As I stood one morning in front of Vesuvio’s, which had closed for business, a woman approached me and was horrified. She expressed extreme dismay that such a legendary, iconic merchant would go out of business in New York City. How could such a thing happen? Why would anyone let it happen? Something must be done. They are pushing all the small businesses out.

The concept of They has become a private joke between a friend and myself. Unlike Chuckles, They are a much more insidious threat. Their tentacles extend far and wide. They are responsible for all the economic problems, as well as many other ills in New York City and in the country at large.

But one of the specialties where They are most often spoken of is in regards to the closing of small businesses. It is here, where the closings sometimes appear to be inexplicable, that their demise is attributed to the hand of a ubiquitous mysterious group called They.

They, in this case, are the landlords, who we know gather and conspire late at night to selectively close legendary businesses and replace them with chain stores. They do this not just for monetary gain, but apparently to also deliberately ruin the character of New York City. To sanitize, homogenize, and make it nondifferentiable from the suburbs, turning our avenues and streets into strip malls.
Of course, the reality is that displacement is a function of market forces. Landlords capitalize on improved conditions and raise rents. Most landlords would prefer to retain tenants – there is less loss of income during vacancy and no concessions typically given to new tenants. But, in rapidly gentrifying areas, few small merchants are able to afford extraordinary increases. They vacate to newer businesses, often national giants, who can pay these rents.

They were at it again when the Village Gate, a Greenwich Village Landmark, closed in 1995. To add insult to injury and inflict the greatest humiliation, the space was taken over by a CVS Pharmacy. (Actually, most of the long-time NYC residents I know prefer CVS over Duane Reade.) On September 22, 2007, I wrote Izzy and Art, about my meeting with two legendary forces in the New York City music scene.

Art D’Lugoff opened the Village Gate in 1958 at 158 Bleecker Street, where it occupied the ground floor and basement. The club was housed in the large 1896 Chicago School structure by architect Ernest Flagg, a flophouse for transient men, known at the time as Mills House No. 1. 1500 rooms overlooked either the street or two interior grassed courtyards. In time, the courts were skylighted and paved. The property became a seedy hotel, the Greenwich. In 1976, the building was converted to condominium apartments with balconies, the Atrium.

Throughout its 38 years, the Village Gate featured such musicians as John Coltrane, Coleman Hawkins, Billie Holiday, Duke Ellington, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk, Sonny Rollins, Tito Puente, Wynton Marsalis, Nina Simone, Herbie Mann, and Aretha Franklin, who made her first New York appearance there.  The club hosted a benefit concert for Timothy Leary in May 1970 which featured performances from such counterculture luminaries as Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Noel Redding, Johnny Winter, and Allen Ginsberg.

The venue was also host to a variety of shows over its lifespan. Jacques Brel is Alive and Well and Living in Paris debuted at the Village Gate in 1968. From 1971 to 1973, a musical comedy revue called National Lampoon’s Lemmings worked there, and in 1974, “Let My People Come” opened at the Village Gate Theater. From 1988 to 1991, the improvisational comedy troupe Noo Yawk Tawk performed at the upstairs theater.

Today, the Village Gate sign still remains, the only remnant that They left…

Related Posts: Not Enough Dough, It Hurts Me Too, Color of Money, Gorillas and Cookies, Jeopardy

This is a city of islands, shoreline, beaches, bays, canals, piers, cruise ships, ocean freight, ferries, tugboats, boardwalks, sailboats, and even jet skis and kayaking. It is not Venice, but water defines and constrains its borders, and the congestion encountered when leaving or entering a borough will make this abundantly clear.

In Manhattan Island, I wrote:

It is important to note and easy to forget that, first and foremost, Manhattan is an island, and that its role as a harbor is what led it to become the great city that it is. By the early 1800s, after construction of the Erie Canal, NYC was an international port and the greatest shipping center between Europe and America. Unlike cities like San Francisco or Portland, Maine where the maritime presence is very strong, one could easily go weeks, months or longer in NYC and never see or sense the water.

