Faded ad: The infamous Village Plaza Hotel

This almost-gone ad, seen from Sixth Avenue, is like a time capsule from the gritty, druggie Village of the 1960s and 1970s.

Judging by the few accounts of it I could find, the Village Plaza Hotel, at 79 Washington Place, was a squalid mess. Yes, as the ad says, it was air conditioned. But a 1972 New York Times article describes it as a dumping ground for criminally inclined welfare recipients. 

And a Times article from 1967 cites it as the final home of Linda Fitzpatrick, the Greenwich, Connecticut teenager who was one half of the “Groovy Murders”—killed along with her hippie boyfriend, Groovy Hutchinson, on Avenue B that year.

According to the article, Linda Fitzpatrick’s wealthy family had no idea she was living in a filthy SRO hotel:

“The Fitzpatrick’s minds were eased when Linda assured them she had already made respectable living arrangements. ‘She told us that she was going to live at the Village Plaza Hotel, a very nice hotel on Washington Place, near the university, you know,’ her mother said.

“The Village Plaza, 79 Washington Place, has no doorman. A flaking sign by the tiny reception desk announces ‘Television for Rental’ amidst a forest of other signs; ‘No Refunds,’ ‘All, Rents Must be Paid in Advance,’ ‘No Checks Cashed,’ ‘No Outgoing Calls for Transients.'”

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39 Responses to “Faded ad: The infamous Village Plaza Hotel”

  1. mykola (mick) dementiuk Says:

    About a week before Groovy killed Ave B he came by to an apartment a friend of mine had on 10th Street between 1st & Ave A. As usual we smoked dope and talked about the chicks we were having or not having. Life certainly was great in those days…how little we knew.

  2. Jimbo Says:

    “how little we knew.”

    Check this story out. The names have NOT been changed.

    As a hippy, I used to hang out in front of the Psychedelicatessen store on Ave A, north of 9th. Groovy would be a center of attraction. Life magazine had done a story on him and his ‘crash pads’, and I recall him bragging how, in an FU to bourgeois America, he turned down an offer to appear on Johnny Carson to discuss his crash pad novelty. (He would let total strangers crash in his apartment. I tried it once with my pad. Once! Never again.)

    Anyway, I was dating a girl who went to a fancy girl’s RC college, Mt. St. Vincent’s on 72nd St. Her room mate was Mary Ellen Keenan, whose father was a cop at, I believe, the EV station house, the 9th Pct.

    The media account of Groovy & Linda’s murder by three spades (that’s what the hippies called “Negros’) in the basement of a building attributed the murders to the fact that the spades couldn’t handle their acid trip and freaked out and murdered the two white kids. (People in those days thought acid casually would do that!)

    According to PO Keenan, the real story was that the black guys lured Groovy and Linda to the basement and murdered them as part of some concocted African-based black mass ritual or some nonsense.

    Remember there were major race riots galore those years. Fearing the true story would cause more riots, copycat crimes or white retaliation, they concocted this cover story, blaming LSD.

    PO Keenan thought that was wrong but kept quiet. He told his daughter, who told my girlfriend, who told me, who tells you.

    Maybe the true story will finally emerge.

  3. mykola (mick) dementiuk Says:

    There was another guy named Galahad who was very popular, because of his good looks, with the media. He was hippie-incarnate, the press loved doing hippie stories on him. He founded a crash pad for homeless addicts. I visited his place on 11th Street and Ave C, hippies were crashed out in the hallways in the entire building. I felt bad about an older woman as she struggled up he stairs carrying a shopping bag while spaced out hippies just stared at her. Sadly, I didn’t help her either.

    Galahad got a job in a record store on West 4th St and eventually moved out of the East Village.

  4. jimbo Says:

    Senior Moment!!!!

    Yes, it was Galahad who was the person who held court in front of the Psychedelicatessen and was the crash-pad media darling, NOT Groovy.

    But the part about Groovy and Linda’s murder and the death-ritual sacrifice is accurate, as told by the cop’s daughter a month or two after their deaths.

  5. D. Says:

    Didn’t the Village Plaza Hotel collapse in the early ’70s? (I just missed most of the hippie era in the Village.) I think Everything for Everyone had to move afterward.

