Foley's

VANISHED

Another small-business casualty of the coronavirus shutdown, Foley's pub on West 33rd has closed for good.



This afternoon, owner Shaun Clancy posted a sad video on Twitter to say,  "Foley's won't reopen. Just with everything that's going on, there's just no way that I see that we can do it."

He thanks his customers and family, and concludes, "This is the end of the inning, but not the end of the game."



Foley's, located in an antique barroom featuring many original features, overflows with a stunning array of baseball memorabilia.

I've enjoyed a few burgers there over the years and once got an impromptu tour from Shaun's father, John Clancy, who pointed out the pistol he got from mobster Frank Costello and told about his days working at Toots Shor's, serving Frank Sinatra and Jackie Gleason.

Foley's was a true New York original. Pour one out.

Paris Reprieve?

Deadline reports that the Paris Theater, shuttered by a non-renewal of its lease, will re-open -- at least temporarily.



It will "become a home for the Noah Baumbach-directed Netflix film Marriage Story when the picture plays theatrical engagements in a handful of theaters in Los Angeles and New York on November 6." So you have a chance to enjoy the last "prestige" single-screen theater in Manhattan one more time.

But will Netflix keep the Paris going after that? Netflix, according to Deadline, will not comment on that question, but signs point to a possibility.

The Paris, along with its sister cinema the Beekman 1, 2, 3, shuttered in August after announcing non-renewals of their leases. Both buildings share the landlord Sheldon Solow.

Paris and Beekman

VANISHED

The Paris Theater, along with the Beekman 1 & 2, has shuttered after a combined 111 years of life.



In June we heard the Paris might be closing. Then in July, I was told by employees and management that it was definitely not closing and the news was just rumor. I was not convinced and wrote, "As with all rumors and denials, take it as a warning. Go, enjoy the Paris, enjoy the movie. Because you really never know when it will be your last time."

Yesterday, tipster Dan Braun alerted me via Twitter that both theaters have gone missing from the City Cinemas website. The Paris Theater page goes to Page Not Found. Their telephone message about showtimes extends only until August 15. No one's answering the phone at the Beekman either.

After some further digging, Joe Wagner on Instagram has posted the goodbye note from the Paris:



Dan Braun says, "Both buildings which house the Paris and the Beekman 1 & 2 share the same landlord, Sheldon Solow. He might have decided he simply no longer wanted movie theatres as tenants. City Cinemas’s lease on the Paris is scheduled to end this month."

From a look at the comments at Cinema Treasures, it sounds like City Cinemas had 10-year leases for both sites--and those were not renewed. As I've noted on this blog many times, there are no protections for thriving businesses that want to stay put. No Small Business Jobs Survival Act. No commercial rent control. Nothing.

Meanwhile, Mr. Solow is doing alright. Forbes has him worth $5.2 billion. This is not the first time the Paris has shuttered due to a lease. Back in 1990, the theater closed. The Paris' managing director at the time told the Times, "It's obvious that we weren't wanted. We had a 20-year lease that expired on Aug. 31, and we offered Solow market rent--much more than we had been paying. But our offer was turned down flatly, and they gave us no explanation." In the end, the Paris changed management and went on showing art films for the next three decades.

Is there hope for another comeback? So far, Solow has not commented on the closure.


Opening in 1948, via Cinema Treasures

The Paris opened in 1948, "with Marlene Dietrich cutting the ribbon in the presence of the Ambassador to France," according to Cinema Treasures. It was the last of the great single-screen cinemas in Manhattan, it was loved by many, and it will be greatly missed.

As Joe Queenan wrote on the occasion of the Paris' 60th anniversary for the Times in 2008:

"The Paris is the kind of establishment where, when you show up, not one but two pipe smokers are congregating outside. They are throwbacks to an era when emaciated young men raved about Samuel Beckett, questioned the political ramifications of existentialism and lined up to see Brigitte Bardot in '... And God Created Woman' while meticulously cleaning their meerschaums. Some people may think this sort of thing is a bit passé and corny. The folks at the Paris do not agree. Neither do I."


Little Edie and the Maysles, via Cinema Treasures

As for the Beekman, the original opened in 1952 and closed in 2005. It was demolished, writes Cinema Treasures, and the "Beekman name was moved to Clearview’s New York One & Two across the street," which was originally the Loews One & Two, opened in 1979.

