More 1978 New York Pictures

The photos I posted from a 1978 tourist picture book received such a warm response that I've decided to share a few others.

Above is Puglia Restaurant in Little Italy, looking very much as it does today. (It's still around.)

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A View From 1978

A friend recently found an old souvenir picture book of New York at a stoop sale and picked it up to give to me. It was published in 1978 and has some wonderful old shots in it. One of my favorites is the above view of Times Square, looking up Broadway from 46th Street. Notice the Howard Johnson's in the foreground. That newsstand is still there. Nothing else, though.

Below are two views of Fifth and Sixth Avenues, looking fairly unchanged, aside from the people's clothes and the cars.

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Court Street Dealers

Found this shot on a Face Book page devoted to Carroll Gardens' past. Half of me thinks this must be a photoshop joke. But this 1978 picture seems to indicate that something called the Las Vegas School of Dealing occupied the building now taken by Union Market on Court Street. Before Union Market came it was a Blockbuster, and before that a kind of musty old clothing store. Can this be real? Bizarre.

Meet Otto, of Otto's Scandinavian Bar

A reader made me very happy yesterday by sending me some new information and photos about one of my favorite lost businesses, Otto's Scandinavian Bar. It stood for many years at the southeast corner of Columbia Street and Kane Street in Brooklyn, near the waterfront, and was, before it finally closed in the 1970s, one of the last remnants of Red Hook's Scandinavian past.

Until now, the only pictorial evidence I've had of Otto's are the photos seen above (from the 1960s) and to the right (a shot from the Jimmy Breslin-inspired 1971 film "The Gang That Couldn't Shoot Straight."

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Quote of the Day; Loss of the Day

Jennifer Dunning of the New York Times sure had it right yesterday when she flatly stated, "The places where cultural history was made in New York City have largely disappeared."

That statement could apply most any day of the past five years to any number of vanished landmarks, but Dunning wrote it specifically in connection to a place called Fazil’s Times Square Studio, which closed on Friday after 73 years, which means it opens in the heart of the Depression.

It wasn't always called that, because Fazil Cengiz bought the center in 1978. If was first known as Michael’s. Michael a former wrestler who taught acrobatics, tap and ballroom dance. (Cengiz was a taxi driver.) After that Jerry LeRoy, a vaudevillian, bought it. Everyone practiced their steps here. Honi Childs, Gregory Hinds, Savion Glover, Alvin Ailey, Bill Irwin, Charles Cook, the Nicholas Brothers, Fred and Adele Astaire, Judy Garland and Gene Kelly. (The nice picture of the waiting room is courtesy of the Times.)

The landlord told Fazil he had to move out last summer; the building is one of several on the block slated for demolition to make room for some new monolithic piece of crap. According to a 2000 Times article, one Lila Scheiner owned the building and much of the block (Eighth Avenue between 46th and 47th).

Fazil is tearing up the old maple floor that dancers loved so well, perhaps with the idea of laying it down somewhere else. But these days, who would have him? A small business with nothing in mind by fostering art, building community and surviving? Not a chance

Lost City's Guide to Red Hook

The once-bustling waterfront community of Red Hook has lost a great deal of its original life. Nearly all, really. Van Brunt, Conover, and Richards Streets are lined with the ghosts of formally vital storefronts. If you want to know what life was like in the shipping days, when work was plentiful for Irish, Italian and Swedish laborers, and street life teemed with pushcarts and stickball, you'll have to talk to the old-timers still hanging on, because there's not much evidence of it on the streets themselves. Unlike other nearby neighborhoods, the recent gentrification has not been hung on a few enduring businesses and institutions, but built from the ground up. If I wished to tell you what used to be in Red Hook, this guide could go on and on. As it is, the tracing of Red Hook's living history is a much short affair.

DEFONTE'S: This sandwich outpost at Columbia and Luquer Streets, near the north end of Red Hook, is about as old as surviving businesses get in Red Hook, to my reckoning. Somehow, the 1922 eatery has survived in the middle of absolutely nowhere for decades. The mint-green building with all the upper windows boarded over is pure Hopper, sitting lonely on its blighted corner. It's family-owned, founded by a immigrant from Mori di Bari (the hometown of so many of the local Italian families). The sandwiches are big, good and cheap. They recently opened a Manhattan branch, so they must be doing well.

ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH OF THE VISITATION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY: Walk south down Columbia and then Dwight Street to Verona. Turn right along the north side of COFFEY PARK. The dark forboding Roman Catholic Church of the Visitation dominates this central green of Red Hook. The church was established in 1954. This building is the second to stand on the site. A former structure, erected in 1878, was destroyed by fire on July 12, 1896. The present Gothic affair was built in 1896.

THE "R" SIGN: Look above at the abandoned billboard atop the building at Richards and Venona. This used to belong to paper goods manufacturer named E.J. Trum. When John Turano & Sons Furniture took over the address in 1978, they tried to tear down the Trum letters. All but the stubborn "R," and a period, were removed. There they remain. Let's just say it stands for Red Hook.


RED HOOK POOL: Walk back to Dwight, turn right, walk down to Lorraine. Turn left and walk to Clinton. Turn right to Bay Street. The Red Hook Pool, officially know as the Sol Goldman Recreation Center and Pool, is a gem of a relic from the WPA area, a gloriously huge pool and in great condition. It's an attraction of constant popularity in the summer, fostering a wonderfully democratic picture of community summertime fun.

RED HOOK BALLFIELD VENDORS: Kitty-corner from the pool, in Red Hook Park, during the summer months, are a gathering of Latin food purveyors collectively known as the Red Hook Ballfield Vendors. From these carts, offering the best local versions of delicacies from El Salvador, Mexico, Honduras, Guatemala, Ecuador and the Dominican Republic, you will receive some of the best street food in all of New York. The vendors have been working their magic for 20 years or so, and though they are singularly unappreciated by the City or the Parks Department, they are beloved of New Yorkers.


ERIE BASIN PARK: Walk west on Bay to Otsego. As you go, look south to the rusted-out behemoth of the PORT OF NEW YORK GRAIN ELEVATOR TERMINAL, standing starkly again the horizon like some accursed post-industrial City of Oz. Turn left on Otsego to Beard Street. I haven't brought you here to admire the new IKEA, but Erie Basin Park, which IKEA built as a sort of olive branch to the community for tearing down the historic Todd Shipyards. They did a fairly excellent job, and the expansive collection of piers, greenery, walkways, bike paths and maritime paraphernalia nicely captures the spirit and air of old Red Hook.