  6. Robin Says:

    I remember Groovy and Galahad. The crashpad was at 622 E. 11th St. I stayed there for awhile. Groovy would just walk down the street and break into dance. At the time I was a 15 year old runaway and the truth of the matter was that Galahad was just another grown man that took advantage of young girls. He later worked at a poster shop next to the pizza place on the corner of W 3rd and McDougal called The Night Owl. I don’t know what happened to him after that. I went with some others in a caravan to Groovy’s funeral in Rhode Island. His family was very upset that we were there and I can’t blame them. The hotel that collapsed was the Broadway Central on Brodaway and Bleeker. I lived there for awhile also but was long gone when it collapsed. I went by the name Shari then and luckily after some time in that scene I was able to extricate myself and now I can’t imagine my children doing any of the things that I did.

  7. Rhonda Says:

    I lived at the Village Plaza hotel for a short time in the early 1970s. The welfare recipients were only a small fraction of the people living there. There were also artists and a few students and people who worked in the area. I think this is more the case of a few people giving the place a bad reputation as far as the residents. The place was pretty dirty at times as it was up to the person renting the rooms to keep them clean. Some did and some did not The rooms were only cleaned by the cleaning lady when a resident moved out. The building was not kept up very well as far as repairs. I had one of the rooms with a private bath on one of the upper floors. I was not about to use one of the shared bathrooms in the building. I have not lived in NYC in years since 1977 and wondered what came of that old hotel.

  8. PC Says:

    The Village Plaze Hotel sign in the background of this Peter Paul & Mary promo shot:

  9. Laurence Carnahan Says:

    Laurence Carnahan, East Village 1966-1969

    My family moved to the East Village in 1966 and purchased a tenement on Eight Street between Avenues C & D. I was sixteen at the time and attended Seward Park High School on Grand and Delancey Streets. A year before Flower Power took off I purchased a push cart and sold flowers on St. Marks just below Third Avenue. Sales weren’t great. I was ahead of the times. (I still have my NYC Pushcart Permit with photo ID.)

    Over the time I was in high school I held several after-school jobs. First at The Head Shop, I believe it was off Third Ave on Stuyversant Street. I then I worked at The Pychedelicatessen on Avenue A and Tenth. My parents made me quit work at the “Delicatessen” due to its infamous notoriety. Both places had mail order and I did shipping. I met Debby Harry in 1966 and worked with her, first at a Plastic Pillow Factory on Canal; then at The Head Shop and later at Max’s Kansas City, where she was a waitress and I bused. She always wanted to be a lead in a band.

    I left NYC around 1969 to travel around the country and Europe. I landed in Vermont in 1972 and have lived here since. My folks lived at 366 East 8th Street until 1998. The tenement next door to them burnt down and a New York Fireman Cedric, perished in the fire. My parents worked with other community families to turn the vacant lot into a park, which was the trend at the time. The park was dedicated by the City of New York as the Fireman’s Memorial Park by Mayor Dinkins and thrives to this day. .

    For a period of time My friends and I attended every midnight Saturday Fug concert on St. Marks. We knew all their lyrics and my parents still have a framed F**K Communism poster that I believe were sold at the shows. My family knew Fred, who ran Limbos (clothing) on St. Marks. In 1968 he hired me and another guy to drive a delivery truck up to Woodstock as he planned to sell off clothing he was overstocked with at the “Concert” It took us two hours to go the last two miles to the site. Fred had come up in a rented limo and I took that back to Manhattan that evening. We may have been the last people to get in and get out. (No regrets.) I have a trivia question I still ask, What was the one item of clothing that Limbo’s had overstocked (2000 of them) that he absolutely couldn’t sell, and he ended up giving away at Woodstock?

    • mykola (mick) dementiuk Says:

      Nice bio. I attended Seward Park too, we’re probably the same age. I hung out on the streets as well, living all over the Lower East Side in the 60s, 70s, & 80s. But I’ve always been fascinated with Times Square, where most of my stories take place. I’ve lived in the East Village from 1949 until 1998 when a stroke laid me down. I’m in NJ now but my stories are all of NYC, what a fascinating time that was. Thanks very much, your bio is amazing. It’s like we know each other😉

    • William Arthur Mills Says:

      Hellooooooooo Laurence!! I so enjoyed reading your post! I also met Debby Harry back in the day AND I remember the “framed F**K Communism poster” in your house!! I met you on a few occasions back in the 80’s, as we were Ansley and Kelly’s neighbors at 368 E. 8th St. and were also very active in the Firemen’s Memorial Garden. May this find you well and thriving!! Your Mom, Ansley, emailed us fairly recently about Kelly’s passing. I am so sorry for this tremendous loss, as we also adored Kelly. I’m trying to get back to Ansley, but can’t seem to locate her email. I would very much like to speak with her. Perhaps you can help me? All the Best, William Arthur Mills

      • Debby Clemons Says:

        Hi Mr. William Arthur Mills,
        Are you still hoping and wanting to contact Laurence’s mom Ansley? If so, please let me know via email.