It was perhaps not as beloved, nor as special, as the Paris, but it is a loss.

Here's the Beekman's goodbye--same text as the Paris:


photo by Michael Lorin Hirsch

And so two more independent art-house cinemas have been ripped from our lives. And more culture gets flushed down the drain of this new New York City. But, hey, we'll always have Starbucks.

See Also:
Lincoln Plaza Cinemas

We'll Always Have...Paris?

Last month we heard that the Paris theater might be closing. Now we hear it's staying alive.



Deadline first reported that the theater, "the last great single-screen prestige picture palace in New York," was "expected to shutter in late July or August."

Indiewire seemed to seal the deal when they reported: "sources confirm that the Paris will likely close next month," meaning July, because that "marks the end of the lease currently held by City Cinemas." They added, "alternative uses are considered likely for the street-level space at W. 58th and Fifth Avenue."

The Paris is one of the last places (on the planet) that doesn't cater to short attention spans. The purple curtains stay closed while the speakers plays jazz, Louis Armstrong, big band. There are no riddles or word scrambles on the screen, and very few commercials. It's pleasant to be there. It would be a terrible shame to lose it.



When I visited the theater to say goodbye, I was told by two employees that the Paris is not closing. They say the rumors are absolutely not true and the Paris will go on. The reason Pavarotti is playing for such a long run, with no end in sight? The rumors of closure have driven up ticket sales, as fans go to say goodbye, and this has made Pavarotti a success for the Paris.

So which is it?

As with all rumors and denials, take it as a warning. Go, enjoy the Paris, enjoy the movie. Because you really never know when it will be your last time.

Paris Theater

VANISHING

When the Ziegfeld closed, the Paris became Manhattan's last single-screen movie theater. Now, according to Deadline, it will vanish.



It is "expected to shutter in late July, according to the buzz on the Gotham arthouse theater circuit," they write.

Located just under Central Park, next to the Plaza Hotel, "The Paris is owned by Sheldon Solow, best known for the prestige building 9 West 57th Street. It has been booked for years by Bob Smerling, who didn’t return phone calls. The presence of throwback houses like The Paris is dependent upon the goodwill of the handful of family owned real estate companies that dominate Manhattan. That theater occupies prime real estate that could most certainly be used for other purposes and draw high rents."

This, after the recent loss of Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, speaks to two problems with this city: The rents and the rents.

Maybe someone will step up and save this one.

Posman's to Warby Parker

When Posman Books was evicted from Grand Central in 2014, New Yorkers were heartbroken.

At the time of the closure, it was understood that Posman's spot would be left vacant for "short-term storage area during the construction of the new eateries planned for Vanderbilt Hall." The neighboring Rite-Aid was allowed to stay in business.

But then (two years ago now), a new tenant moved in.



Warby Parker, the eyeglass chain, moved into Posman's space.

So what's that about? Why did we have to lose another bookstore?


today: Rite-Aid and Warby Parker

From these before and after shots, it looks like only a small portion of the space is being used by Grand Central.


before: Rite-Aid and Posman's

Bosco

VANISHED/DISPLACED

Our neon-loving friend Tom Rinaldi writes in:

"I was dismayed to see (first) that Bosco's coin shop on E32nd St has closed and moved to the holding area for displaced antique shops known as the 25th St Antiques 'Showplace.' I was then further dismayed to see that Olde Good Things, in the same building, has been similarly displaced. I was then still further dismayed to see that the gorgeous (to me anyway) building formerly inhabited by both shops appears to have been completely cleared of tenants."

* UPDATE: Bosco has moved to the Manhattan Art & Antiques Center, on 2nd Ave between 55th and 56th Sts.


2014

I was sorry to hear this. I always liked walking past Bosco, usually by chance, and looking into the fantastic, jam-packed window, filled with coins, antique political buttons, trinkets, all of them described on hand-lettered cards.

It was one of those odd little survivors, the kind of place you come upon and wonder how it manages to remain in a city hell-bent on destroying everything unique about itself.



I took pictures, but went inside only once, because I am not a collector and this was most definitely the realm of serious collectors, and I didn't want to be one of those "just looking" people who take up valuable space in a narrow, overstuffed shop full of enthusiasts trying to spend money and talk about their obsessions.



