What Goes on in Queens?

I just read a Daily News article reprinted on Queens Crap and I feel like my eyes are about to cross. It's about the Jamaica Savings Bank, a 110-year-old Beaux Arts beauty, and how the Landmarks Preservation Committee's drive to landmark it is being roadblocked by the building fussy owner, Morris Cohen.

I've read and reread it and I don't get it. Gloria Black, the chairwoman of Queens Community Board 12, City Councilman Leroy Comrie, commission spokeswoman Lisi de Bourbon—they all talk as if Cohen is some Queens County potentate to be wooed and coddled. Excuse my French, but who the fuck is Morris Cohen, besides the owner of a crappy Conway department store next door? (Thanks for the ugly pink shopping bags, Morris!) Is he a mobster? Is he the mayor's brother-in-law? The Commission doesn't need his approval. Nobody does. If the building's landmark-worthy, it's landmark-worthy and that's that. The whole of Sunnyside Gardens was recently landmarked; was there any talk of getting approval from the many houseowners in the area?

Look at the Landmarks Commission website. Lots of stuff there are meeting the owner and informing the owner, etc., but nothing about getting his say-so. "The Commission then votes on the designation at a public meeting. Six votes are needed to approve or deny a designation. By law, landmark designation is effective upon the Commission's vote, and all rules and regulations of the Landmarks Law are applicable."

Comrie in particular seems like a prize asshole. (E-mail him!) The news quoted him as saying that that he wouldn't support landmarking if Cohen "can show it's economically unfeasible for him to maintain the building [as a landmark], we have to make sure we don't leave that eyesore for another millennium."

Huh? What building is he looking at? I'm looking at the one up above, which is fantastic. As for the economics, Cohen owns the Conway store, remember. But that's beside the point. He doesn't get to say the Bank can't be a landmark because he doesn't want to spend money on it.

This bank seems to make weird (read: crooked) things happen, politically. There have been two previous attempts to landmark it, in 1974 and 1992, both shot down, likely because the then-owner, Rita Stark, opposed the motion. You can read more about slumlord and political string-puller Stark here and here and here and here.

Cohen is far less notorious. Perhaps he's just trying to follow Stark's bad example

History in a Starbucks

Recently, I wrote about a Starbucks that lives on Astor Place at the exact location where the Astor Place Opera House once was, and where, in 1849, a bloody theatre riot (yes, theatre riot) occured. Within a day of posting this item, another article appeared telling how a Starbucks now held the ground where mobster Albert Anastasia got slaughtered while sitting in a barber chair.

This got me thinking. Perhaps the unrelieved visual and spiritual torture of seeing our City pockmarked with kudzu-like chains such as Starbucks would be lessened if we knew something of the history that once took place at the addresses where, today, candy-flavored coffee products are dolled out. Hey, one must find one's silver linings where one can.

You've got to start somewhere, so I'm beginning with the Starbucks in downtown Brooklyn at 50 Court Street on the corner of Joralemon—a particularly busy franchise, as it happens.

On this spot once stood a Chemical Bank and Trust Company branch where, in 1952, was employed a 36-year-old teller named Martin G. Olsen. A judge would later term Olsen an "ordinary" man. But his behavior on Jan. 29 of that year was not ordinary. Leaving for his lunch break, he took with him a plain brown paper bag in which was not a sandwich, but $32,224. With that, a nationwide manhunt began, with the papers breathlessly following Olsen's nifty disappearing act.

By March, Olsen, still unfound, was indicted in absentia. Finally, in July, he was located on the other side of the country, in Los Angeles. The man said debts drove him to embezzle the cash. The money represented 10 years salary for the teller. He was sentenced to two and one-half years in a Federal Penitentiary by Chief Judge Robert A. Inch, who did not give an inch.

So, think, Starbucks flunkies, before you take that extra long lunch break.

A Good Sign: C & H Restaurant

A nice bit of old-school wall painting up in the Bronx. For a narrow corner diner on White Plains Road. Looked nice and comfortable.