  10. Annie Birdseed Says:


  11. Magic Bus: On the Hippie Trail from Istanbul to India by Rory MacLean | Amyeighttrack's Blog Says:

    […] found on the internet. It made me wonder how much of that got glossed over. A lot, I suspect. (See: https://ephemeralnewyork.wordpress.com… […]

  12. Joe Van Gieson Says:

    Unlike most of the above Commentors, I was a little older during these times. I had just gotten out of the Army.
    Anyway, it was Galahad who did all his preaching to underage girls and taking them back to his “crash pad”. Groovy was as far as I knew him to be an innocent speed freak who ran afoul of the bigger importers/manufacturers by selling product under stated prices. I have always thought that rather than a ritual Afro-Voodoo-psycho killing that it was a simple hit to look like some complex ritual. Galahad was a police informer as well as a pederast. He was the lowest type of character, much like Mel Lyman in Boston or even like Manson to some degree. It was very disturbing to see him pull in so many young girls. The whole scene was becoming depressing by the “Summer of Love” and a friend of mine convinced me to move upstate. I was sitting on the bridge outside the Cafe Espresso in Woodstock a few weeks after arriving and off the bus from the city came Galahad and Groovy and Galahad’s retinue of children. I hung out with them getting great amusement from Galahad’s reaction to the people in Woodstock’s total apathy toward him and his whole act. He was deeply intimidated by Woodstock and by the mountains and by pretty much everything as he had no flock other than those he brought and many of them drifted away from him pretty quickly once their heads were cleared by fresh air and a better overall attitude. He left after a few days amid much yelling and arguing among his little band of spaced children. By the way, in his job at the poster store, he was able to continue his police tie and thus avoided any hassle with th NYPD while he sold his speed and statutorily raped countless young girls. A true American hero.
    Groovy’s end was tragic and horrible. Galahad merely faded back into the mass of users and con men and left nothing positive that I can think of.
    Next item is whatever happened to the so-called (self-called) “Pope of the Village” David Peel – one of the most egregious get overs in the entire era. It was during this time of fake gurus and false leaders that I learned how easy it is to take advantage of the young. All you need is self assurance, a superior and smug attitude and a complete lack of morals. After another year or so I moved to Rhode Island and went to work on a commercial Lobster boat.

    • mykola (mick) dementiuk Says:

      David Peel still sings his trashy songs about getting high on banana’s in his gravelly unbearable voice once in a while in Tompkins Square Park. The only thing good about him was he sang with John Lennon. Groovy used to come by to a crash pad on 10th Street that’s where I smoked dope with him. I didn’t like Galahad, he had a crash pad but had the biggest room for himself and his girlfriends, different one’s every night. Good that they’re out of the way. Nothing ever changes for certain people.

    • Cathina Haynes Says:

      “After another year or so I moved to Rhode Island and went to work on a commercial Lobster boat.”

      Good on you. No wonder you’re so bitterly resentful of my father..

    • Cathina Haynes Says:

      “I hung out with them getting great amusement from Galahad’s reaction to the people in Woodstock’s total apathy toward him and his whole act. He was deeply intimidated by Woodstock and by the mountains and by pretty much everything as he had no flock other than those he brought and many of them drifted away from him pretty quickly once their heads were cleared by fresh air and a better overall attitude. He left after a few days amid much yelling and arguing among his little band of spaced children.”

      You’ve gotta be kidding me. Aside from the utterly laughable misrepresentation of my father {intimidated by everything?!), he was nowhere NEAR New York in August ’69. I know exactly where he was, about 1,000 miles away.Approximately 7,000 can testify to that.

      As for whom you’re confusing him…well, I would imagine that there were many self-styled gurus who petulantly left Woodstock when their brand of evangelism and proselytizing didn’t garner them the followers they desired.

    • Cathina Haynes Says:

      “…and off the bus from the city came Galahad and Groovy and Galahad’s retinue of children.”

      Groovy was killed in 10/’67. Woodstock was in ’69. You just slaughtered your own credibility.