Still, I liked knowing it was there, attracting the sort of people that it attracted, and offering a wonderful window for passersby to enjoy.

Today the window is empty, blocked with plywood. Nothing to see.


today, photo by Tom Rinaldi

Mr. Bosco always had good signs taped inside the door, written in the tone of a straightforward New Yorker. The last one reads:

By Appointment Only (Building's been sold; everyone must pack up).
Tell us what you want; we will help if we can.
Just want to "have a look"? NOT POSSIBLE!
Want to sell something? It better be small. Like COINS.
See something in the FRONT WINDOW? Maybe we can help. Be fast.
Of necessity, we have to start ignoring people. You are fascinating, and beautiful, but we don't want our stuff put out on the street on Feb. 1. Thanks for understanding.

It appears that, as the clock ticked towards Bosco's deadline, the sign became more adamant. "By appointment only" is crossed out and replaced with a handwritten "Go away, please" and "Don't even say hello."



The land beneath 147 - 149 Madison Avenue was bought last year for $88 million by Columbia Property Trust, according to The Real Deal. "Upon the expiration of the 60-year leasehold in January 2018," they wrote, "Columbia would then own the building outright." All tenants would be cleared out.

They say they plan to renovate the building and rent it out, presumably to higher paying--and far less interesting--tenants.

As for Olde Good Things, they've got a few other locations still open.

Sapporo

VANISHING

Ed writes in: "I’m sad to report that while having dinner this evening at Sapporo between 6th and 7th, I found out they’re closing at the end of the month. I’ve been going there for years and the staff is exceptionally close and dedicated. They were told a few days ago they’ll all be out of work in a few weeks. I spoke with the cashier and she didn’t have a clear idea of what was going on. She knows that all the restaurants in the adjacent buildings are being closed down. Maybe the owner is selling the buildings? Sapporo is always packed and a great affordable place to eat. I’m so sad."

A phone call to the restaurant confirms that today is their last day--they will close for good at 5:00 p.m.


photo: Manhattan Sideways

Sapporo Restaurant opened on West 49th Street in 1975. On their website they say they were "the first to bring Japanese ramen to New York City."

Robert Sietsema wrote about it for Eater, calling it "a kind of diner for Japanese ex-pats, specializing in homely luncheon fare that included gyoza, fried chicken, katsudon, curry, udon, and, most particularly, ramen. In fact, it was one of the few places in New York City that offered the Chinese-inspired wheat noodles at a time when they had not yet been fetishized to the extent they are now."

Lincoln Plaza Cinemas Update

The online petition to save Lincoln Plaza Cinemas now has over 11,000 signatures. Paper petitions are also circulating and gathering names. Every day, customers ask what they can do to protest the closure. But the closure is coming--in just a couple of weeks. Milstein Properties has not offered a new lease.

Before the new year, Dan Talbot passed away. He'd been running Lincoln Plaza with his wife, Toby, since 1981.



This week, West Side Rag talked with Toby. As it stands, she will not be part of Howard Milstein's plans for the site, which reportedly include upgrades and a new movie theater, possibly something run by the Film Society of Lincoln Center. Possibly not.

On her wish to keep the theater going, Toby said:

“Of course I would like to continue running it. And one of the things that grieves me — grieves is hardly even a strong enough word — is that the people who’ve been working with us — and I say not ‘for’ us, but ‘with’ us, some for 35 years — are so devoted, I just hate to think of them suddenly being out of jobs. The people on our staff come from all over the globe. It’s a United Nations down there. It’s a harmonious place, run with a very hands-on perspective. I’ve been the one who has chosen everything at the confection stand. Almost every pastry comes from a different place.”



And on the chance of saving it?

