Today, a room at the 27-story Radisson Lexington Hotel, at 48th Street, would probably run you three or four hundred bucks a night at least.
But back in the 1930s, soon after this colossal structure was built, room rates were more like three or four bucks a night. That’s when it was known simply as the Hotel Lexington.
And look at the possible accommodations: two people, two twin beds, no higher than $8 a night!
See the hotel as it looks today here.
Not far north of Grant’s Tomb, at the edge of some woods near 125th Street on Riverside Drive, lies another tomb that’s much more modest.
It’s the tomb of the Amiable Child, a monument marking the grave of 5-year-old St. Claire Pollack.
Little St. Claire lived on a vast estate here in the 1790s. In 1797, according to one account, the boy fell to his death from the cliffs overlooking the Hudson River. His body was recovered on the rocks below.
His family chose to bury him on the property where he lived. When the estate was sold, they asked that the monument be kept “always enclosed and sacred.”
Eventually the land was absorbed into the neighborhood known as Claremont; then it was the site of Riverside Park.
The original monument had to be replaced a few times, most recently in 1967, after falling victim to the elements.
The back of the monument includes this from the Book of Job: “Man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble. He cometh like a flower and is cut down he fleeth also as a shadow and continueth not.”
It’s true, there really once was a 13th Avenue on Manhattan’s West Side—built on landfill in the 1830s starting at about 11th Street and going to 25th Street. Here’s part of it on an 1899 map from the New York Public Library digital collection.
It seemed to exist as a dreary access road to shipping piers, ferry terminals, dumping grounds, and factories, according to several articles in the New York Times archive.
“There are no sidewalks to speak of on Thirteenth-avenue and no surface indications of pavements,” one 1886 article reported. “A foot path winds through it, showing the course pedestrians take to dodge the deeper mud holes in wet weather.”
An 1883 story reported, “[Thirteenth Avenue] begins in a very humble and unpretentious way, but during its brief course of about a dozen blocks it gradually improves in width and general appearance.
“Unfortunately, however, at the very point where it begins to promise great things, and the casual pedestrian feels inclined to fancy it, the avenue ends abruptly in a high board fence, which proves an impassable barrier to all except the most accomplished acrobats.”
The article goes on to describe some of the people who hung around 13th Avenue: Italian immigrant women who pick through trash, night watchmen, and lumbermen.
Exactly when 13th Avenue was de-mapped for good is a mystery.
The MTA should bring back some of these vintage posts and signs—they’re such a cool throwback to old New York. These lantern-like beacons guard the Fifth Avenue and 59th Street station:
Vintage signage on the New York Life building, on Park Avenue South—important enough to have its own subway entrance. Interborough Rapid Transit is today’s 4, 5, and 6 line.
I hope the MTA does not replace or tidy up this weathered, slightly rusted subway post, in Inwood:
As seen from MacDougal Street in 1942. Alfred S. Mira painted this scene of one of World War II–era Greenwich Village’s main drags.
The shop on the right-hand corner eventually housed Eighth Street Books, one of those fabled Village bookstores in pre-Amazon, pre-Barnes & Noble days.
And the Eighth Street Theater, which survived until the 1990s, was right around the corner.
This stretch of Eighth Street looks almost exactly the same today, except the crowds are a little sketchier. Too bad Mira didn’t reproduce the store signs and names.
In 1896, a young woman named Ashea Waba—who had adopted the stage name Little Egypt—was invited to do some belly dancing at a bachelor party held at swanky Sherry’s restaurant in Midtown.
Belly dancing had recently been introduced to America. Victorian-era audiences were shocked by the sexy stomach swiveling—so much so that the dance was given the nickname the Hootchy-Kootchy.
Normally the Hootchy-Kootchy was performed in belly-bearing skirts or pantaloons, like in the photo of Little Egypt at left.
But cops were tipped off that she would be dancing naked. The vice squad came to Sherry’s, and Little Egypt was arrested.
After a trial that made all the New York tabloids, she was cleared of violating any vice laws.
Little Egypt then launched a burlesque troupe of Hootchy-Kootchy dancers and raked in $500 a night.
She died in her West 37th Street apartment in 1908 of “gas asphyxiation.”
This lovely band of leaflike curves is part of the lower facade of the Chanin Building, a 56-story office tower on Lexington and 42nd Street.
It’s a little bit of Art Deco across from the Beaux-Arts Grand Central Terminal, which was built just a decade and a half earlier but feels like it’s from an entirely different era.
Some of the letters in this Gertel’s sign don’t look like they light up, yet that’s okay. Seeing the words “bakery” and “luncheon” one on top of the other in that old-time font more than makes up for it.
Luncheon: This old-school word is disappearing fast from the New York vocabulary.
Gertel’s home had been Hester Street since 1914. They relocated near Myrtle Avenue in Clinton Hill in 2008, taking the iconic sign with them.
I have no idea how long G&M Variety Discounts House has been on Broadway in Washington Heights. But judging from the shape of the sign, I’d say since the 1960s.
When you think of the criminal gangs of New York in the 1800s, ruthless young men probably come to mind.
But these gangs had female members as well, some of whom were notorious fighters.
There was Hell-Cat Maggie, a member of the Irish-American Dead Rabbits in the 1850s. Her home base was the Five Points slum, near today’s City Hall. Supposedly her teeth were filed into sharp points and she clawed rivals with brass fingernails.
Another was Sadie Farrell, aka Sadie the Goat. Reportedly she robbed East Siders by first head-butting them in the stomach. In the 1860s she joined the Charlton Street Gang, river pirates on the West Side.
Ida Burger, called Ida the Goose, was a prostitute and Lady Gopher, part of the Gophers of Hell’s Kitchen. In the 1910s she was lured away to the Lower East Side’s Eastman Gang, led by Monk Eastman, but eventually went back to the Gophers after a bloody shootout.
The illustration above, from the New York Public Library, depicts tough chicks rumming it up at a Five Points tavern in the 1870s.
The rent for these big duplex lofts (Spiral staircase! Full kitchen!) sounds pretty cheap today.
But in July 1984, when this ad ran in the East Village Eye, wouldn’t $1150 and $1300 a month be kind of on the pricey side?
I wonder what the location was and if these apartments still exist—or if they’ve been boutique-hotelized.
