program

I hate to say it but the sports pages, I generally don’t read them. I like to watch sports but often the columns talk about sports in a way that makes it hard for me to understand. I often don’t know who they are talking about or I don’t know enough about sports so that a writer’s discussion of the minutia of a game will be completely over my head. Hence, this is the reason why I stay away from the reading the sports pages.

The writing of George Vecsey is something different. I am not sure exactly when I began reading Vecsey’s columns but I remember the first time, thinking what I had just read was a fluke. Then I began to look for his columns because I enjoyed them so much. I did not have to know all the ins and outs of the game to understand his columns; in fact I did not have to know anything about sports at all. The subject of sports for George Vecsey seems to simply be a vehicle for him to tell a greater story, the story people and human interaction. The playing of sports provides a superb stage for the examination of the human spirit.

There is no place better to find the best and worst qualities of people than on a sports field, be it on the 26 mile course of the New York City Marathon or daily grind of the Tour de France. George Vecsey eloquently reveals the human side behind the Adonis like athletes, like he did in his Sept 24 article “The ‘Other’ Armstrong is Bowing Out of Cycling in Style,” about cycling champion Kristen Amrstrong. He also brings the people behind the big names to life, like he recently did for his Oct 22 titled “Sympathy for the Umpires.” The crux of the article is we are all human and sometimes some of us have to pay more dearly for our mistakes than the rest of us. Vecsey’s seems to say love the sport for its human qualities and give a guy a break who usually does a damn good job is what I got from that wonderful article.

Please join us at the Mid-Manhattan Library on Wednesday Nov 18 at 6:30 PM on the 6th floor to listen to Mr. Vecsey talk about his work.

The largest cultural institutions of New York City like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, The American Museum of Natural History and New York Public Library, were established in the latter half of the 19th century and the early part of the 20th century. There was a major push among the wealthiest Americans to establish a cultural identity of our own. We were a young country, bereft of the cultural lineage that existed in Europe. Despite America’s youth we showed ourselves to be a vast country, devoted to the dollar, with seemingly room for little else. But men, like J.P. Morgan understood that life void of education and culture was a life not worth living. A balance must be met, to soften the edge of a hard capitalist society. Despite the controversy surrounding Morgan in regards to how he conducted himself in business, the fact remains that we owe much to him and others like him who bestowed great wealth on institutions, whose sole purpose was to enrich the lives of everyone and that tenet still holds today.

A number of years ago while in graduate school, I took part in a private tour of the Morgan Library. While we sat in Morgan's sumptuous jewel toned library, replete with priceless volumes from the 16th century to the 20th century, the speaker encouraged us to read Morgan: An American Financier by Jean Strouse. He described the book as the definitive biography of J. P. Morgan. At the conclusion of the tour, my mind a swirl in the world of J.P. Morgan, I made a mental note to myself to read Strouse’s lengthy tome. A few years later, I did.

After reading Strouse’s biography of Morgan, much impressed me about the man: his power, vision and his philanthropy. During the bridge years between the 19th and 20th century, tremendous energy was devoted to giving on a truly monumental scale. Morgan took the lead in giving among his peers. He perhaps more than any other of his colleagues combed the world over for treasures to fill the museums he was establishing back in America. With the steady intelligent eye of Bella de Costa Greene by his side, Morgan created a grand and lasting legacy. Every time I enter the Morgan Library or the Metropolitan Museum, I bow my head in thanks.

Please join Jean Strouse as she examines J.P. Morgan’s legacy in the arts on Wednesday, Oct. 28 @ 6:30 @ the Mid-Manhattan Library

Images of the Morgan Library courtesy of the Morgan Library
http://www.themorgan.org/about/historyMore.asp?id=11

Image of the Metropolitan Museum courtesy of: http://www.nyc-architecture.com/UES/UES074.htm

The commercial strips of the neighborhoods of New York City are the lifeblood of the community and city at large. It is where the action is. People shop, stroll, and mingle on the street. In warm weather men often pull up chairs, to discuss the day’s events in front of their local barbershop, with the twirling barbershop poll acting as a beacon in the background. While bodegas with their blinking colored signs often seem to host a never ending domino game in front of their storefronts. And corner candy stores are magnates for youngsters, tossing balls or cruising on skateboards. Teenage hoods hang out too but at curbside with cigarettes in their mouths. The commercial strips of the neighborhood of the city are a microcosm of the city itself. You can feel the life and energy in front of many storefronts. The social community that is organized around the business district help gauge the health of the neighborhood. Commercial strips are fluid entities and change like a river. In one generation the street may be lined with mom and pop businesses: a bread store, dry cleaner and an Italian deli with meats hanging in the window, while in latter generations the street may change many times over. In Park Slope, where I live, I have witnessed one storefront after another close, because the next generation did not want to continue in the family business.