“The only thing that could possibly be done,” Toby said, “is if significant political pressure is exerted by our elected officials, saying this isn’t a matter of just economics, but of a cinema culture that has been established for three-and-a-half decades in that spot, with people who are very bereft to be deprived of it.”


photo via West Side Rag

Please sign the petition and write to your local politicians, asking them to get involved. City Council Member Helen Rosenthal, Manhattan Borough President Gale Brewer, State Senator Brad Hoylman, and Assemblymember Richard Gottfried recently sent this letter to Milstein:


click to enlarge

Cafe SFA

VANISHED

Reader John writes in:

"I have heard today that the restaurant Café SFA, which was located on the 8th floor of the flagship store Saks Fifth Avenue, closed on January 1, 2018."


photo via Style Cannoli

He explains, "It was in operation for at least 25 years and was a staple for the 'ladies who lunch' in Midtown. Many celebs and royalty passed through the doors over the years. It was also known for its view of Rockefeller Center and the rooftop gardens, as well as the Plaza and tree during the season. For many years, the ladies came in for the 1/2 sandwich and soup special. And before they were laid off in 2013, there was an older seasoned staff of waiters and waitresses there that added to the great service as well as a sense of continuity that the clientele appreciated. I think it qualifies as a type of place that will not be seen again and is a dying breed."

A call to Saks confirms that Cafe SFA has closed. The space will be reopening as a new cafe in April or May.

Save Lincoln Plaza Cinemas

On Friday, Deadline Hollywood broke the news that the art house Lincoln Plaza Cinemas will be forced to close in January. It opened in 1981. Operator Toby Talbot said that she and her husband, Dan, “did everything we could to ask for the lease to be extended.” But the building owner “is looking to get everything he can. He’s looking to make money.”

On Saturday, the theater’s regular customers were all talking about the news. Ivan, the young assistant manager, stood in the doorway of the small office across from the concession stand and commiserated. The clientele of Lincoln Plaza is made up mostly of local senior citizens--people on fixed incomes--and mostly women. It is, in many ways, a gathering place for midtown and uptown women over 65.

All day Saturday, they gathered around Ivan.



Interior. Movie theater lobby. Day.
The lobby is busy but not overcrowded. People sit on benches and stand in line. They read the paper and do the Times crossword puzzle. Some buy popcorn and rugelach from the concession stand. A wall fountain gurgles, but the basement room is otherwise quiet.

In the doorway of the Manager’s Office, a young man in a blue sweater stands talking in a relaxed way to three older women. LOIS wears black horn-rimmed glasses and a black pageboy haircut. She holds a cane. HILDA is blonde and quiet. NANCY wears a knit winter hat and paces back and forth, fired up about the closing.

NANCY: We need to do something. We need a petition. Everything good is vanishing.

LOIS: This place is my lifeblood. I’m limited (she taps her cane) and this is accessible. I come from the East Side. I come for intelligent movies. And it connects me to the area. After a movie, I eat in the restaurants and shop in the stores nearby. I come every week. It makes you feel secure.

HILDA: It’s comfortable and welcoming. Not like the multiplex. The physical space of a large multiplex? It’s like a warehouse. It’s yucky to go into. But this is a cozy space. It’s not fancy, but it feels good. It’s a neighborhood place.

NANCY (pacing): We need to start a petition. We should plead elder abuse.

HILDA: It really is a connection for seniors. It gets us out of the house.

LOIS: Where else can you go where you’re familiar with the ushers’ faces? They know us. It’s a community. We’re New Yorkers here. I’m not a tourist.

NANCY: Why are they doing this?

IVAN: It’s not about business being bad. It was a landlord decision. The Milsteins own the building. The old man died and the kids took over.

LOIS: They don’t care about people or the quality of life. They just care about the money.

IVAN: The theater owner’s never been about the money. He just wanted people to enjoy the movies.

CORINNE walks in and greets her friend LOIS. They meet here every Saturday. She is blonde and red-cheeked from the cold.

CORINNE: I was shocked when I heard the news. But I was always afraid this day would come. What’ll they put here?

LOIS: Probably a health club.

CORINNE: It’ll sit empty. Like everything else. This is a cultural institution.

HILDA: It’s terrible. Just terrible. Everything else is going downhill in the world. And in this country. This just adds to it.

The USHER, a young man in a gray suit and necktie, stands up and calls out the next movie to the waiting crowd.

USHER: Wonder Wheel! Wonder Wheel! Wonder Wheel!

The women join the crowd and head into the theater to see their movie.

Soon after, the general manager, EWNETU, walks in. He wears a Lincoln Plaza Cinemas cap and complains about the traffic as he takes off his winter coat and settles into his office.