      Plus, you’re just an idiot. A willful one.

  13. DonB Says:

    Have enjoyed reading all the commentaries here. I’m wondering if the “Galahad” referenced above is the same Galahad I knew in the summer of ’67. I worked at the Figaro and for a brief time he worked as a sort of doorman. I was just 19 and he seemed like an older man, maybe 30 or so. To use the old cliche, ’67 was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Memories to last a lifetime though!

    • mykola (mick) dementiuk Says:

      Yes, he was a kind of doorman, just there for his personality and ‘fame’, but he moved around the block right on 4th St got a job there at a record store. That’s the last I ever heard or saw of him until I started reading Ephemeral. Many years have passed, haven’t they?

  14. Deitchy Says:

    I lived there summer 1974. Cockroaches, junkies, whores, holdups and parties. Was a great summer and we all survived. Just….

  15. Cathina Haynes Says:

    Galahad is my father. No man that leaves a legacy of children ever “fades back into obscurity.”

    As far as I know, he was still in New York until 1969. He traveled back to Louisiana until he returned to Kansas City in 1971 and met my mother. They were married within a year, and remained such until my mother passed in 2000. I grew up going to the library with him downtown to read the articles he was in and see his pictures. Apparently, he beguiled his own young daughter as he did all of those poor young innocent girls he defiled.

    He wasn’t in his 30s. He was 22 when Groovy was murdered. He attended the funeral, played “Taps” on Groovy’s harmonica, and started carrying a blade. I honestly don’t know what he did between ’67 and ’69, but as a man and not a press darling, he may have done some things that weren’t safe or ethical. I can assure you with complete confidence, however, that he never “raped” anyone, particularly under-age girls, and he was *never* a CI.

    He is a lot of things, and “criminal” was likely one of them. He has never been a man who tried to get away with anything he’d actually done. He may not respect the law enforcement officers, but he does respect the penal system.

    My father will be 71 this year. He’s still a poet, still lives his life on his own terms, and as he helped runaways in the 60s, he offers guidance to younger people who’ve befriended him. He gives and gives, to the point of poverty, and the people whose lives he’s touched have given back.

    My father is currently in an ICU room, or en route to an OR, for a follow-up and exploratory surgery for abdominal multi-organ cancer. An aggressive cancer, judging from the swiftness of his symptoms. If it makes any of you happy, a man who lived one of the fullest, richest, best, worst, most gratifying lives of anyone I’ve ever known, will likely die before he sees 75, if not before he sees 71.

    Those of you calling him the lowest of the low (at Manson level? Riiiiight.), you should be ashamed of yourselves. He was a man. A young man. He didn’t manipulate the media or the hippie movement. He was a drifter who found a niche for awhile. He was a drifter who found my mother for 29 years. November 26th would have been their 45th anniversary. He maintained his wedding vows even after his wife’s death, and pursued no romantic interest in any other woman. He’s remained true to her in every sense of the word. For 45 years. How many of YOU can say that?

    When my father (my FATHER, not Galahad) passes on, he will be mourned. My father will be mourned and remembered and celebrated and honored by the ones he loves, and who love him in return. Galahad died in 1969. My father still lives today. More than that, he has gained a level of immortality that some of you can’t seem to bear.

    Defame him. Start stories, repeat rumors of dubious origin. Call him anything you can think of. That man walked through life either hated or loved and has apologized to no one.

    I hope this apple didn’t fall far from her tree.

  16. shawn gray Says:

    well said Cathina,

    • Cathina Haynes Says:

      In Arthurian legend, Sir Galahad negotiated that he be allowed to choose the moment of his death. Upon meeting Joseph of Arimathea, he experienced such rapture that he chose that to die, taking the Holy Grail with him.

      That isn’t relevant, really, just thought it was interesting. I think Dad probably thought it more intriguing that Galahad was the bastard son of the pure-not-pure Sir Lancelot.