In the time that I have lived in my neighborhood, I have seen the closing of many storefronts. Some close up shop because storeowners want to make a big buck as developers greedily eye the strip and think of tearing down and building anew, while others can’t bear the thought of having an outsider running their business, choosing instead to shut down their business that was instrumental in supporting their family. Remnants of the old sign of the business are often buried under the new signage, sometimes it is visible: a shadow on the wall where the letters were once placed or painted words that peak out from under the new sign and sometimes you can even see hints of where the neon tubing was attached. Or in the case of Garry Jewelers on 5th Ave, in my neighborhood, it is the name Garry in a smooth mosaic tile on the ground, at the entryway. The neon of Garry Jewelers is still there, but now it is always dark and it is only a matter of time until this beautiful sign, established in 1951, finds its way to the junk heap.

Please join the authors of Store Front James T & Karla L. Murray as they present a slide lecture on the Disappearing Store Fronts of New York City on Monday, Oct 26th at 6:30 PM on the 6th floor of the Mid-Manhattan Library.

Images from: http://www.jamesandkarlamurray.com/JamesandKarlaMurraySTOREFRONT.html

Artists have long used the NYC subway system as a wellspring of ideas, using their experiences to express themselves by way of the written word, visually on film, in oils on canvas, pen to paper, prints and sculpture. Sometimes the artwork is officially sanctioned and sometimes it is not.

When I moved to New York the 1982 the subway system was like a traveling road show of urban expression. Graffiti covered the walls inside and out, where there was a space to make a mark a mark was made. It was a cacophony of visual noise, much of which I could not understand.

It was big, bold and brash, loud and lovely. The graffiti in the interior of the subway cars was mostly black and seemed to be signatures. However on the outside of the subway cars, the colors were vibrant, expansive and the voices unique. The artistic strokes that jacketed the cars were energetic and beautiful. The work was detailed, precise and great care was put into these displays. These were serious artists even if at the time their art was not considered serious but more of a nuisance. A visual revolution was taking place and much of it seemed inspired by the New York City subway system.

Early on, the New York City subway system commissioned artists and artisans to create beautiful designs to decorate the subway walls.

It was utilitarianism taken to its highest level, all for our pleasure. Grand decorative pieces of terracotta announce the station name and each station’s motif is different. Rich and varied colors accent the old crazed white subway tile. Interestingly the colors vary from station to station. In other stations not as grand but clearly as beautiful, wonderfully brilliant mosaics, made up of tiny squares imbedded into the walls create large rectangular plaques that display the station name. In one station the mosaics are made up of varying colors of matte finished squares and in another station the mosaics are of rich jewel tones and yet even another station’s mosaic could be of shimmery iridescent colors. These designs, though purposeful and formal are not in the least bit bland despite their context. On the contrary, they are lively, expressive and display a distinct individualism that is still refreshing a hundred years later.

In the early part of the 20th century, the mechanical wonder of the subway system was a catalyst for visual expression by some artists of the Futurist movement. The speed and power of moving trains lent itself nicely to the overall theme of this group which emabraced the energetic and accelerated pace of the world beginning at the 20th century. Paintings of the Futurists broke down motion in fractured slivers of color, like Max Weber’s 1915 painting Rush Hour, which is a visual display of the New York City rush hour commute done in kinetic geometric planes.

It is not unusual while riding the train to witness an artist sketching the passengers on the trains. In a number of quick fluid strokes, these artists capture the emotions of the people on the train. The sketches may be used later as a reference tool or may exist simply as lovely discreet items. Artists such as Marvin Franklin who as longtime subway worker used his first hand knowledge to create beautifully rendered paintings of the people who ride the trains. Elbow Toe is a street artist whose sketches of subways riders in lines of red ink are expressive and energetic.

