad most erased by time on the hanging gardens of faded advertising that is the westerly wall of 64-70 W. 36th Street. You can barely see the "Sam" and the stuff beneath it is almost impossible to read. It says "creator of infants and children's dresses," I think. I wonder by Landorf's paint job faded so much more than his neighbors'. Shoddy paint? Excess exposure to sunlight and rain?

Landorf was a resident of this building for a shorter period of time than any of the other businesses featured in these ads. He moved in 1950 and moved out 1956, decamping to 34th Street. The concern was founded by Sam Landorf, who spent his whole life in the garment trade. Sam was born on the Lower East Side and went to work at the age of 13. The company was founded in 1949. Sam had spent many years at the Joseph Love & Co. before striking out on his own.

Landorf was a quick success. In the 1950s, he produced a line of girls' frocks called "Cinderella" and another called "Youngland." In 1954, the New York Times said Landorf had "pushed the Youngland Dress trade-mark close to the top in the short space of five years." Landorf sold $8 million in goods in 1954. He had nine factories in New York, Pennsylvania and Texas. The Youngland dresses were very safe and traditional, but made more of a fashion statement than had previously been the case with mid-priced girls frocks. Landorf was still advertising Youngblood in New York magazine in the early '80s. The ad said its children's dresses were carried at Macy's.

Here's a sample of a Youngland dress:

Read more »

The Faded Ad Wall on West 36th: Bo Peep Mfg. Co.

Of all the old painted advertisements that climb up the west wall of 64-70 W. 36th Street, the Bo Peep Manufacturing Company—second ad from the top—has the most fanciful and memorable name.

The company was founded in the 1920s. In the early 1930s, it was situated at 1350 Broadway, off Herald Square. It was located here from 1941 to 1957. It ceased business sometime in the 1970s.

It's ad message is curious and unclear: "Brother and Sister, Individual and Companion Clothes, Play Togs." What does that mean exactly. Brother and Sister probably means they make clothes for little boys and girls. I get that. But how do clothes differ between a single person and a person with a companion?

The Faded Ad Wall on West 36th: Alco Blouse Co.

This is my third investigation into the histories behind the puzzlework of faded, painted ads on the west side of the mid-sized brick tower that is 64-70 W. 36th Street.

Alco Blouse Co. moved into this building in 1938 and moved out around 1950. (All the businesses featured in these ads seemed to have been residents between the mid-'30s and mid-'60s.) Alco was, tantalizingly, "manufacturers of cotton and silk popular blouses." Popular!

Maybe they were popular because, unlike other garment makers in this building, they made things out of natural fabrics. No rayon for Alco!

I've found out who ran Alco. It was Sy H. Corak and Albert Corak. I know this because they took out an obituary in 1948 in the New York Times mourning their "beloved friend associate" Paul Henry Klein. This also gives us the key to the name. Albert Corak = Alco.

Albert liked to take out space in the Times. Albert's son Howard got engaged in 1952, and the happy occasion was featured in the broadsheet. The day before that announcement came out, Corak got in the paper for a different reason, when the police were reported to have caught a notorious cat burglar at Corak's Great Neck home.

As for Sy, in 1953 it was reported that he was developing 103 homes on Long Meadow, L.I., to be part of a housing development called Broadlawn Estates. I guess Sy made a lot of money while Alco was on W. 36th.

The Faded Ad Wall on West 36th: J.D. Sachs Co.

This is post two in my search for the histories behind the faded ads that paper the west side wall of 70 W. 36th Street.

J.D. Sachs is the third painted ad from the bottom of the wall. The name is still fairly visible from the street. Less legible are the smaller messages "Infants & Children's Sportswear," and "Sizes 1 to 14." The Sachs company occupied this building from 1946 to 1960. In 1960, Sachs came up with a new skirt for girls called the "Adjust-a-Pleat." The skirt had "an adjustable band threaded with a thonged belt to allow for snug fit regardless of waist size." They were drip dry and needed no ironing, and were made of "acrilan" and rayon. You could buy than at Ohrbach's on Union Square.

I don't know what happened to the company. But in the late '70s and early '80s, you start reading about a J.D. Sachs based in Pennsylvania. Only they don't sell children's clothing. They sell mountain and outdoor gear. Perhaps the company transitioned into a new line and moved out of New York.

The Faded Ad Wall on West 36th: Weber Original Blouses

By some miracle, a entire building wall of faded ads at 70 W. 36 Street between Sixth and Fifth Avenues has survived. There are more than a half dozen, positioned like building blocks, one on top of another, along the edge of a building just to the left of Keens Chop House. Most advertise once thriving garment companies in the area, now all vanished.

I've looked at these ads many a time. The other day, while gazing up on them again, and feeling thankful that they were still there, I was gripped by a desire to know more about the companies whose names were painted on the brick. So I've decided to decode each ad, one by one.