IVAN (to EWNETU): About 50 people came to your door today. Ready to cry. Every 3 to 5 minutes.

EWNETU: This is a bad news for our customers, bad news for our staff, and bad news for the neighborhood. It’s as bad as it can be.

This place is unique. What nobody can replicate is that we handpick every film we show. They have a quality value. We don’t get tempted by box office receipts. We have customers who come regardless of reviews because they trust our judgment. Very familiar faces. Customers come from all over—Philadelphia, New Jersey—we even have one guy from Nebraska.

When I started working here I had an afro. Now I’m bald. (He takes off his cap to prove it, and then puts it back on.) I’ve been here over 25 years.

We lost our lease. Business is not bad. It’s not phenomenal, but it’s good enough for us to stick around. The landlord has a different idea. It seems he doesn’t want to renew the lease. It’s very upsetting.

As a society, we should be more than about money. Landlords included.

Fade to black.



The building that houses the theater is owned by Milstein Properties, run by Howard Milstein. On Saturday evening, they sent a statement about the closing to the New York Times:

“'We are long-term members of this community and have played a central role in nurturing this special theater,' the statement said, adding that 'vital structural work' was needed to repair and waterproof the plaza around the building. 'At the completion of this work, we expect to reopen the space as a cinema that will maintain its cultural legacy far into the future.'"

The Times added, "A Milstein spokesman said in an email that it was yet to be determined if the cinema would reopen with the Talbots in charge."

If it's true that a new cinema will reopen here, it could be a multiplex or, more likely, something like a Nighthawk or Alamo Drafthouse that will attract and cater to a younger, more affluent crowd. But Lincoln Plaza is a bit of old New York--and people like it that way. It's affordable and accessible and it should stay that way.

I started a petition--please sign it and share it.

New Ziegfeld

When the old (but not oldest) Ziegfeld theater closed in 2016 after 46 years in business, many New Yorkers grieved. We wondered what would happen to all its odd character when it became an upscale corporate event space.

Well, now we know. Recently, the new Ziegfeld Ballroom opened for events. Here's what it looks like:



"Drawing inspiration from the 1930’s luxury cruise liner the SS Normandie," reads the new company website, "the Ziegfeld Ballroom features a color scheme of silver and greys to reflect its art deco heritage."

Another inspiration appears to be the corporate hotel conference rooms of, well, Midtown.



Gone are the plush, blood-red walls of old, the sky-high ceiling, the antique sconces, and that circular banquette where one could rest beneath a sprawling chandelier while breathing in the aroma of fresh popcorn.

What became of the artifacts from the Ziegfeld Museum that once lined the stairways and halls? I heard that some are on display in the lounge of the New Amsterdam Theater, home of the “Ziegfeld Follies” from 1907 to 1927.

But what about the weird "STORY OF THIS WOOD" plaque screwed to the wall, informing moviegoers: "Carbon 14-isotope dating shows this wood has been buried in a peat bog near Cambridge, England, since 2120 B.C."

Who knows where it's buried now?


Before: via Cinema Treasures

Phil's Stationery

I like paper. I like pretty much anything on paper. I like how it looks, feels, and smells.

Some people go around smelling old books. Lagerfeld makes a perfume that mimics the odor of books, called Paper Passion. Book smell, say researchers at the University College London’s Centre for Sustainable Heritage, is “a combination of grassy notes with a tang of acids and a hint of vanilla over an underlying mustiness.” It is the smell of decay.

Stationery stores don't have the full-bodied aroma of a used bookshop, but they're a close second, especially an old, cluttered stationery store like Phil's on E. 47th Street.



"One of the last old fashioned stationery stores," as they say on their site, Phil's carries vintage stationery supplies: "Airmail envelopes. Onion skin paper. Many Boorum & Pease record and columnar books. Old typewriter and printer ribbons. Rolodexes. And more!"



"DON'T BE FOOLED BY IMITATIONS!
Genuine means product from the original manufacturer!
When Phil's says original -- It's original!
When Phil's says genuine -- It's genuine!
When Phil's says authentic -- It's authentic!
Everything is original and never used before!

Buy Real! Buy Phil's!"