A Kingly Address

South Brooklyn has lost many churches to the ravenous condo monster over the past decade or so. But perhaps none was so heartbreaking as the Norwegian Seaman's Church, which stood (well, stands) at the northwest corner of Clinton and First Place.

Back when South Brooklyn had a heavy Scandinavian population, this was the community's center of gravity. A huge, hulking mix of Gothic, Romanesque and Renaissance Revival elements, it was built in 1865 as the Westminster Presbyterian Church. When the Norwegians took over, a large Norwegian style pulpit was installed and an old anchor was placed on the lawn. About a half century ago, during one of the King of Norway's rare visits to America, this was the only stop he made in New York City. It was that important to the New York Norwegian population. It's not landmarked. But, then, so much in Carroll Gardens isn't.

The Norwegians, or what's left of them in Brooklyn, are in Bay Ridge now. But the King of Norway just might be able to afford one of the apartments in their former house of worship.

Images of Russo

Not knowing how much longer the Russo Realty buildings would be around, I went over to south Smith Street to take a few more photos to remember them by. I tried to count how many times the word "notary" appeared on the facades, but began to feel dizzy after I got to 12.

Long Island Restaurant Update

Well, not much of an update. It's still shut tighter than a drum, with nary a stir of activity inside. It's been two months since I reported that that place had been closed for two months. So that all fall and now going into winter.

Last we heard, the owner, Emma Sullivan, was back from a holiday in her native Spain—the reason she has shut the eatery in the first place. Some reports said she had injured herself while overseas. Some said a relative of hers had been injured and, because the person who helps her out in the restaurant was still in Spain tending to the hurt party, she couldn't open the business. There was also a rumor on the Cobble Hill Blog that the place is being shopped around by its elderly owner. The former telephone number remains disconnected.

Anyone know more?

Since I have no new news to speak of, how about some old news? Here's what was going on at the address back in 1870. Scranton & Co., an upscale purveyor of groceries and imports, announced it had newly outfitted its store so as to "compare favorably with any in the United States." To their "liquor" department they had add "Congress, Empire, Columbian, Hawthorn and Geyser Waters, which Waters are bottled from each of the above-named Springs expressly for S&Co. in so careful and secure a manner that they preserve all their medicinal values for years."

Skewed Priorities

I understand that Two Trees Management got their slimy little way and were given permission by City Planning to erect the building next to the old Independence Bank on Atlantic Avenue to their wished-for height—even though that height is 10 feet higher than what's allowed in the Cobble Hill historic district. And I understand that part of their argument in winning this decision was that they were being soooo nice by preserving the landmark bank. (Though, one might point out, that's sort of like arguing one should be allowed to buy a gas-guzzling SUV because one's been so good about sorting out the recycling—a thing you're required to do by law.)

But why, then, I ask you (or, rather, I ask Two Trees) is so much work being done on the luxury rental building and absolutely no work being done on the bank? For the past couple weeks, the new structure has been a hive of activity, quickly rising floor by floor. Meanwhile, at the future home of Trader Joe's: tumbleweeds. No action since the interior was gutted months ago. Apparently, Two Trees has its priorities, and they're the exact opposite of the wants of the neighborhood, which doesn't crave the rental and is longing for the supermarket.

One last thing. If Two Trees is going to be such good caretakers of the landmark bank, why can't they get the corner clock to work? It's been stuck at quarter to nine for four months.

UPDATE (1/16/07): Brownstoner reports: "We've heard from Councilman de Blasio's office that the Council did not approve Two Trees' application to build 10 feet higher than what's allowed in the Cobble Hill Historic District. The Council sent the proposal back to the Planning Commission, and the plans were subsequently approved at 50 feet, conforming to the district's height limitations."

This is contrary to previous reports I'd read, but, hey, it is good news. Still, I'd like to see some action at Trader Joe's.

Frishman's, Ancestor of Bra Smyth, Closes

Frishman's, a purveyor of "intimate ladie's apparel" on White Plains Road in the Bronx, has gone under. The shop was locked tight as a drug this past weekend with signs saying "Everything Must Go" and "Last Two Days" in the window.