I'll start with one of the simplest and most clearly readable from the street. Weber Original Blouses. I like how each of the three words has a different font and a different personality.

You'll see Weber blouses advertised by vintage clothing shops on the Internet today. The company was only at this address from 1948 to 1959, after which they moved to Seventh Avenue. So I'm guessing that's when the ad dates from. The business survived until the 1970s. The outfit seems to have dealt in the then-popular man-made fabrics of nylon and dacron. Who founded it, I could not discover. I guess people don't really care that much about recording for posterity who created some little blouse company in Manhattan in the mid-20th century.

Another "Who Goes There" Subject Falls

Spanish Taverna, a Garment District standby that I profiled in a July 2009 "Who Goes There?" column, has closed. I can't tell when the shuttering happened. According to a Yelp posting, the place was will in operation in October. But the phone has been disconnected. And there's a "For Rent" sign in the window, the other windows being papered over.

Here's a bit of what I found in 2009:

The inside, however, is as drab as ever. Tan, brown, yellow—the colors of the 1970s. There’s a nook of a bar up front, and an oddly airless, somewhat depressing dining area in back, with rows of booths on either side. A wealth of mirrors on the sides and in the back lends the illusion of space, as do the unusual plastic arcs which hang from the ceiling and partly divide one booth from the next. I’ve never seen this latter design feature in any other restaurant. It must have seemed terribly modern 34 years ago when Spanish Taverna opened.

Those who come here (Garment District workers, who like to haunt the bar; foreign tourists from Australia, Spain and elsewhere; a few elderly pre-theatre diners) seem to regard it as a hidden gem purveying some of the most authentic Spanish grub in the metropolis. Indeed, the food, while hellishly expensive (entrees range from $18 to $30; a glass of sangria is $8) is more than decent, and undeniably bountiful. I particularly like the mariscadas—various kinds of stew brought to the table in weathered pewter kettles. And everything is served with a dish of very nice, thinly slice fried potatoes.

So, that makes three former "Who Goes There?" subjects that have bitten the dust this fall: Spanish Taverna, La Petite Auberge, and Hinsch's (though the latter is slated to reopen new year under new management). And Rocco's will close early next year. I would have done a "Final Seating" column for Spanish Taverna if I had but known.

D'Aiuto Bakery Building For Sale

Not sure what's going her, but a reader tipped me off to the fact that the D'Aiuto Bakery building in the Garment District is up for sale "by Owner."

D'Aiuto has been there for a generation or four at 405 Eighth Avenue. It was founded in 1924. I don't know if they own the building, but given the way they feel at home with all the signage, my guess would be: yes, they do.

Eternal Liquor on Eighth

Liquor stores are some of the most unheralded relics of old New York. There are dozens of booze shops throughout the boroughs that very likely opened in 1934, after Prohibition was repealed, and are still there, using the same gaudy neon sign and cramped interiors. Few of them make a big deal of being 75 years old. It's not liquor-store style. They just sell spirits, not history.

Cambridge Wine & Liquor on Eighth and 39th is one of this sort. It's got the huge red "Liquors" sign up top and, at the corner, a vertical sign, just as old, pointing to its location. For all that ballyhoo, it's a small shop. Maybe it was once bigger.

Funny thing about Cambridge is the address was a liquor store before Prohibition as well as after. According to a New York Times article, there was a liquor store at this address (594 Eighth) in 1911, when a man wielding an ax (!) was shot by a policeman and pursued into the store.

A Good Sign: D'Aiuto Bakery

D'Aiuto Bakery. On Eighth Avenue in the Garment District.

543 Painter

What's up with the door at 543 Eighth Avenue in Manhattan?

This is the building that holds the infamous Distinguished Wakamba Cocktail Lounge. To the right of the bar is the tall, narrow, old, old, old entrance to the building. Boy, this doorway doesn't look like it's been changed or improved since it was erected. Perfect doorway to duck into if the cops are chasing you.

Anyway, in the window about the door, in gold leaf, is the word "Painter." What gives? There's no directory or buzzer, so I have no idea if there's a painting business in the upper floors. Doubt it. Was the building owned by someone named Painter once? There's a possible clue in the building records. In 1920s, the upper floors were "showrooms." Showrooms for painters, perhaps? But in the 1930, the second floor was a restaurant, and the others a factory.

Mystery Door at Keens

Whenever I pass Keens Steak House, I pause to admire the old building and its many singular details.

The word "Bar" spelled out in tile just outside the bar entrance. (That the restaurant still has a separate bar entrance is in itself a thrilling thing.)

The heavy metal pineapples on either side of the entrance, which once served as, I don't know, maybe boot-scrapers, or door stops.