And here's the latest Yelp review:

"If you're a New Yorker who, like me, grew up idolizing the New York of the pre-Giuliani age you owe it to yourself to make a pilgrimage to Phil's and buy yourself a pen or notebook. If you want a spic'n'span experience where you are waited on like a princess (I'm looking at you, 3 star Georgina!), go to Staples."

Mon Petit Cafe

VANISHING

Mon Petit Cafe, a 1980s-era French bistro on Lexington and 62nd Street, says adieu. The climate for small businesses in New York, they say, is "a crushing force."


Wall Street Journal

From their Facebook page:

"It is with very heavy hearts that we inform the community that Mon Petit Café has closed after 32 years in business. We are so deeply grateful to all of our customers, many of whom have been with us since we opened our doors in 1984.

It has been our family’s (and extended family of staff’s) way of life to run our little restaurant and serve favorites like croque monsiers, quiche and steak au poivre every day (closing just on Christmas day every year). MPC’s owner Daniele raised her children behind these windows and managed even to stay afloat in 1990 after the passing of her husband/business partner. Her eldest, Alessandra, stayed on and eventually filled the empty shoes of co-owner with her mom.

Nevertheless, the climate for small business like ours in New York City has become a crushing force. Mom-and-pop stores of all kinds are now an endangered species in our city. Small business are all but disappeared in our neighborhood, giving way to massive Duane Reades, banks and Starbucks on seemingly every corner. Despite our best efforts to keep MPC alive, our reality is that we carried on 'in the red' for quite some time.

With each closing door, is the beginning of a new chapter. If you miss us as much as we miss you, good news: we will come to you! Alessandra is now concentrating her efforts on her catering and private chef business. Keep in touch and email her at alessprivatechef@gmail.com.

Our most sincere thanks once more to all of our patrons. We hope you will remember us, and think fondly upon this corner each time you pass as we will do."

Waldorf Astoria Hotel

VANISHING

The historic Waldorf Astoria hotel is about to vanish. Not physically, but spiritually. It was purchased last year by the Chinese corporation Anbang Insurance Group. They plan to take 1,100 rooms and convert them into condos. The remaining few hundred rooms will be upgraded into a "high-end, boutique hotel that appeals to international (and Asian) travelers," according to The Real Deal.

The hotel will close March 1, making February 28 the last night you can stay there for the next three years. And, of course, it will never be the same. Prices will certainly rise (it's reasonably priced right now). As Kim Velsey recently wrote in "The Death of New York’s Grand Hotels" for Surface magazine, "a condo and a hotel...occupy vastly different positions in the emotional terrain of a city."

So I said goodbye to the old Waldorf by spending the night.



I checked in at 3:00 p.m. and didn't leave the hotel until 10:00 the next morning. Checking in, the clerk saw my New York address and laughed, telling me that many New Yorkers are reserving rooms, coming to say goodbye. She gave me coupons for free drinks, "from one New Yorker to another." I dropped my backpack in my room, a small and serviceable space with a soft bed and a deep bathtub.

I had a free drink at the Peacock cocktail lounge, with its pianist playing Cindi Lauper's "Time After Time" and its American tourists doing nothing of interest, and then I went wandering.



Wandering the corridors and staircases of the Waldorf is a great pleasure. You don't have to be a guest to do it--they're very permissive of the curious public--but it helps to feel like you belong. There are no locked doors here.

I drifted through rooms for conference meetings and wedding parties, lined in mirrors and topped with chandeliers, the art deco details filled with flowers and women's faces. I went down into the Marco Polo room, a dark and abandoned club, and up into the empty Grand Ballroom with its red velvet balconies and tattered stage where I once saw Buzz Aldrin tell the story of his walk on the Moon.



I looked through the shop windows of Elliot Stevens, an antiques and art gallery recently accused of selling knock-offs to tourists in the grand old New York tradition. Amid the wares, with their massive price tags, were signs proclaiming "Going Out of Business" and "End of an Era at the Waldorf Hotel."

I walked the empty South Lounge corridor, where no one goes, and where there's a plaque for the National Mothers Hall of Fame, dedicated in 1970 by the American Mothers Committee and filled with names you've never heard, like Mrs. Elizabeth Poe Cloud and Dr. Mary Martin Sloop, those once celebrated mothers.