BEARD STREET: As you walk west on Beard toward Van Brunt, take note of he Belgian Blocks on the road. These can be found all over Red Hook, as well as remnants of old trolley tracks.

FAIRWAY: Again, I didn't bring you hear to appreciate the produce, but to take a look at the pre-Civil War coffee warehouse Fairway renovated as its Brooklyn home. It's an undeniably handsome object. Inside, head to the back patio. There, you can enjoy unadulterated views of Staten Island, the Statue of Liberty and the water traffic in New York Harbor. To the left are three old TROLLEY CARS, the sad testimony of Brooklynite Bob Diamond's doomed effort to bring trolley service back to Red Hook.

BEARD STREET WAREHOUSES: Across Van Brunt from Fairway, and continues south along Erie Basin are the long, red-brick Beard Street Warehouse, simply one of the most beautiful and beautifully situated industrial structures in America. Catch the Civil-War-era buildings at sunset for an unmatchable sight.

WEIRD MARITIME BUILDING: Walk west on Reed Street, just in front of Fairway, to No. 20, a curious two-story black building that looks like it's auditioning for the part of Old Maritime Building, covered as it is with plastic fish, life preservers, ship wheels and flags. It's actually just a building some guy uses to work on his old cars and have a few beers with his buds. Adds local character, though.

SUNNY'S BAR: Walk to Conover and turn right. Sunny's Bar is one of the few holdouts from the old days. In the Balzano family since the 1930s, it is now opened only occasionally, whenever Sunny feels like it. The well-preserved interior is well worth a looksee.

Previous Lost City Neighborhood Guides

Swedish Hors d'Oeuvres, Anyone?

I've posted in the past about old restaurants of many stripe: Italian, German, Spanish, Chinese, steakhouses, chophouses, society joints, cafeterias, etc. Swedish restaurants, not so much.

A reader sent me this photograph of the Gripsholm Restaurant, which lived on E. 57th Street in midtown Manhattan. The postcard is from the 1930s. It looks pretty elegant. And I love the little bar set up for "Cocktail Hour" (which we see, by the hands of the clock, is 5 p.m.). I am intrigued that the most famous feature of the Gripsholm was its "Swedish Hors d'Oeuvres."

 "Swedish Hors d'Oeuvres" means smorgasbord. And Gripsholm was famous for theirs. "It goes without saying that an appetite for hors d'oeuvres is a prerequisite for true enjoyment of a Scandinavian meal." The same article says that the Gripsholm's smorgasbord featured, yes, pickled herring. Also, eel, salmon, fish canapes, cold cuts, head cheese, pig's feet and "the salads." Then, there were the "hot foods": boiled potatoes flavored with dill, egg and salmon, fish balls, etc. All this for $1.50. The restaurant was also famous for its crawfish, which were cultivated in the brooks of not Sweden, but Wisconsin.

Gripsholm was owned by Ragnar Asplund, formerly manager of the Swedish Rathskeller. It catered to a well-heeled, Sutton Place crowd. The Danish royal family dined here in 1939, after attending the World's Fair. And Ethel Merman, too, at some point. I don't know when it closed, but it was still around as late at 1978.

Mr. Chow occupies the space once held by Gripsholm.

A Reminder of Something Not Worth Remembering

There aren't many New Yorkers who harbor warm memories of The Coliseum, the ugly, hulking convention center that Robert Moses built in 1956 on Columbus Circle as a monument to himself. Nobody shed a tear when it was torn down in 2000. The Time Warner Center may not be an enormous improvement, charm-wise, but at least it's got some good restaurants in it, and affords inhabitants a thrilling view of the Circle and Central Park.

One person remembers The Coliseum daily, however. The owner of the Coliseum Bar & Restaurant, which sits on E. 58th Street, directly opposite when its namesake used to sit. It has operated under that name since 1978, when The Coliseum must have seemed as permanent a part of Manhattan as the Empire State. It's part of a group of pubs, all owned by the same people; they include The Molly Wee Pub, The Emerald and O'Reilly's and four others. These are all in midtown and—aside from the Molly Wee, fairly free of character. But if all you want is a pint, and the game, they'll do.

The Coliseum Bar space has been a bar since 1949, when it was a hangout for The Westies gang.

Lost City Asks "Who Goes to Trieste?"

Trieste, on Northern Boulevard in Jackson Heights, may be the most isolated of the restaurants I've profiled for "Who Goes There?" But I urge you to go anyway, and order the gnocchi with veal sauce. You won't be sorry.

Who Goes There? Trieste Restaurant

There are plenty of Italian restaurants in New York that make their focus the cuisine of Northern Italy. But Trieste? Who spotlights the food of that odd, quasi-Austrian seaport on the Slovenia border? As far as I can tell, only the Jackson Heights, Queens, restaurant that's actually calls itself Trieste. It was founded in 1978 by Lorenzo, Romano and Elio Honovic, three brothers from the Istria peninsula. They didn't make it easy for you to enjoy their specialties. The restaurant hides in plain side on an ugly block of noisy, dusty Northern Boulevard, right across from a garish IHOP. To patronize it, you either have to live nearby or have a car.

Further masking the considerable attractions of the kitchen are a window-darkening set of heavy vertical venetian blinds—a mind-your-own-business decor gesture typical of old Italian joints. Also typical is the faceless "fine dining" decor found inside. A small sleek bar; ecru walls; simple square tables with white tablecloths; the requisite display of wine bottles. Trieste underwent a renovation six years ago that removed every scrap of character from the room. (There used to be a cute little coat room, and the bar was at the back.) The only survivor of that overhaul is a huge, wonderful, old framed photograph of Trieste, circa 1800.

Things are kept simple at Trieste. The menu, full of veal and seafood dishes and delicious home-made gnocchi, hasn't changed for 30 years, I'll bet. There are a couple dozen entree choices, and prices are very reasonable. Old, doughy Elio, who is now nearing 70, still works the kitchen. (Romano died of colon cancer recently, so only two brothers remain.) And the courteous, personable Bruno, in black jacket, is almost always your waiter, lunch or dinner.

The diners either live in the area or drive in from other parts of Queens. (There is parking in the nearby car wash, but only after 7:30.) They are familiars, and they greet Bruno and Elio warmly. Mainly middle-aged men, who probably got hooked on the food during the Reagan administration, they gather in groups of two and three and enjoy long, leisurely meals, beginning with martinis and vodka rocks (prepared by Bruno, who doubles as bartender) and slowly grazing through the complimentary garlic bread, carrot sticks and cheese. They get to ordering around the 45-minute mark.