The sprawling store was founded in 1932 by Sol Frischman (he left the "c" out of the store's official name, for simplicity's sake, I guess). The place was a local retail anchor for many years. Sol's daughter, Sandi Simon, took up where her pop left off. But the store's lasting legacy lies in the third generation daughter, Becky, who started the chain Bra Smyth, which has stores on Madison Avenue, Broadway and in California and New Jersey. Sister Diana runs the Madison Avenue shop.

It's a sad loss for this stretch of White Plains, which is almost entirely dominated by chain stores at this point.

Last Day of Lights

At the beginning of this holiday season, I made a pledge to myself thahttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gift I would attend two prime Gotham yuletide events that had, for whatever reason, always evaded me. One: take in the over-the-top house trimming at Dyker Heights, and; Two: see the Holiday Lights display at the Bronx Zoo.

I knocked off the first fairly easily. But I didn't get to the Bronx until today, the final evening of the Holiday Lights. Every year, the Bronx Zoo adorns its vast grounds with lighted outlines of the various animals that live within its walls. I had always assumed that the display was a relatively modest, confined affair. How wrong I was. The lighted animals are everywhere! On every path, in every area, behind every bend in the road. Up above you, all around you, deep in the woods. Flying hawks, jumping frogs, climbing monkeys, fluttering butterflies, scampering mice, majestic peacocks. As the daylight dwindles, the effect is truly magical.

Their were few people when I and my son arrived at 3:00. But, when it grew dark, the y started pouring in, their faces wreathed in smiles. Here are a few images.




And a word from our sponsors:

The Story Behind 211 Pearl

There's an excellent story by Burkhard Bilger (what a name!) in this week's New Yorker which says a lot about the way New York City treats and regards its architectural heritage and history. It's about the back story behind last year's wanton destruction of 211 Pearl Street, a five-story, 176-year-old warehouse between John and Platt Streets in lower Manhattan that survived the Great Fire of 1835, but was knocked down by a developer in favor of a high-rise hotel.

The developer's winning the right to wield that sledgehammer lasted over many years, beginning with the Machiavellian machinations of the builder, who operated behind many shadowy fronts in order to acquire enough property to erect the tower. The story also included a battle with a bar owner who had a 20-year lease on the place, and an eccentric scrap dealer, Al Solomon, who became obsessed with saving the property—particularly an cryptic brick artifact on the first floor on the building of three interlocking pyramids.

The entire piece is worth a read, but here are some salient excerpts which speak volumes:

New York demolishes more old buildings every month than most American cities have standing. In a single week last September, the list of scheduled demolitions ran to six pages; in an average year, about two thousand buildings are torn down... In fact, fewer than three per cent of the city's million or so building are protected as landmarks...

In early November 2002, the Landmarks Preservation Commission began to review Al Solomon's documents on 211, and to survey similar buildings in the area. But such reviews usually take months, and Rockrose [the developer] quickly applied for a demolition permit. Before the commission could decide whether to save the building, the Department of Building had granted permission to destroy it. Rockrose's secrecy had done its work. The development, [Rockrose executive] Jon McMillan said, "was under the radar."...

"I have no idea what the symbol means," [Princeton professor] Sean Wilentz had told me. "And that's another reason to keep it. Because New York, to me, is becoming less and less mysterious. Its ghosts, its revenants, they don't have a place to walk anymore. They are being squeezed out. And this is a little place where they can gather. I don't mean to sound like an occultist, but a little bit of strangeness is important to Manhattan. And this thing is strange."

Also strange is that articles like this one keep getting published in magazines, newspapers, blogs and its still business as usual at City Hall, as it has been for the past six years.

And for those out there who always wonder why bloggers like me howl every time something old is torn down in favor of something new; why we automatically assume the old building is inherently better than whatever will rise in its place. Well, it's because it is better. Inherently. Read:

The best reclaimed wood is finer than anything freshly cut, Al said. A few years earlier, he had sold me some old joists for a bookcase I was making. The wood was Southern longleaf pine, four inches thick and heavy with resin. It had twenty growth rings to the inch—twice as many as the plantation pine at Home Depot—and felt hard as oak. When I'd sanded and oiled it, the wood glowed a deep amber and looked nearly translucent.