POST #185: CITY OF MY DREAMS

New York was an artists’ paradise. Despite the poverty of the Great Depression, the city was alive and in the middle of a cultural Golden Age. Like most Golden Ages in history, it didn’t last very long, a decade or two at most, but during that time the arts flourished: painters and sculptors were subsidized by federal programs and art was found everywhere. I consider myself hugely fortunate to have grown up in a world that now exists only in the memory of the few who survive. I lived in the outer reaches of the city, adjacent to Woodlawn Cemetery, one of the great park cemeteries popularized during the mid 1800s. At night, I would sit at my fire escape window and look out at the lights of the city, the skyline and the necklace of bridges that surrounded it.  Each weekday morning, I walked the ten blocks or so that took me to the last stop of my subway line, the D Train that led to Manhattan and the riches it contained. I was fortunate to have been accepted to attend the High School of Music & Art, an institution for the “gifted” created by New York’s quirky mayor, Fiorello LaGuardia.

On weekends, I explored the city, walking for hours, sometimes stopping to sketch or take black and white photos on my $2 Brownie Point & Shoot camera, (the one that required no skill to operate.) I still have an envelope full of snaps and negatives of the Lower East Side (in its heyday) that continue to inspire me. Unlike today, where culture is costly, museums were free and all within walking distance of a bus or subway. I was often joined by my best friend, Joan, who got on the train to meet me. My stop was 205^th Street, hers was 168^th; 75 years later, I still remember. Together we roamed the city, wisely limiting ourselves to one neighborhood at a time. One Saturday afternoon, we would explore Broadway and Hell’s Kitchen, the next week was the Lower East Side, Little Italy and the Bowery. Chinatown required an afternoon of its own as did Greenwich Village with its side trips to the artisan jewelry makers on 4^th Street. Heading downtown eventually got us to Canal Street, a mile-long playpen of industrial detritus. Getting there, however, required scooting through SOHO, a trek that involved evading the catcalls of the factory workers who hounded us along the way. My companion possessed an ample bosom that always evoked admiring comments.

We rarely ventured beyond Manhattan, a decision I now regret. There seemed to be enough to keep us occupied without crossing any bridges. Sometimes we rode the few remaining elevated subway lines allowing us to stare into tenement windows along the way. Other times, we just walked without a destination. We also had the option of climbing on one of the double-decker busses that crisscrossed the city. Public transportation cost little, although ‘on foot’ remained our preferred way to go. It allowed for occasional shopping “sprees” or lunches in Chinatown or the Lower East Side, neighborhoods that provided delights unequalled by any museum. The signage alone was enough to make a young art student’s head spin.

I don’t want to overwhelm you, just give you an idea of the riches we encountered. There was Harlem, but you had to stay on 125^th Street, then Spanish Harlem with its “under the el” shopping stalls, Yorktown with its great German food and “Jews not welcome” vibe. Heading downtown we encountered the great (and free) museums: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of the City of New York, the New York Historical Society, the Museum of Natural History. I could go on for another page. We stared at glorious architecture everywhere we went, not the boring glass boxes one sees today. There were Gothic Revival churches, Renaissance palazzos, neoclassical townhouses, all free of charge. I shiver just remembering it.

And then there was the endless shopping: window and otherwise. Everything from the luxury of Fifth Avenue with its designer clothing and sophisticated window displays to the exciting streets of the Lower East Side with its bins of “schmattas,” cloth remnants gleaned from the dress industry that dominated the city at the time. Or Chinatown with its windows full of cheaply-made imported trinkets and toys. Canal Street with its industrial detritus; the second-hand bookstores that lined 4^th Avenue below 14^th Street, the bargain clothing stores that overlooked Union Square. The Bowery with its lines of blank-faced men. I get out of breath just thinking about it. You could walk for days without seeing the same place twice.