Things are kept casual. A man or two will eat at the bar, talking to Bruno in Italian. Elio breaks from his hot stove to deal with a troublesome tradesman out front. The two argue outside the front of the restaurant until Elio makes his point. He's old and soft-looking, but I doubt he loses many arguments. The place sometimes feels like a men's club, as one might expect from a restaurant owned and run solely by males. The Honovics' male customers take a long time leaving Trieste. You can't blame them. Once you step outside the threshold, onto the cold, gray Northern Boulevard sidewalk, the world doesn't look nearly so welcoming. And the folks at IHOP don't know how to make your martini the way you like it.
—Brooks of Sheffield

Pete's Cafe Without Pete

I was in The Bronx recently, waiting for a bus, when I noticed what looked like a nice old school diner on E. Fordham Road. I peered inside. Counter, stools, booths, veteran waitresses. A sign that said "Fordham Students 10% off." Looked nice, if a bit tacky. (Plastic plants, fake Tiffany lamps.) Then I saw a large oval decade stuck to the glass front door. It showed a portrait of a man with long dark hair, thick dark eyebrows and an elaborate waxed mustache worthy of Dali. There was a cross over his head and the legend "2-2-2010. RIP" below.

The figure depicted must be Pete himself, I surmised, and Pete must have died. I digged around, and found my supposition, sadly, to be correct. He was Pete Nikolopoulos and he was struck down by a heart attack on the date indicated, while on a trip to Sparta, Greece. He was 56. Pete came to America from Greece in 1976 and began working at the diner as a busboy. In 1978, the Greek couple who owned the diner sold it to young Pete. (He was just 24 at the time—think of it.)

He was beloved by locals, particularly generations of Fordham students and educators. Students often went there late at night to nurse hangovers. One professor of media studies regularly sent students there on assignment to write a restaurant review of the scrambled eggs.

The diner now sells t-shirt with Pete's visage on it. It is currently run by Pete's widow, Anna (who, incidentally, never liked the mustache).

Monte's Venetian Room Officially Dead and Gone

As long as Monte's Venetian Room just sat there being Monte's—albeit a shuttered, out-of-action version of itself—there was a whiff of hope that he century-old restaurant would overcome its never-sufficiently-explained difficulties and reopen. And, in the last few weeks, when there was construction activity and permits issued, there was more of a whiff.

Today, that hope died. The space will reopen as a restaurant, but not as Monte's. Brownstoner reported that "a recent stroll by confirms that a restaurant will definitely be coming to 451 Carroll. This permit came in at the end of January to renovate the existing eating establishment. And a liquor license for 'Dominick's of Carroll Street' was posted on the window."

An Italian restaurant, I'm guessing, given the name. But I'll be surprised if they keep the murals or booths. And how can a restaurant possibly attract diners to this remote location without the pull of a decades-old reputation?

Montemarano's never had but one owner: the Montemarano family. (The restaurant's name is a shortened version of their moniker.) It was founded in 1906 by Angelo and Filomena Montemarano, newly arrived from Naples. Why they called it "Venetian," I have no idea, unless it was a tongue-in-cheek reference to the nearby canal. During Prohibition, the joint remained open and made its own liquor. All seven of the Montemarano boys were born above the restaurant. All worked in it, but Nicholas went on to run it. He didn't accept credit cards until 1982. In 1978, he painted the nearby Carroll Street Bridge the colors of the Italian flag, very likely without City permission. The bridge was closed for repairs from 1985 to 1989, which hurt business. When the bridge reopened, Monte contributed a 100-foot hero sandwich that was only seven feet shorter than the bridge.

That Explains a Lot

According to a recent slide show in the New York Times of the Bloomberg campaign's inner circle, Mayor Mike's leading pollster, Bernard Whitman, traces his lineage back to Count Dracula.

Yes. It all makes sense now.

There's more. Bernie, who is 43, also "Became obsessed with Richard M. Nixon in elementary school. Read his autobiography at age 12." That means he read all about Dick in 1978. After he was impeached and disgraced.

Nice. Nice kid.

Comment of the Day

From Upstate Johnny G, regarding the recent 1978 Times Square photos I posted:

The plethora of orange in the photo Brooks posted might be due to color fading over time. Most of these might have been red in reality, except for the HoJo, which was famous for using orange. Great photos Brooks! Reminds me a trip I took with one of my high school classes, back in 1972. Our teacher was pretty young and hip and had gone to Columbia for his MA so he knew the city. There were only about 15 of us. It wasn't an "official" school trip, just a bunch of us going to the big city with our teacher. He let us make the calls as to what we did and if I remember correctly we went to the Empire State Bldg, saw a first-run movie (my town only had a second-run theater), walked around Times Square, and had dinner at a restaurant beneath the Hotel Taft called Enrico and Pagliarulli (or some such) where we enjoyed a great pasta dinner. In those days the drinking age in New York was 18 as opposed to the 21 it was back home. SOME of us were actually 18 but not all, by any means. We were pretty nervous about getting served, but what's an Italian meal without wine? The waiter was young and hip and when he told us he had to card us he said "just show me some kind of a card with your name on it. I don't care what kind." I showed him a library card!! We had a great time, no one got drunk, and the strangest person we saw all day was a guy in OUR group who sported a huge orange (all natural) afro and snow-white skin. He was intrigued by the recruiting station at Times Square, and, using a rolled up rock poster as a rifle, he pretended to mount an assault on it. He didn't even draw a glance from anyone except laughs from us, which perhaps shows how different the world was then. Thanks, Brooks, for tripping that memory switch.

A Glimmer of Light

From today's NY Times:

Poll Finds Lukewarm Support for Bloomberg

By DAVID W. CHEN and MARJORIE CONNELLY

Despite generally broad approval for the job Michael R. Bloomberg has done as mayor, a majority of New Yorkers say that he does not deserve another term in office and that they would like to give someone else a chance, according to a poll conducted by The New York Times, Cornell University and NY1 News.

A majority of New Yorkers say that Mayor Bloomberg does not deserve another term in office.

With anxiety rising over a difficult economy, few surveyed have a lot of confidence in Mr. Bloomberg’s ability to lead the city out of the recession, a troubling sign for a mayor who cited his financial acumen as the rationale for his undoing of the term limits law that otherwise would have forced him from office.

In addition, some 51 percent say that the city is on the wrong track, while 40 percent say it is going in the right direction.

