I’m always looking for nooks and crannies, but like Italian hill towns, finding hidden gems in a densely populated and/or heavily visited place is extremely difficult. Most often, the hidden or undiscovered in NYC is remote, literally at the ends and edges of the boroughs, far from where any resident or visitor would typically go.

This is the case with the Ward’s Island Bridge, which spans the Harlem River between East 103rd Street in Manhattan and Ward’s Island, giving access to Ward’s Island Park, with wonderful views, biking paths, and athletic facilities (the island is also home to a psychiatric center, homeless shelter, and a wastewater treatment plant). Read more about the island here.

The bridge is unique – it is the only bridge in NYC, spanning a major river, which is open to pedestrians only (bicycles are also permitted). Only 12 feet wide, it is a lift bridge – the center section (100m) lifts to accommodate tall ships. A wooden drawbridge spanning the river was built in 1807 by Bartholomew Ward to aid his cotton business on the island. It was destroyed by a storm in 1821. Ward’s Island Bridge was built in 1951 and designed by Othmar Hermann Ammann. The bridge is closed during the winter months (November through March), when it is left in the raised (closed) position.

I love the colors of this small bridge – a pleasant improvement on the typical gray. In 1976, it was painted brighter colors – blue-violet towers, vermillion trim, and yellow walkways. It was later repainted to its current, more subdued scheme, with a blue span and blue and green towers.

I admit to a sin of omission; I’ve never been to Ward’s Island or taken the Ward’s Island Footbridge. I plan to redeem myself soon and go there one it opens in the spring…

I’ve always loved tall buildings and big cities. My first experience was Washington, D.C., on a family trip, where I immediately became obsessed with the Washington Monument, memorizing its important facts (like its height, of course). You can easily guess my first stops in Paris (Arc d’Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower). NYC was overwhelming – I knew I had found my home.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate nuance or subtlety or realize that bigger isn’t necessarily better and that less can be more. But these monuments are architectural assertions of what we can do. As I wrote in Beacon of Hope, a tall building, for me, is an inspiration and a metaphor for our aspirations, dreams, and hopes, frozen in time and space.

In this photo, looking west along 53rd Street, we have the Lipstick building in the foreground and the Citicorp building behind. The Lipstick Building (1986), at 885 3rd Ave. was designed by John Burgee Architects with Philip Johnson. The building acquired its epithet Lipstick owing to the elliptical shape and telescoping tiers. The Citicorp Building has a fascinating story.

Of course, not everyone is enamored with tall buildings, Here is a caustic condemnation I ran across online written by a Londoner:

“My impression, based on experience of living in New York and Chicago among other things, is that tall buildings generate extra street traffic, create shading problems and downdraughts, increase the nocturnal light levels, create problems of social sustainability, tend to fall foul of planning guidance, are constructed without proper regard for the needs of existing residents, compromise the built heritage and historic fabric of the city (in London’s case, sites like St Paul’s, the Houses of Parliament and Tower Bridge), and are obvious targets for terrorism.

Moreover, they are often built for reasons of status rather than with much regard for architectural quality and development efficiency. The aesthetic of many tall buildings is corporate and brutalist; today’s aesthetic preference may be tomorrow’s aesthetic nightmare. Expensive tall buildings also have a marked impact on the demographic of an area.”

Ouch…

Regular readers have by now observed my escapist preoccupations. Someone who knew me well once remarked, regarding my urban searches for the bucolic, that what I needed was a place in the country. This may or may not be true; the conversation reminds me of a dialogue between Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) and a friend, Robin (Janet Margolin), in a scene from Annie Hall:

ROBIN: I’m too tense. I need a Valium. My analyst says I should live in the country and not in New York.
ALVY: The country makes me nervous. You got crickets and it-it’s quiet…there’s no place to walk after dinner, and…there’s the screens with the dead moths behind them, and…uh, yuh got the – the Manson family possibly…

So, indulge me as I ferret out the natural in NYC without the dead moths. I’m not sure how these urban oases are perceived by a visitor with ready access to nature – a quaint novelty or perhaps a display of horticultural ingenuity. For city dwellers, these spots are well-liked and heavily used.
The photo, taken in the Autumn of 2007, shows the rear of the Winter Garden Atrium as seen from the Hudson River with the North Cove Yacht harbor. The atrium, wedged between 2 and 3 World Financial Center buildings, is a 10-story glass vaulted structure designed by Cesar Pelli, completed in 1988 and rebuilt in 2002 after 9/11. Read my previous posting about the Winter Garden here. I love palm trees, and the atrium has many, so it’s one of my (semi) tropical oases in the city. But the real deal and my favorite is in Brooklyn…

Many young people hated history class in my high school days – all the memorizing of facts. Even if your memory was quite good, why waste it leaning about things and events long gone, most with no remaining vestiges whatsoever? And things that seemingly had no relevance to our young lives.

Growing up in a blue-collar factory town, there wasn’t much history to pique a young person’s interest anyway. Oh, I had plenty of interests: math, rocketry, German language, chess, origami, Africa, adventure, music, and books (and girls). I belonged to plenty of clubs. But history was not part of the agenda at all. Things started to change when I started traveling to Europe and when I moved to NYC. Here, history is alive and well – it’s with us everyday, everywhere you walk or look. To fully understand a building or place, one has to know the history, and it’s not long before one wants to know the history and likes history. Soon, you’re watching the History Channel (I wish my history teacher was alive to witness the success of this network).

Today’s photo is a great illustration of all this. The American Radiator Building, now the American Standard Building, was
designed by architects Raymond Hood and John Howells and built in 1924 for the American Radiator and Standard Sanitary Company. It is based on the Chicago Tribune building. The building is located at 40 w. 40th Street on a block with many brownstones and Renaissance club facades from the turn of the century. It is on the south side of Bryant Park, thus affording unobstructed views of it from some distance. The stark contrast in colors is a distinguishing characteristic and a remarkable sight, well-known to city dwellers who frequent the area. The brick is black – Hood wanted the appearance of a large mass, unbroken by dark windows in a building typically constructed using lighter-colored stone. The building is topped with Gothic style pinnacles and terra-cotta friezes covered in gold. The design was to recall the furnaces of the time, with their black iron and glowing embers.

Another important feature of this building is that it is set back from the lot line – unattached on all four sides. This freestanding construction permits architectural treatment all around and allows more natural light into the interior. The base is black granite with bronze plating, the lobby black marble. The building is landmarked and listed on the National Register of Historic Places. In 1998, it was sold and later converted to the Bryant Park Hotel. When you are in the neighborhood, make sure to take a look. This history serves us well, does it not?