So, the other day, I was admiring the many old bottles in the picture window to the left of the entrance, when I notice an old, inset doorway to the immediate left of the window. It's warped and slanted with time. There is no handle; it is evidently not used anymore. What was it for, I wonder.

Read more »

Penn Bar Remembered

The Penn Bar and Grill used to be at 31st and Eighth Avenue. It closed for good in 1998 after 51 years.

These fine images are from Aonghais MacInnes' Flickr site.

Lost City Asks: Who Goes To Spanish Taverna?

My latest "Who Goes There?" column for Eater:

Who Goes There? Spanish Taverna

Spanish Taverna, which hides on a corner of W. 38th Street and Seventh Avneue, used to be a whole lot more anonymous, and forbidding, than it does now. The façade was dusty and unwelcoming. One looked at the place and wondered about its standing with the Health Department. Someone must have said something, however, because a new awning’s been installed in the last year of so. And a smaller sign over the door now reads “Spanish Tavern Restaurant,” a helpful nudge for those who couldn’t figure out what Taverna meant.

The inside, however, is as drab as ever. Tan, brown, yellow—the colors of the 1970s. There’s a nook of a bar up front, and an oddly airless, somewhat depressing dining area in back, with rows of booths on either side. A wealth of mirrors on the sides and in the back lends the illusion of space, as do the unusual plastic arcs which hang from the ceiling and partly divide one booth from the next. I’ve never seen this latter design feature in any other restaurant. It must have seemed terribly modern 34 years ago when Spanish Taverna opened.

Those who come here (Garment District workers, who like to haunt the bar; foreign tourists from Australia, Spain and elsewhere; a few elderly pre-theatre diners) seem to regard it as a hidden gem purveying some of the most authentic Spanish grub in the metropolis. Indeed, the food, while hellishly expensive (entrees range from $18 to $30; a glass of sangria is $8) is more than decent, and undeniably bountiful. I particularly like the mariscadas—various kinds of stew brought to the table in weathered pewter kettles. And everything is served with a dish of very nice, thinly slice fried potatoes. The menu may, in fact, be TOO authentic for some. One tourist quartet—including a woman all in white with Dolce & Gabanna eyeglasses on her face, and Dolce & Gabanna sunglasses perched on her head—were utterly stymied by the utter foreignness of the menu.

There may be another tourist danger here. The prices on the menu posted outside are a few dollars lower than the menu that’s handed to you inside. This may be an oversight. However, on one visit here an item I hadn’t ordered appeared on my bill. The staff was apologetic and corrected the bill. Though it felt suspicious, I let it go. But, the next time I came I noticed that the table next to me found an item they hadn’t ordered on their bill. Again, the staff was apologetic and amended the bill. I’m not saying—I’m just saying.
—Brooks of Sheffield

Previous Who Goes There Columns

A Good Storefront: Sharan Deli

I'd like to try one of those breakfast beers.

In the Garment District.

Car Cozy

Boy, it was chilly last night! How chilly was it? It was so chilly, the cars were wearing coats!

I was walking down W. 37th Street near Eighth last night when I noticed this old compact car completely covered by what I can only call a car cozy. At first I thought it was the work of a very inventive, but slightly cracked, New Yorker who cared a little too much about his or her car's welfare. Like those pet owners who buy their mutts elaborate wardrobes.

On closer examination, I realized it was an artwork, part of a small exhibition currently taking up the Chashama space on that block. (You can see the show in the background, behind the glass storefront.) The cozy is actually a patchwork of separate pieces of knitting, but it fits perfectly, particularly around the rear-view mirrors. The art show runs through this Sunday.

Sophisticated Cocktail, Anyone?

Hello, urbane citizen. Do you enjoy a distinguished cocktail? Then you might enjoy The Distinguished Wakamba Cocktail Lounge, located on sunny Eighth Avenue near 37th Street.

Or maybe not. Hey, I love dive bars, but this is one even I avoid. This is the kind of bar where innocent men get shot by undercover cops looking for drug dealers.

Still, you gotta love that ridiculous name. The Wakaba, fyi, are a tribe in Kenya.

But Where's Goodman?

In the middle of noisome Koreatown, at 32 W. 32nd Street, if you crane you neck a bit, you'll see written on the cornice the very posh name of "Bergdorf." Anyone who's lived in New York City for a while knows that name, but associates it with the high hat crowd on Fifth Avenue. This narrow structure was the famed department store's second location, it's first being on Fifth around 19th.

The reason it just says Bergdorf is because Edwin Goodman, while a prized employee and partial partner, had not yet bought out the high-living Frenchman Herman Bergdorf, who liked drinking wine a lot more than working. Goodman had convinced the distracted Bergdorf that the shop, if it were to survive, had to follow the fashionable crowd as it moved north. But he left for his honeymoon in Europe, allowing Bergdorf to choose the new location on his own. Rather than take a Fifth Avenue address, Bergdorf thought he'd save some change by opting for a cheaper side street. Goodman hit the roof when he found out, and soon gave Herman the heave-ho. Bergdorf was more than happy to take the money retire and move back to Paris.