And though Mr. Bloomberg has sought to elevate his image nationally and internationally as a bold-thinking mayor with a record of innovation and results, New Yorkers in the survey struggle when asked to identify any particular achievement of his tenure. More than a third of those polled could not offer any answer when asked what was the best thing Mr. Bloomberg has done since he became mayor almost eight years ago.

Despite the poll’s findings, Mr. Bloomberg maintains tremendous advantages heading into November’s city election. In addition to the powers of incumbency, the mayor has already poured $20 million into the race and has indicated he could spend as much as $100 million to win another term.

His presumptive Democratic opponent in November, the city comptroller, William C. Thompson Jr., is largely unknown, with almost three-quarters of respondents saying they have not heard enough about Mr. Thompson to form an opinion, even though he has been a citywide official for the same duration as Mr. Bloomberg.

While New Yorkers have concerns about the economy and the state of the city and they would like to see a new mayor, at the same time they think Mr. Bloomberg has been doing a good job. The latest poll shows that 60 percent of residents approve of Mr. Bloomberg’s job performance, while 34 percent disapprove.

The poll of 683 New York City adults was conducted by telephone from May 29 to June 3. The margin of sampling error was plus or minus four percentage points.

In follow-up interviews with those surveyed, a sense emerged that Mr. Bloomberg has tried his best under difficult circumstances, but that a fresh perspective could be healthy. That is a change from four years ago, when a majority said that Mr. Bloomberg deserved re-election.

“I think the city’s needs change as time goes on,” said Deborah Fantera, an architect who lives in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. “And I also think there’s a complacency that happens when someone has been in their position too long.”

Eric Weinstock, an economist and Democrat who lives in Flushing, Queens, said that Mr. Bloomberg had done a poor job of controlling spending and taxes. That opinion mirrored the finding that 58 percent of those surveyed said their city taxes have risen under Mr. Bloomberg.

“Bloomberg was supposed to be not just another politician but a businessman and smarter on the economy than anyone else,” Mr. Weinstock said. “That’s why we elected him, because he was different. But he wasn’t different.”

Mr. Bloomberg is no stranger to wild fluctuations in popularity. In a New York Times poll from June 2003, for example, only 24 percent of those polled approved of his performance, citing job losses, tax increases and service cuts. It was the lowest approval rating for a mayor since The Times began taking polls on mayoral performance in 1978.

But Mr. Bloomberg’s numbers rose later in that term as more New Yorkers credited him for trying to overhaul public education and fight crime, as well as his success in banning smoking from restaurants.

“I approve of what Bloomberg has done for New York City,” said Leo Pachter, a retired businessman in East Elmhurst, Queens, who is a Democrat. “I feel he wants to complete what he’s doing and make more improvements.”

The mayor is also personally popular, with 48 percent expressing a favorable view of him and 26 percent a negative view. Among black residents, the mayor’s favorability is 10 points lower — 38 percent have a positive opinion of him, 33 percent a negative one. Black New Yorkers and Democrats are also more likely to say that it is time for a new person as mayor, the survey finds.

Mr. Bloomberg is also credited with doing a good job handling the city’s latest crisis: the outbreak of H1N1, or swine flu. Almost three-quarters of those surveyed say that the city has provided enough information about the outbreak, and 70 percent say that they are satisfied with the city’s response.

Yet the majority of New Yorkers say important aspects of city life, including affordable housing and crime, have either deteriorated or stayed the same since Mr. Bloomberg took office.

And even though New York City’s public school students showed substantial gains on state math tests this year, particularly in the middle school grades, most people are dissatisfied with the quality of public schools.

The poll shows that the recession is affecting city residents in personal and tangible ways. A third say someone in their household experienced unemployment in the past year, and most say the unemployment had a serious effect on the family’s standard of living.

While almost 60 percent say that the mayor can have a big impact on the economy, only 20 percent have a lot of confidence in Mr. Bloomberg’s ability to bring new jobs to the city.

Mr. Bloomberg has unleashed a flood of television ads in recent months, publicizing his concern for average working New Yorkers and promoting his economic recovery program for the five boroughs. He has been eager at news conferences to move beyond the polarizing battle over his successful push to revise the term limits law last fall, which enabled him and other officials to seek four more years in office.

But the survey finds that residents are unhappy over that change, with 58 percent saying they disapprove of the term limits extension and 37 percent saying they approve.

“Eight years is long enough for a politician to do his service,” said George Chin, a retired financial consultant and political independent who lives on the Lower East Side. “Lengthening terms sets up some sort of crony system where things get stagnant and politicians get too chummy with all the people they work with. I approve of Bloomberg, but I probably would not vote for him because term limits is a significant issue, and it’s time to get someone else in.”

Hallelujah! So the people have a little common sense left. But, the question remains, can they be made to stop be complacent and actually vote for someone else other than Bloomberg?

A Chinatown Institution on Opening Day

Since the day, back in March 2010, when I posted a series of ripe, flavorful photos from a curious 1978 New York souvenir book, readers have never stopped writing to me about them, commenting on and asking questions about them. I have even been contacted by a couple television producers inquiring how to obtain rights to the photographs.

Recently, I paged through the volume again (which was published in London) and stopped at the photo above. I hadn't realized what I was looking at when I first set eyes on the picture. This is actually an image of a newly born Big Wong Restaurant. Today, the Cantonese Big Wong is a Mott Street mainstay and Chinatown institution. But here we see it as the new kid on the block, with plastic flags and red-white-and-blue banners and everything. The place doesn't even have a permanent sign yet.

The now-gone restaurant to the left of Big Wong, Mon Sing, was well-regarded in its day. It, too, served Cantonese food. It was owned by Robert Tsang. Noted composer and arranger Hershey Kay loved the place and used to hold dinner parties there. New York magazine described it as a "good, cheap lo mein parlor that also serves won ton soup and spare ribs."

Another odd historical fact: the building Mon Sing was in, 65 Mott Street, was the first building in New York specifically constructed as a tenement. It was erected in 1824. It is still a residential building.

More on Manny's Music

AMNY has an article on the fate of Manny's Music today, quoting yours truly. Here it is:

Manny's May Be Saved

By Emily Hulme

For weeks, it looked like Manny’s Music was singing its swan song, but the midtown staple might keep selling guitars for years to come.

The landlord of the Music Row business, the Rockefeller Group, said yesterday it has been in negotiations with Sam Ash Music, the owner of Manny’s, for up to a year to extend the lease for the shop, a staple on 48th Street since 1935.

Manny’s did not respond to calls for comment.

Earlier this month, Manny’s owner Paul Ash retracted a statement he made to the New York Post saying that the Rockefeller Group failed to renew the lease.

