Manhattan faded ad mysteries

In Murray Hill: Magid handbags and the Coblentz Bag Co. are easy to read. But the others may have faded into garment-district history:

Up in East Harlem is this puzzling ad. Liver: a butcher shop? Cod liver oil? Livery stables? Another mystery.

Old-school subway signage

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:

Vintage store signs: faded and falling apart

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.

Vintage New York house numbers

These 19th century–looking numbers and letters on random buildings give the city such an old-timey vibe. A terra cotta relief on East Ninth Street marks a particularly lovely apartment building:

No. 1 Sylvan Terrace, in Harlem, has a very colonial feel:

This walkup on Weekhawken Street is especially sweet; the entire street name is painted above the door:

What happened to a Bed-Stuy dress form factory?

The Ellanam Adjustable Form Company made a name for itself with its “adjustable” dress form—a three-dimensional headless, limbless female mannequin used for sewing.

The breakthrough adjustable model, heavily advertised to housewives in the early 20th century, could be easily altered to accommodate clothes of any shape or size.

They must have been pretty novel; several of these dress forms command a decent amount of cash on online auction sites.

 But what happened to Ellanam? They seem to have vanished, and their former home at 378 Throop Avenue near Tompkins Park looks residential. Another reminder of Brooklyn’s days as a manufacturing hub.

Winged chariots and lions on West 30th Street

Not too many Manhattan buildings feature terra cotta panels and friezes inspired by ancient Assyrian art.

Then there’s 130 West 30th Street. Constructed in 1927 as the SJM building (that’s for Solomon Manne, who made a fortune in the fur business), it was renamed in 2003 after going co-op in honor of its architect, Cass Gilbert.

Gilbert is the man behind many great early 20th century New York City landmarks, from the Woolworth Building downtown to the New York Life skyscraper near Madison Square Park.

The 20-story Cass Gilbert Building is no Garment District slouch. It has 45 luxury loft apartments, not to mention these triumphant, exotic panels above the entrance. Take a tour of the penthouse here.

More old-school phone exchanges

This old-timey sign belongs to a store on Myrtle Avenue in Clinton Hill. the UL exchange stood for Ulster.

But what was Ulster? It’s a mystery. A New York Times article from February 1947 announced that 4,200 households in Flatbush “who have wanted telephone installations since the beginning of the war” would be getting UL numbers.

Strangely, Joe’s Superette, on Smith Street in Carroll Gardens, also has a UL number. That’s a bit of a hike from Myrtle Avenue.

Meanwhile, on a residential building in Harlem, the “In Case of Emergency” number above still stands next to an elevator shaft. LE for Lenox Avenue.

The mysterious names on a midtown building

De Soto. Montcalm. Vespucci. La Salle. Marquette. The names of these men and others are inscribed above the second-floor windows of a building at 840 Eighth Avenue, a pretty typical early 20th century structure at 51st Street.

So who were these guys, and why are their names inscribed on the building?

They were Catholic explorers, missionaries, or war heros who helped settle and strengthen the New World. It makes sense that their names are here, considering that the building was put up in 1925 by the Knights of Columbus, the Catholic fraternal organization, as a hotel and clubhouse.

The Knights of Columbus didn’t have the building for long. It changed hands in 1933 and in the 1960s wound up as a YWCA. Today, it’s senior-citizen home . . . with some illustrious names giving it character.

A vintage ad towers over West 51st Street

Gre-Solvent was a hand cleaner that promised to wash away serious industrial-strength gunk and grime. This 3-story faded ad on Ninth Avenue and 51st Street looks like it could date back to the 1930s. It’s remarkably well-preserved.

This corner of Hell’s Kitchen seems a bit off the beaten path for such a large ad. It must have been aimed at workers and residents who toiled away at the factories and light manufacturing companies that once flourished in the neighborhood.

The sweetest store sign in Manhattan

Economy Candy, on Rivington Street, has such a nice old-timey sign. It’s a neat place to poke around and stock up on old-school treats as well. 

The neighborhood candy store is fast becoming extinct in New York City, going the way of the independent drugstore and the superette. Let’s hope Economy stays put.