It's a mangy old building now. Amazing it's survived all these years, cornice and all.

Club Lazzara

Who's needs restaurants with no phone number or bars that don't identify themselves as such to the passerby when you've got Lazzara's. The midtown pizzeria feels more like a secret club than most Manhattan places that strive for that vibe. It doesn't advertise, as far as I can tell. Scaffolding currently obscures its sign on W. 38th Street. You have to enter through an enclosed, black-metal stairway that is none too attractive, leading to the second floor of the building. Once inside, you walk down a nondescript corridor with no indicating arrows or signs and enter an open doorway to the right. And there you are: someone's former living room now filled with row after row of functional wooden tables and chairs. The one window is fully curtained. No light gets in. And there's no one there who didn't arrive at the address expressly to eat at Lazzara's. You don't eat there by accident.



I stopped by for lunch the other day, as I always do when in the neighborhood. I ordered my usual half-pie with pepperoni, cut into narrow strips, and fresh mushrooms. A half-pie will get you a narrow rectangle of pizza consisting of three square slices. Sauce reigns supreme at this pizzeria, as opposed to cheese or crust. Mozzarella covers only about half the pie, allowing the tanginess of the sauce to come through.

The one drawback to the place is that, because of its location, Lazzara's tends to attract people from the fashion trade. You can always tell these specimens, because they talk loud, pull out their cell phones every other minute, drop the names of designers left and right and usually treat their dining companion thoughtlessly. I sat next to one such worthy the other day. He barked on his phone, while his female companion sat there with nothing to do. He was oblivious to the fact that, 15 minutes into the lunch, both she and the waitress loathed him.

The putz was also unhappy with the quality of the pizza.

Follow the Garment Racks

Anyone seeking a taste of Manhattan before the money markets of the '80s and '90s polished its sidewalks and glass skyscrapers squeaky clean should leave the Disneyfied Tokyo known as Times Square and head a couple blocks to the south. Hell, just one block south will do. There are a few dirty, gargoyled buildings on the north side of 41st Street between Broadway and Sixth Avenue which seem from a city entirely apart from the one found just 30 seconds to the north.

This is the Garment District, an area between Ninth and Sixth Avenues and 42nd and 34th Street which has thus far stubbornly resisted to find space for hot new restaurants and outposts of Applebee's. (Duane Reades you can find.) Dart down any of the side streets and you'll find hole-in-the-wall (and probably illegal) Spanish bars, Kosher pizza joints, specialty fabric stores not the least bit concerned with their appearance and signage which probably hasn't been changed or given a spray of Windex in 40 years. Rolling racks filled with suits and dresses make up half the traffic, turning the streets and sidewalks into an obstacle course. Hot-dog-and-papaya joints are numerous, as well as no-frills barber shops. This neighborhood is also home to one of the last hat stores in Manhattan, Arnold's Hatters, on 8th near 35th, and some genuinly scary (Holland Bar, Bellevue) and scarily eccentric bars (The Distinguished Wakamba Cocktail Lounge—that's its full name. It has no listed phone number).

My particular favorite is 38th Street between 7th and 8th. Ben's delicatessen, a ridiculously oppulent Kosher eatery is on this block. So is Lazzara's, which makes exceedingly peculiar and delicious retangular pies, and, though it was founded in 1985, looks like it's about four times as old. To enter, you must walk up a black, metal staircase into what looks like (and was) the hallway of an old tenament, then turn right into someone's erstwhile living quarters. Aside from adding a lot of tables and chairs, Lazzara's has made no attempt to make the space look like anything else. No natural light enters this sanctum. They serve the food as if you're a guest in their living room, and, given the musty decor, you feel that that's where you are.

Downstairs, there used to be a cafeteria of Italian delicacies, also run by Lazzara's and frequented by Italian-speaking mobsters. Now its a Balkan (!) restaurant. Further on is a long, skinny Kosher pizzeria, where the Orthodox eyeball all goyem as they come in. The pizza isn't any good. Kosher pizza never is. (Flavor is apparently forbidden in the Torah.) But the place is a hoot. Finally, on the corner of Seventh Avenue is the Spanish Taverna. It is not of this world. Looking through the barred-windows, you feel the urge to wipe your glasses, so thick lies the haze of time on this antiquated place. It's never reviewed in Zagat's. It never will be. It doesn't care. Nor do its patrons care what's going on in the outside world, anymore than did the barflies in O'Neill's "Iceman Cometh." I have read that it actually serves excellent Spanish food, Sangria and stuffed mushrooms a specialty. One day I'll work up the courage to find out.