“We were surprised and disappointed by Paul Ash’s statements in the NY Post on April 6 saying that the landlord has chosen not to renew the lease for the property occupied by Manny’s Music,” said Sandra Manley, Rockefeller Group spokeswoman. “As the landlord, we would be happy to have Manny’s Music continue as a tenant in the building.”

In his retraction to the Post, Ash said: “We have not made a final decision regarding whether to continue the Manny’s business or to use the location for a Sam Ash store. Any decision regarding the future of the Manny’s business will be solely our own.”

Regardless of Manny’s fate, other owners on Music Row fear the strip, where stars as big as The Beatles and U2 shopped, fear the stores will one day be gone.

“There was nothing but music when I opened,” said Rudy Pensa, who opened Rudy’s Music in 1978. “It was 15 music stores, now we are four.”

The culprit, of course, has been rising rents in around Times Square.

Pensa hasn’t been pressured to move yet, but expects it any day.

“I think it’s getting close to the end of an era, not just for Manny’s but for all of 48th, which is really, really bad, for the heart of the city.” He said. “But what are we going to do? I’ll be here until I can be here.”

The blogger on Lost City, who writes under the name Brooks of Sheffield, first reported on Manny’s troubles, and agreed that Music Row is on life support.

“It’s fairly inevitable, since Manny's and much of the other music-related stores on the street are owned by Sam Ash,” he said. “And Ash management, in their comments, have been pretty fatalistic about Music Row's future. If Ash won't
fight for Music Row's survival, who will?”

But not everyone is predicting the worst.

“Obviously [Manny’s is] an institution so people are curious as to why it’s closing,” said Mike Rock, a manager at the Sam Ash guitar store said before the latest news of Manny’s possible survival. “But as far as I know, we’re not going anywhere.”

I'm sorry, but every time I read something new about Manny's, I get more confused. Now, who actually holds the fate of Manny's in their hands? Sam Ash or Rockefeller Center?

This Week on Lost City

I Visit 91-year-old Puglia Restaurant in Little Italy; The Parks Department Needs a History Lesson About Carroll Park; Greenpoint's Manhattan Furrier May Be in Trouble; Newly Restore Cobble Hill Mansion Already For Sale!; More Pictures From 1978 New York.

Stage Deli Closes After 75 Years

This just in from the New York Times:

At midnight on Thursday, the Stage Deli, a landmark New York institution that got its start 75 years ago, closed its doors.

“It’s a sad day for New York,” said Paul Zolenge, who has owned the deli, on Seventh Avenue near 54th Street, with Steve Auerbach for 26 years. “We’ve been struggling to make it through these hard times.”

Mr. Zolenge cited the cost of doing business in New York. The landlord erected scaffolding in front of the restaurant a year ago, he said, and even though it came down in September, “we lost a whole year.” The rent had gone up several times in recent years, Mr. Zolenge said, and with the lease ending in a few months, he and Mr. Auerbach were expecting another increase. “We just couldn’t afford to keep it going any more,” he said.

The deli, known for its overstuffed sandwiches named for celebrities, usually in show business, was started by Max Asnas in 1937. Mr. Asnas sold it to Jimmy Richter, and Mr. Zolenge became involved through family connections. “My father-in-law, who has been a silent partner, bought it in 1978, and after a few years, I took it over,” he said.

Over the decades, the competition between the Stage Deli and the nearby Carnegie Deli, a similarly famous spot that opened the same year as the Stage, has been fierce. Mr. Zolenge speculated that someone might come along to buy his restaurant’s name.

“This has been very hard for everyone to put an end to an institution,” he said, noting that the same had happened recently to several other Midtown old-timers. “Ben Benson’s closed, and Gallagher’s is closing, too.”

I profiled the deli in "Who Goes There?" back in 2011.

Crying Wolfe

In a recent Op-Ed piece in the New York Times, novelist Tom Wolfe nicely put into words what I've been feeling about the descrecration of the city for years. I can't put it better of more thoroughly, so I'll just reprint it here:

"CHIN up, tummy out, Aby Rosen, the 46-year-old German developer, owner of the Seagram Building and Lever House, was posing for pictures in front of 980 Madison Avenue barely one month ago when he grew so bold as to boast: “I have zero fear. Fear is not something I have.”

"Easy for you to say, braveheart! The courage-crowing tycoon knows very well that in the current battle over 980 Madison, a five-story Art Moderne building stretching from 76th Street to 77th Street, the contest is already completely snookered in his favor.

"On top of this block-long low-rise he intends to build one of his Aby Rosen jumbo glass boxes full of commercial space and condominiums, rising straight up a sheer 30 stories. His big problem — or, to be more accurate, “problem” — is that 980 Madison is in the heart of the Upper East Side Historic District, and it would be hard to dream up anything short of a Mobil station more out of place there than a Mondo Condo glass box by Aby Rosen.

"The writer Tom Wolfe and other neighbors have taken to lobbing objections in the direction of the Landmarks Preservation Commission, the city’s official watchdog for landmarked areas. The commission has already held a hearing and could stop Aby Rosen dead in his tracks at a moment’s notice, just like that.

"But what, him worry? Like every major developer in town, he knows that the Landmarks Preservation Commission has been de facto defunct for going on 20 years. Today it is a bureau of the walking dead, tended by one Robert B. Tierney.

"Mr. Tierney and the 10 members of his commission already have a hearty, comrades-in-arms, marching-along-together history with Aby Rosen. The commission was highly instrumental last November in clearing the way for him to build a zone-busting glass box full of condominiums on Lexington Avenue and 53rd Street in return for his guarantee, written into the deed, that the exterior of his Seagram Building, given landmark status in 1989, will be maintained in its original condition in perpetuity.

"Mr. Tierney gushed — insofar as one can gush in a press release — that Aby Rosen was not only ensuring “the highest level of protection” for this historic building, he was also being so kind as to favor New York with “a landmark of the future,” namely, his glass box godzilla at Lexington and 53rd.

"How generous! How civic-minded! Noblesse oblige! ... until one reminds oneself that Aby Rosen and every other owner of a landmarked building is required by law to maintain it in its original condition.

"Aby Rosen is a global success story of the 21st century, a citizen of the world. He should care about New York’s parochial steps to make historic preservation a government responsibility? That was in another century, the 20th, 1965 to be exact, after a developer had demolished that old solemn-columned classical temple of passenger train travel, Pennsylvania Station, to make way for Madison Square Garden, a coliseum where the rabble could go watch hungover Canadians on ice skates batter one another senseless.