The halls of the hotel are filled with Waldorf history--photographs, artifacts, an old telephone with the old exchange (ELdorado-5), a program for a Frank Sinatra concert (at the Wedgwood Room), fancy soup spoons and door knobs and ledger books rotted with age.

I kept wondering: Where will it all go? The place is one big museum. Will the Chinese corporation take it all? Will they dump it the way workers once dumped the apartment of my dead neighbor, the wreckage of his long life piled on the sidewalk?



I had another free drink at the Peacock lounge and ate the obligatory Waldorf Salad, listening to the great lobby clock chime each 15 minutes, noting the rapid passage of time. What will the Chinese businessmen do with that clock?

Made in the 1800s, it is topped by the Statue of Liberty and ringed with the faces of American presidents, plus Queen Victoria, along with a bunch of bulls and bears, and bas relief scenes of suspension bridges and athletic men with curly mustaches.



Will the public still be welcomed into the lobby to enjoy that clock?

Once the place is converted to condos and upscaled, will average New Yorkers still be free to roam the halls and ballrooms? Or will the Waldorf die under glass, domed beneath a bell jar of chilly international capital? At the Peacock lounge, the hostess said, "I heard the condos will go for $6 million apiece." Or did she say $60 million? No price surprises anymore. New York, the city that Mayor Bloomberg called a "luxury product," is going to the highest bidder, to international billionaires who buy it up then leave it empty, a vertical ghost town that no one enjoys. All of its treasures are being taken from us. All the life drained away.

When I woke up at the Waldorf the next morning, I could not wait to leave. I'm tired of funerals.

Carnegie Deli Sign II

Yesterday, we watched the Carnegie Deli sign get taken apart.

Today, Tweet Ulrich tweeted this heartbreaking shot of it being carted away.



The building is coming down. Mega-developer Extell is buying it.

On and on and on it goes.

Carnegie Neon Sign

Yesterday, workers removed the gorgeous neon sign of the shuttered Carnegie Deli.


photo by Jonathan Walland

The 79-year-old deli closed at the end of December--for reasons no one fully understands.

Its famous Walls of Fame were recently stripped and its contents auctioned:


photo: Ken Jacowitz


photo: Ken Jacowitz


photo: Ken Jacowitz

Le Train Bleu

VANISHED

I'd never been to Le Train Bleu, the quasi-hidden restaurant atop Bloomingdale's, so when the Times reported it was closing at the end of 2016, after 37 years, I went.



Le Train Bleu, as James Barron explained, was "the nickname for a famous French train that carried passengers coming from London and Paris to the Riviera. The engines were blue. The restaurant, in Bloomingdale’s flagship store, mimicked the train’s dark-green interiors, with velvet on the walls, along with mahogany paneling and a Victorian-style ceiling."

Bloomingdale’s will be renovating the sixth floor, and that means no more Le Train Bleu.

You got there by elevator or escalator, winding your way through the housewares department, and climbing a set of carpeted stairs to an odd little corridor. The dining room looked like a dining car, long and narrow, framed with tables.



I sat by the window, with a view of some plastic shrubbery and a bunch of brutal luxury apartment buildings. The view inside was better.

Almost everyone around me was white-haired and definitely local. It is a rare pleasure these days to be surrounded by real New Yorkers in New York. Turns out, they'd been hiding at Le Train Bleu, dressed in tweeds, stylish coats, and--in one case--a pair of purple sequined earmuffs, kept on throughout the entire meal.



Women reapplied their lipstick in snappy compact mirrors. Snippets of conversation came in and out of range.

"She's a little coo-coo," said one woman to her dining partner. "She was always strange. I always, from the very beginning, thought she was strange."

"I read it in The National Review," said a dapper gentleman to his wife. "He is absolutely the new Hitler."

Many of the diners seemed to be Bloomingdale's employees. They all knew each other. They knew the waitresses and gave their condolences and advice, especially to the two seniors, a pair of women who looked strikingly alike in their weary faces and dyed-red hair. Women who, after what has probably been decades, will now be out of work.

"Have you gone to HR? You must. Go to HR and I'm sure they'll have another position for you. I'm sure of it!"

I sat and waited for the dining room to rumble and jolt, for the whole thing to take off down some invisible train track, up and out over the city. Gone.