Every morning thousands of people descend into the subway stations across the city, hundreds more wait on platforms for their trains to take them to their destination points. The train enters the station, doors open, people crowd into the cars, some sit, some stand, some read, some think and some look about, eventually the train moves, bumping along the tracks as it courses its way through the tunnels. It’s a scene repeated day in and day out, every month and every year for a hundred years. To the daily commuter it is simply a ride; to an artist it is a vast and endless opportunity.

Please join Tracy Fitzpatrick as she discusses her book Art and the Subway: New York Underground on Monday, Sept 14, at the Mid-Manhattan Library @ 6:30 PM

I have also included a link to javier hernandez-miyares blog featuring film clip of posterboy's art, an anonymous New York City based street artist whose only utensil is a razor. He is known for satiric college-like works created by cutting out sections of the self-adhesive advertisement posters in the platforms of New York City subway stations, and pasting them back in different positions.

In the next coming weeks I will be hosting a series of programs on the subject of NYC sanitation. Below is a post devoted to the first program Gotham and Its Garbage: A History of Public Waste, Public Health and the Department of Sanitation. A Slide Lecture with Robin Nagle Ph.D.

No matter where you live or what your economic status is, in New York City garbage is your neighbor. You may live in a penthouse apartment and never actually touch the garbage yourself, but chances are you pass it all the time on the street. If you do live on a high floor, in a full service building, on garbage days you will undoubtedly notice a mound of filled fat black garbage bags piled high and long on the sidewalk curb, outside your building. When you have lunch at your favorite café, you may notice that the outdoor seating is beautiful but just beyond the greenery is a mound of black garbage bags. Everyone everywhere in New York City has an intimate knowledge of the garbage that is piled on any given block or corner on any given day. Like any disgusting entity, we choose to ignore what is a necessity and obvious nuisance rather than adequately address it. Not that any one of us could actually do anything to help change the way we process our trash. Because of this, we have an uneasy arrangement of being silent and patient, as the trash is picked up and hauled away. At the same time, we seethe with anxiety until the streets are empty of the big black bags that line the sidewalk at least twice a week, in front of where we live. For homeowners, it is hoped that no animal will tear into the bags for the chicken carcass resting inside or that a bottle collector will not aggressively rip through the plastic to get to a redeemable bottle, clearly visible through the blue plastic bag.

We live in probably the greatest garbage producing city in the world, with tons of trash being collected daily. Garbage collection has had an interesting history in New York City from swine roaming the streets as the first street sweepers, to white coated men who swept the street in the 19th century into the 20th century, to incinerators and transfer stations of present day and a host of recycling attempts. Early on in NYC’s sanitation history, garbage was transported to the piers of lower Manhattan, piled high into big barges and then brought out to sea and dumped. This practice went on for decades. The many changes of garbage collection in New York City has been initiated through political reform and public health campaigns, plus simply education, throwing trash out your window is not the way civilized human beings live. Garbage collection has also been closely associated with the underworld, where crime families controlled the dumping of commercial trash. New York City garbage collection is a complicated affair. From the beginning there were always problems and there still continues to be. Nonetheless trash must be collected and dumped and preferably “not in my backyard.”

Please join Robin Nagel as she presents Gotham and Its Garbage, on Monday June 8th, at 6:30 PM at the Mid-Manhattan Library.

I first learned about Stanford White in E. L. Doctorow’s book Ragtime. It was the lurid tale of lust and murder regarding Stanford White that remained in my mind until I moved to New York City many years ago. Over a long period of time, I have come to learn Stanford White was much more than the scandal that I first associated with him. Stanford White was a master designer and instrumental in many of the great architectural works of the city.

Without knowing it, I came across the legacy of Stanford White time and time again while living in the city. Slowly I learned many of the great architectural prizes that exist in the city are White's designs. There are Stanford White treasures all over New York and the ones that are gone nonetheless register prominently if only in photographs. For example the long gone great Penn Station was designed by the prestigious architectural firm of McKim, Mead and White. I had been looking at images of Penn Station long before I moved to New York in the early 80’s. Penn Station’s demise in 1963 by no means crushed the spirit and importance of this building. Tragically its structure was destroyed for something inferior, but the old Penn Station’s voice speaks loud and clear from the many photographs that exist.  read more »