"Never again! vowed le tout New York. The thrill of a Goo-Goo crusade thrummed through the gizzard of everyone from, eventually, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and legions of other celebrities and socialites to virtually every prominent politician, from Mayor Robert F. Wagner on down.

"Never again! The City Council gave legal muscle to a previously powerless Landmarks Preservation Commission, made up of scholars, city planners, architects, artists, landscapers, designers. This was to be an aesthetic and scholarly elite with virtually absolute discretion in deciding what buildings and historic districts should be preserved forever through landmark designation.

"Goo-Goo was an old City Hall term for believers in Good Government, by which the regulars meant idealistic lightweights whose feet seldom touched the ground. But all at once every big shot in New York seemed to have gone Goo-Goo.

"So feverish was that born-again bliss that for a decade the commission pretty much had its idealistic way. But when the commission tapped for protection the city’s other great monument to railroad travel, Grand Central Terminal, it wound up in a do-or-die lawsuit that reached the United States Supreme Court in 1978.

"Goo-Goo fever now shot up to a peak. Jackie O. herself served as the star passenger on the Landmarks Express, a private train packed with celebrities, socialites and members of the commission who headed to Washington to exhort the court to uphold New York’s landmarks law — and in so doing save the station. Mayor Edward I. Koch gave a Goo-Goo, Never Again send-off speech so moving that cynical, battle-hardened, social-cliff-climbing Manhattan matrons had to dab their eye sockets. Not even the Supreme Court justices, it seemed, could control themselves in a Camelot moment. They upheld the landmarks law faster than you could say Oh, Jackie, ohhhhh ...

"Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhh yes, went the landmarks commissioners. The chairman received a salary, but the commissioners got no pay for this job. Still, the psychic rewards were turning out to be awesome. You were working for a cause you believed in, and at a high and highly visible level. After all, you were now an official of the 20th century’s capital of the world, New York City, and you kept running into the very rich and very social — who were suddenly giving you aero-kisses, Euro-style, four millimeters away from each side of your face.

"The commissioners had made names for themselves professionally as scholars, architects, city planning consultants, but now they were moving up in life in a way they could have never anticipated. One evening a commissioner from the Jackie O. period is at a cocktail party — you were now being invited to an infinitely better class of parties — when a benefactress of the City Beautiful movement approaches him and asks if he would like to go over to Lincoln Center and watch Jerome Robbins rehearsing with Mikhail Baryshnikov for some ballet that’s coming up. The next thing he knows, her driver is taking the two of them over to the theater.

"“The place is dark except for the stage,” he recounted, “and there’s Jerome Robbins up there, and Baryshnikov, and Robbins is having Baryshnikov try this and try that — and the only people in the whole audience are this woman and me! Us and some Saudi prince who’s backing the show.”

"You would walk into a conference room and people would jump up and shake your hand and take your coat and show you to a seat and smile and beam, beam, beam respect — because you and your commission colleagues wielded a government power over private property second only to confiscating it via the right of eminent domain. When you made someone’s property a landmark, he retained title to it, but you confiscated his ability to exploit it by putting up something new in its place or selling it for development. In a former commissioner’s own words: “One day it dawns on you. You’re pushing around billions of dollars worth of real estate development. You’re telling the biggest developers in the world, ‘Keep moving, Jack! You can’t build there!’ ”

"Somehow you had made it inside the Walled City that Theodore Dreiser described in “Sister Carrie.” There was New York the melting pot, the boiling stew, of the eight million ... and there was the Walled City, wherein existed New York’s fabled excitement and glamour and power and blinding wealth and extravagant ease and fine slim people who introduced you to restaurants where you didn’t dare order a beer and wished you hadn’t worn a brown suit and a “colorful” necktie. Thus it came to be that turnover on the commission was exceedingly low.

"No fools, New York’s mayors got the picture soon enough. Why on earth allow so much power to remain in the hands of a bunch of arty, sentimental, cerebral, status-addicted Goo-Goos? And the name of the man who first made City Hall’s contempt obvious? Edward I. Koch! The very man who had left them sobbing Goo-Goo tears during the Camelot moment! Not the velvet-gloved sort, Mr. Koch went ballistic in what became the notorious Tung affair.

"In 1987, for good and sufficient civic and political reasons, the mayor wanted to turn Bryant Park, the badly rundown open space behind the New York Public Library, into a gloriously landscaped Tuileries Garden for Manhattan crowned with a Lucullan restaurant. But building the restaurant would mean cutting down a stand of towering old trees. The mayor wanted the commission to give this alteration its blessing.

"Enter Anthony M. Tung. Mr. Tung was only 37 but had served on the commission for eight years. One and all agreed he was probably the most erudite member the commission had ever had, a city planning consultant, a walking encyclopedia of the history, principles and practices of urban preservation, and a brilliant analyst; in short, a genius in that field.

"Mr. Tung argued that the proposed restaurant would be a landmark desecration, butchering not only many magnificent old trees but also the entire rear aspect of the library, which was every bit as innovative and historically important as the more famous Fifth Avenue front with its lions and great staircase. So eloquent was he, so utterly convincing, that the commission, chairman and all, swung around and denied Mayor Koch’s request — unanimously — and made him look like a hairy Visigoth getting ready to sack Rome.

"Impudent wretch! The mayor got word to the genius that he was fired so fast — five days later — it made the tail on the Q of Mr. Tung’s sky-high I.Q. curl.

"Getting rid of him was easy, or should have been. Landmarks commissioners were appointed for three-year terms, and it turned out that Mr. Tung and six of the other nine unpaid commissioners had never been officially reappointed. They had just kept on serving. Technically, they were expirees. This was probably the result of nothing more than bureaucratic inertia. But it was very handy! All the mayor had to do was have somebody send Mr. Tung a letter saying his term had expired, he wasn’t being reappointed, so long, thanks a million for your service, and kindly go off and be a genius by yourself. In fact, thanks to the rank odor, it took the mayor months to find a both willing and respectable candidate to take his place.

"Mr. Tung didn’t take it lying down for a moment, and the Tung affair boiled and stewed in the press for months. Still, no one seemed to realize at the time that the landmarks law, as originally conceived, was now null and void. From the Tung affair on, the Landmarks Preservation Commission’s aesthetic elite was pretty much free to bestow landmark status on any property it saw fit — unless the mayor had designs on it himself.

"Barely a peep in Anthony Tung’s behalf was heard from any commissioner or the chairman, even though all of them had so bravely agreed with him at the outset. Well ... let’s face it. One has to render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, doesn’t one? But we’ll get to decide on the rest, won’t we? And still be invited to all the parties?