New York City is also decidedly NOT New Jersey, a constant in the collective mind of city inhabitants. It’s the place that New Yorkers love to hate but which flanks the West Side of Manhattan, Staten Island, and parts of Brooklyn – from those areas, vistas are nearby communities in New Jersey.

Recently, while in Staten Island, I decided to make a pilgrimage to Sailors Snug Harbor, a very well known historical site that I was familiar with since my first days in New York City but which I had not yet visited.

As I worked my way towards the north shore of Staten Island on Richmond Terrace, an opportunity afforded itself for a spectacular view of the waterway between Staten Island and Bayonne, New Jersey. For many, this would neither be a scenic photo opportunity nor a waterway to admire, however, perhaps owing to a lifetime traveling the New York City and New Jersey environs, I do sometimes find that industrial vistas can be dramatic or surreal. The SCALE of structures is often mammoth and the objects themselves foreign.

A man sat alone at the end of railroad tracks, admiring the vistas and shipping activity. Not knowing whether he was a vagabond, I struck up a conversation. He identified Bayonne for me and the Bayonne Bridge. The seascape was dominated by container ships, tugboats, and petroleum storage facilities.

Knowing that I would be writing a story, when I asked about his background, he told me that he was a pirate. Hoping this would spice up the story some. I learned that he was a Staten Island native, quite knowledgeable of the area and history of Sailors Snug Harbor, my destination only a short distance away. He informed me that the riches of the Snug Harbor estate was built on piracy. In fact, he was correct.

Thomas Randall had been a privateer — a legalized pirate of sorts. Thomas was an 18th-century Scottish sea captain and world trader who commandeered any French merchant vessel he could defeat. His son, Robert Richard Randall, became the institution’s founder and bequeathed his 20-acre farm in Greenwich Village to set up a home for “aged, decrepit, and worn-out sailors.” There were twists and turns in the history of Sailors’ Snug Harbor and their parcels of real estate, which we will visit in Part 2. Makes you want to be a pirate…

March 25, 2011 was the 100th anniversary date of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, the deadliest industrial disaster in the history of New York City (and fourth largest in the United States.) There were 146 deaths. The immigrant garment workers died as a result of being trapped in the fire or by jumping to their deaths.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory occupied the 8th, 9th and 10th floors of the 10-story Asch Building at 23-29 Washington Place, now known as the Brown Building, owned by New York University and used for their biology and chemistry departments (upper left photo). The building is designated as both a New York City landmark and a National Historic Landmark.

The factory employed approximately 500 workers, primarily women, in the manufacture of shirtwaists*. The workweek was 6 days, nine hours on weekdays and 7 hours on Saturday. At 4:40 Pm on Saturday March 25, 1911, a fired started in a scrap bin on the 8th floor. A bookkeeper contacted the 10th Floor where the owners, Max Blanck and Isaac Harris were located. The worker who received the call on the 10th Floor never hung up the phone, preventing anyone from alerting the 9th Floor where 250 workers were present. The spread of fire was rapid – within 30 minutes, fire had swept through the floor and only a small number were able to escape via elevator. It is believed that exit doors were locked. Some burned while others jumped to their death while onlookers watched helpless below. Firetrucks had appeared on the scene in minutes, but ladders were only able to reach the 6th Floor.

The company owners, who had manage to survive by fleeing to the roof of the building were indicted on charges of manslaughter. They were acquitted but later lost a civil suit in 1913 with the plaintiffs winning $75 per deceased victim.

This landmark industrial disaster led to changes in national laws, particularly regarding improved factory safety standards and working conditions. There are many more details and stories regarding the fire, the victims, families, labor laws and immigration from that time period. See a New York Times article here with links to many other articles on the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire…

*From the New York Times:

Triangle was one of the nation’s largest makers of high-collar blouses that were part of the shirtwaist style, a sensible fusion of tailored shirt and skirt. Designed for utility, the style was embraced at the turn of the century by legions of young women who preferred its hiked hemline and unfettered curves to the confining, street-sweeping dresses that had hobbled their mothers and aunts.