It starts as an almost imperceptible rumble, and then ends with a societal cry of pain. As you read, the tension builds, you become unsettled where you sit; something sinister is afoot. Your eyes willingly travel the lines of the page, the scene is being set, just the right amount of description, a perfect staccato rhythm of words and phrases, resulting in a broiling image of disarray and disorganization. Something dangerous is in the air. Soon it will be upon you, your mind will be filled with a cacophony of shouts and screams, slivers of conversation, slices of pandemonium. Reading further, you discover twisted limbs in grotesque positions, bloodied faces, cruel intentions and inflictions of pain done by one stranger to another. You wince and hope the world you are reading about will once again become civilized and safe. This is a riot, a mob scene, people out of control, people caught up in the moment, murder and rape are happening in the same place where people walked calmly earlier in the day. This can’t be happening, should not be happening but it is happening convincingly so in Dennis Lehane’s new book The Given Day.

I recently finished The Given Day, after patiently waiting for a period of time for the book to come into the library. The Given Day is a big story, with multiple plot lines; the backdrop is Boston in the early 20th century, right after WWI. It is set against the rising tension of an underpaid and overworked police force striving to get their fair share of the salary pie.

Corruption, disasters and terrorism, fear of communism and unbridled racism is the fabric of which this story is woven. Relationships are built while others are destroyed. Betrayal and loyalty are constantly played against each other. This is an epic, a labyrinthine story, culminating in a riot scene that is a turning point in the book. Lehane’s handling of the riot is violent, raw, ugly and real. The impact was such that I found myself rereading passages, so captivating is Lehane’s rendering of such a tragic situation. The Given Day is well worth the 700 plus pages it takes Lehane to tell his story. And for me the riot scenes are the most memorable.

As an aside, there are two other books I was reminded of while reading The Given Day. They too contain very vivid and powerful riot scenes: Nathaniel West’s The Day of Locust and Emile Zola’s Germinal. Both left an indelible mark in my memory, for many reasons one of which is the depiction of human behavior when restraint is no where to be found.

Please join us at the Mid-Manhattan on Tuesday April 7 at 6:30, on the 6th floor, where Dennis Lehane will be talking about The Given Day.

By the time I was old enough to understand the relationship between food and culture, it was already too late for me. It seemed like food and culture and the relationship between the two all but died where I came from. I lived in Detroit up until the riots of '68 and then afterwards my family moved to a rural landscape. In a very short time farmland became a busy bustling series of suburbs. It was one massive series of highways, subdivisions and strip malls. If there was any local food identity or culture it was all but eaten up in chain establishments.

Chains took over where mom and pop food businesses reined, long standing food venues where shuttered closed. My father, who was a waiter, worked in one of the finest restaurants in the city of Detroit. In the 1970s the once solidly established restaurant scene tried to hold on during tornado like changes, my father was relegated to wearing a long white apron and plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up (no more tux and bowtie) and serving lousy pizza to patrons, who sat at tables covered in red and white checkered tablecloths. The once revered Caucus Club stood out like a sore thumb with new blinky lights beckoning customers to come in.

It wasn’t till I moved to New York that I discovered a deeply rich tradition of food culture, both formal and informal. From my favorite local French restaurant Moutard to the summer time street fairs in the Italian neighborhoods, the culture of food thrives in New York City. Food is so alive in this city that everything seems to be centered around the table, be it at a beloved restaurant or at a friend’s house for a gathering or a picnic lunch with family in Prospect Park. Food is the glue that melds all the different cultures in New York City. Everyone has a food history, and it isn’t Ruby Tuesday’s or Dunkin Donuts. Sure there are chain eateries around but the independents are thriving too. God love them both. And in those independents are the seeds of many new food traditions and cultures.

Gastropolis: Food and New York City, editors Annie Hauck-Lawson and Jonathan Deutsch have compiled a list of essays about food in New York City. The book examines food in places, food and people, food and trade and food and symbols. Some essays examine New York City food history, like Harley Spiller’s essay "Chow Fun City: Three Centuries of Chinese Cuisine in New York City," while Annie Hauck-Lawson’s essay "My Little Town: A Brooklyn Girl's Food Voice" examines food culture by way of an intimate portrayal of her family growing up in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Gastropolis is both enjoyable and informative, an excellent partner to bring when you are dining alone at your favorite restaurant.

On Monday April 13 at the Mid-Manhattan Library, at 6:30, please join us as editors Annie Hauck-Lawson and Jonathan Deutsch discuss food culture in New York City.