"Talk about never again! Never again could you expect a landmarks commissioner, much less a chairman, to stand up to a mayor. And, as a corollary, never again could you expect any of them to stand up to Big Real Estate, if Big Real Estate had the mayor’s backing. As they say at City Hall, they got along by going along. It wasn’t so bad ... talking the talk with one’s fellow walking dead and walking the walking-dead walk to swell parties and events.

"As for Anthony Tung: he went off and, a genius by himself, wrote a book titled “Preserving the World’s Great Cities.” Today it is the bible of urban preservationists all over the globe, and from Mexico City to Athens to Istanbul to Kyoto and Singapore, he is one of the world’s most sought-after speakers and consultants on urban planning, most recently in New Orleans.

"The undead commission became only undeader under Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani. When he became mayor in 1994, New York had hit the bottom of a full-blown commercial real estate depression, and he wasn’t about to allow anyone with a weakness for silvery-tongues to become chairman. So he appointed a former campaign strategist, Jennifer J. Raab, who was introduced to the public as a highly experienced land-use lawyer.

"Translated, that meant she made her living representing landlords and developers for the big-time, high-billing-and-the-clock-is-running law firm of Paul, Weiss, Rifkind, Wharton & Garrison. It didn’t take long for her to enunciate the Raab Doctrine. No longer is it Us against Them, she said. From now on everyone, preservationists and developers alike, will recognize their common interest in preservation.

"With that, she bade Us lamb chops to lie down with Them lions and bestowed “preservation achievement awards” for preservation-friendly architectural designs upon the Gap — which she teasingly referred to as the “big bad corporation” by way of showing Them lions were really pussycats — and Bernard Mendik, chairman of the Real Estate Board, the lobby for landlords, developers and brokers, by natural selection the evolutionary enemies of landmarks preservation. As for the commission, it remained packed with expirees who would gladly disintegrate, if necessary, to avoid casting so much as a shadow on any of the mayor’s plans.

"Reading the tank-style tread marks of the excavation earth-movers today, one is forced to conclude that Rudy Giuliani and Ed Koch are not the only mayors who would just as soon have ended the charade by mercifully putting the Landmarks Preservation Commission and the walking dead out of their misery or at least slipping them into the sleep mode the way you can a computer. Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg certainly seems to qualify as another.

"Last year, as he had ever since 2003, Mayor Bloomberg made it clear that he wanted a 40-year-old white marble building the city owned at 2 Columbus Circle, designed by Edward Durell Stone for Huntington Hartford’s short-lived Gallery of Modern Art, replaced by a glass box proposed by the Museum of Arts and Design, to fit in with the behemoth glass box of the nearby Time Warner Center.

"Back in the 1960s, critics and the art world in general had sniggered, sneered and hooted Mr. Hartford’s gallery into oblivion after only five years. But that was 40 years ago, and art history is chronically revisionist. (Rembrandt once got cold-shouldered for two centuries.)

"Now, in 2005, the mayor was confronted by an incredible uprising of scholars, world-renowned architects, deans of art and architecture at the great universities, mega-wattage art worldlings — the greatest massing of cultural luminaries in a single cause since the anti-fascist crusades of the 1930s! — all calling upon the commission to hold a hearing, lest this historic work by a great American architect be destroyed without a second thought.

"For any owner of a magnifying glass seeking a closer look at this astral army:

"The two most eminent architectural historians in the United States, Vincent Scully and Robert A. M. Stern, dean of Yale’s school of architecture, a famous and prolific architect in his own right, and the definitive historian of New York architecture from the late 19th century to the present, co-author of the magisterial quintet, “New York 1880,” “ New York 1900,” “New York 1930,” “New York 1960,” “New York 2000”; nine deans and graduate program directors of art and architecture, including three from Columbia University, and one of the nation’s best-known urban studies scholars and theorists, Witold Rybczynski of the University of Pennsylvania; the most elite lineup of architects who ever stood shank to flank in a preservation controversy: Richard Meier, Cesar Pelli, Robert Venturi, Laurie Olin, Hugh Hardy and Peter Eisenman, plus Dean Stern, to single out but seven from among a host of them; the current chief architectural critic of The New York Times and two of his predecessors, one of whom called the commission’s year-after-year refusal to call a hearing “a shocking dereliction of public duty”; The Times itself, in an editorial characterizing Stone’s building as “already an architectural monument, the work of a major architect, whether the commission likes it or not” and the refusal as “an enormous mistake, one that seriously erodes [the commission’s] purpose and whatever independence it has managed to attain since it was first created”; the nation’s, New York State’s and New York City’s most highly respected preservation societies, including the National Trust for Historic Preservation and the World Monuments Fund; Agnes Gund, who had just stepped down as president of the board of the Museum of Modern Art; the artists Frank Stella and Chuck Close, under whose letterhead a petition signed by more than 50 artists went to Mayor Bloomberg; and three former chairmen of the landmarks commission.

"If the administration had the subpoena power to summon a jury of the most esteemed architectural and urban planning authorities in the United States to judge the case of 2 Columbus Circle — it would have summoned the very same people who are in that condensed like-a-lump-of-coal type. There are no higher authorities. So how did Robert Tierney respond to them?

"He didn’t! Not once! It was as simple as that!

"He stayed holed up in his bunker at 1 Centre Street, while Spokesperson said ... and said ...and said ... and said, “Under two administrations and three chairmen, the commission has declined to consider this site for landmark status, and I am aware of no new information that would make it necessary to revisit the matter”...

"“Under two administrations and three chairmen, the commission has declined to consider”...

"“Under two administrations and three chairmen, the commission”...

"“Under two administrations and three”...

"But, but, but how could he do that without seeming ... brain dead ... or without taking direct orders? Either way, the chairman’s refusal to call a hearing — a mere hearing, which would commit the commission to nothing — or to so much as discuss a hearing ... was as good as an official proclamation:

"Landmarking no longer exists in New York City, not even as a principle — or not above the level of the occasional parish house in Staten Island or rusticated old stone archway in eastern Queens.

"By this time last year unionized elves with air hammers had reduced 2 Columbus Circle’s white marble to rubble and set about gutting the interior.

"The chairman was marginally less blunt about staying out of the way of Big Real Estate. For two decades preservation groups had been petitioning the commission to give landmark status to the five-story Romanesque Revival-style Dakota Stable on Amsterdam Avenue at 77th Street, the most important remaining relic of late 19th century New York’s palmy days of riding horses and traveling by horse-drawn carriage.