  17. Dave Robinson Says:

    I was living in the Lower East Side in 1967 as a runaway from Boston. I was 15.
    I met a lot of nice people but some lowlife as well. I met Linda Fitzpatrick that summer and she took a liking to me. We dropped acid a couple of times but I was going with another girl so we could never consummate our relationship, which i think was better in the long run. She thought I looked like a prince, when she was tripping…
    Then we read about Linda and Groovy and could not believe it. One night we got a knock on the door of our East 13th St apartment. It was a NY Times reporter and he wanted to do a piece of Linda and Groovy. My girlfriend and I were featured in the NY Times article, which eventually made it into the Reader’s Digest. HA!
    It was a great summer, with Sgt Pepper, Fresh Cream, Jimi Hendrix and many other breakthrough albums released.
    We saw Frank Zappa at the Garrick and the Cream at the Cafe Au Go Go.
    It was a time of innocence and it is amazing that we all made it out alive. I got ripped off once and almost lured into an alley another time…

  18. Jill Cohen Says:

    Cathina, I would love to contact you, by e-mail, phone….whatever. I knew your dad in 1967/1968, and there is a special connection between you and I that I would like to tell you about. I have sent you a FB friend request, and I hope to hear from you soon.

    • Cathina Haynes Says:

      Hi, Jill. My laptop died on me and I couldn’t access FB on my phone. Lots of stuff disappeared, and I can’t find your request. Easiest way to get me is e-mail, cathinahaynes@gmail.com. I would love to talk to you. Unfortunately, I live in Hell’s back acre and can only get a signal if I sell my soul to Satan (back acre not included). Thanks for reaching out to me.

      I’d always known about his time in New York, but reading the comments here give me a glimpse of Contemporary Galahad instead of the tales of a ruminating wander reflecting on his past.

      It also shows me how people’s memories change over time. Memories, for what they are, can change completely based on one or two words. A person will describe a “car wreck” much differently than they would a “fender bender.”

      Anyway, these people defaming a man based on a brief encounter (seeing him with a few young girls) become hugely significant events. Suddenly he’s a curbside prophet and a pedophile.

      I’ve said all this before, though. Main reason for replying was to tell you how to reach me. 🙂 Try sending another friend request, though, or just a message. I always have FB running at least in the background.

      Hope to hear from you soon.

      (And I’m so sorry for the loooooooong delay in responding. It’s been rough going. When I finally got to come and stay home, I think I spend a solid week doing nothing but crying.)

  19. Jennifer Rampy Says:

    I want to take this opportunity to thank this particular media outlet for posting this article. My mother came across it, and upon seeing Cathina’s post, reached out to her. You see, I am also a daughter of Galahad. I was born in 1968. I never had the opportunity to meet him. However, I am overjoyed to find out that I have a sister. I have gonna all my life being an only child, wondering if I had any siblings, thinking I probably did, but resigned to knowing I would never find out for sure. Now I know I do. She and I are getting to know one another, and I am so very grateful to you for running the article. If not for you, I probably would still be wondering. As for anyone with negative comments, please try to remember something. Whatever he may or may not have been or done, he certainly was no “Manson” and deferring to him as such really shows a lack of thought on your behalf. I did not know him, but my mother did, and she doesn’t remember him being anything predatory or opportunistic. You must also keep in mind the times. Things were very free and open back then. So to accuse someone without certain proof of something is misguided. How would you feel if you were on the receiving end? At any rate, if there are any other possible children of his out there, please come forward.

  20. Carroll Says:

    I lived at the Hotel Albert in 68. First room had no bathroom and we would pee in the wastebasket and dump it out the window into the air shaft. The second room we lived in had a shared bathroom with an adjoining room occupied by a pimp and a chick from the Midwest he had literally picked up at the bus station. I remember her private personal items hanging in the shared shower. One night she asked me if I wanted to make $100. She said all we had to do was go to some place in China Town and take off our shoes. Thankfully I had enough sense to say no. We were always getting locked out of our room for being late with the rent but the people in the adjoining room would just let us in their room so we could walk through. The lobby was always interesting with characters floating in and out. We finally snuck out the back door one day with all our stuff and moved to an almost seedier place on park ave south near max’s Kansas City. It was a real hooker hotel. They would not give you a key. You had to be let I to your room every time you went in and out. Most if the rooms were rented out by the hour. We were one of the few people who paid by the week. It was a step up in many ways as we had two rooms. The first night I plugged my alarm clock in and set it to go to work in the West Village. There was no phone in the room. I woke up the next morning to the desk clerk pounding on the door saying my job had called saying I was late for work. I looked at my alarm clock and the time had not changed since I plugged it in the night before. The electric socket did not work.

  21. Gary Introne Says:

    This is all very good. Completely interesting, and I know some of these stories. I lived at 509 e11th, July ’67, on. You had to be there, as it’s said, to understand.

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