"This spring they learned that Big Real Estate, in the form of the Related Companies, developers of the Time Warner Center, had a contract to buy the building with the intention of demolishing it and putting up 14 stories’ worth of condominiums. (Ironically, they picked Robert Stern as the architect.) In July, Mr. Tierney indicated he was going to hold a hearing ... hold a hearing ... hold a hearing ... hold a hearing ... but was somehow delayed until Oct. 17 — and wouldn’t you know it? In September the city had granted permission to alter the Dakota Stable and by Oct. 17 it had been stripped of its architectural details, and all that was left was “a stucco box.”

"Those were the chairman’s own words, “a stucco box.” Just the other day he shook his head and declared it was too late to do anything about that.

"SO we will never know about Aby Rosen! Maybe the man does have “zero fear.” But he won’t be put to the test this time. In the case of 980 Madison he has one-click approval whenever They feel the time is right.

"In case he’s wondering, he should know that the table is set at the Landmarks Preservation Commission. Set beautifully! Never better! Nine of the 10 current commissioners, not counting Mr. Tierney, are expirees — 90 percent! — in imminent danger of getting canned if they don’t do the right thing by Aby Rosen!

"Once upon a time, in the legendary age of Camelot, back when Jackie O. could make the entire United States Supreme Court roll over and moan, it was the landlords and developers who used to scream bloody murder at the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission.

"Just two weeks ago close to 100 leaders of New York City preservationist groups held a “citizens emergency meeting” at the General Society Library on West 44th Street... and bayed for the blind goddess, Justice, to make Preservation the commission’s middle name. Many of them were young, young enough to envision a landmarking renaissance. Youth! The way they bayed was enough to make the hair stand up on old Aby Rosen’s arm."

I've said it before, I'll say it now: New York sucks.

A Sampling of Manny's Mourners

Though New York mainstream press continues to ignore the story of the Music Row legend Manny's coming closure this May, the many devotees of the W. 48th Street store continue to mourn the store's end on a daily basis. My original posting, on Feb. 20, has now logged dozens of comments, with one or two arriving each day as musicians around the nation awake to the unsettling news.

I thought, given the sincere regret which which many of these comments are invested, it might be worth spotlighting a few of the more remarkable. Quite a few stories here. Here follows a sampling:

Through the years, met Peter Frampton (before "... comes alive"), Chris Squire, Bo Diddley, Pete Townshend, Leslie West and more, at Manny's back in the 70's ... a thrill for a kid aspiring to play guitar! Very sad indeed!—Todd Wolfe

Very sad indeed. As a kid I worked for Buddah /Kama Sutra records just a few blocks away at 1650 Broadway at that time. I would go there with the Kelly Isley of the Isley Brothers. It was as much as a meeting place as it was the store to purchase an instrument.—Ian M. Marlowe

I grew up in Hackensack, NJ . We used to play hooky and take the bus to NYC and spend the better part of the day at Manny's. I can still visualize Henry walking around the store and calling out to one of the employees to bring down a guitar from upstairs. How about that beat up yellow Danelectro (?) solid body guitar that everyone would play when trying out different amps. I bought alot of equipment there in the 60's, my first wah wah pedal (Vox), a Maestro fuzz tone, after hearing Satisfaction on the radio. I remember buying a used 63' Gretsch Country Gentleman from Henry for $325 in 1967. The store is a musical landmark for sure. I met Elliot Randall and Gene Cornish there. One time I remember seeing a new set of drums up against a side wall with Ringo Starr's name stenciled across each case. I think we waited at least two hours hoping he might pick them up himself. I'm sorry to see it go. Hey, the Stones live in the city, maybe they could buy the building and preserve it as piece of musical history.—Rob Heinick

Ed Pomerant was at Manny's the day the Beatles Crew came in to pickup the Ludwig Drums and A Zilgan Cymbals for the Ed Sullivan show the next day. I decided to get the identical set of Gray Pearl but they only had the Blue Pearl left. Manny himself waited on me.—Ed

I was playing at the Lone Star Cafe in 1981...forgot a bag of guitar cables & stompboxes at our previous gig in Baltimore. One call to Manny's, and they set me right up, then wouldn't take back the gear afterwords...said it was their contribution to our band!!! Let's see a music store do something like that today!!! What a bummer!!!—Mike Armstrong

In 1972, my fiancée took me to Manny’s to buy me an engagement present, where this cool little Jazz Guitar playing dude sold me a Baldwin Ode Banjo. 18 years later I went there to find something special, and the same Jazz Guitar playing dude sold me a white Gibson J-200 guitar that I have never seen any other place.—Eric Hilton

Back as an early teen, my late brother and I would hop on the A- Train from the Heights and 'go aching' (a semi-rhyming slang thing for 'forty EIGHTH') meaning we were going down to 48th to 'ache' for the gear we couldn't actually afford in the windows of Manny's and the other music shops on the street. Topped off with an Orange Julius, it made for a fun afternoon.

The thing about Manny's was back then you couldn't actually touch the guitars. You'd come in the store, point to a guitar you wanted to see and say 'let me try that one'. Billy, the old jazz cat who worked the counter back then, would reply 'You gonna buy it today'? Of course you weren't, so that would be that. The policy got more relaxed in later years (or maybe we just got older and looked like we had some coin).

The old yellow Danelectro 'tester' guitar (which is now in pieces behind plexiglas in the store) should be donated to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Everyboy who is anybody in the business has touched that guitar; it's like the Blarney Stone of the music industry. —Glenn "G Man" Govier

In 1978, I met BB King at Manny's. I had seen him the night before at the Bottom Line. I was in the market for a guitar and was trying out the Gibson model that BB played (ES 355), when he walked in to buy a case. I got to say hello, shake his hand, tell him I much I loved the show. (Then I went down the block and bought a '63 ES 175 from Alex.)

That's the kind of place it was -- where you could see a show the night before, one that changed your life, and then run into the star buying a case. At Manny's. —Brendan

It's getting really bad as the other post states, CBGB'S , Roxy and on to the Studios. I started at The Record Plant on 44th in NYC then The Hit Factory on 48th st. As the trees fall now the last hold out goes away, MANNYS MUSIC its freaking bad. I bought my first Gibson ES-335 at Manny's in the early 70's. From the places to purchase to the places we made music in to the places to we had fun in. IT'S ALL GOING AWAY..SAD TIMES WE HAVE. What next US? As Frank Zappa said "here come the Brain Police" —Howie Lindeman