The steps of St. Paul's Chapel, Broadway, looking towards Park Row, March 1937.

A PROPERTY IN Sniffen Court coming on the market is a rare event, but two up for grabs at the same time must be a first. Like Grove Court, MacDougal Alley, or Washington Mews, this little alleyway is one of the most desirable of those little nooks and crannies that hide amidst the hurly-burly of Manhattan. Tradition holds that Sniffen Court was built as stables by one John Sniffen around the time of the Civil War, but there is no record of any Sniffen ever having owned the properties (some therefore presume he was the architect). They were converted, like many mews around the city, from stables to residences in the 1920s and all have gradually adapted and changed since then.

“Give me rail travel, trans-Atlantic liners, and electric cars and you will have Taki on your side," writes our favorite Greek philosopher over on his online magazine. The invocation of rail transportation prompted one reader, Mr. Roland Maruska, to send in his response to Taki's call:

Previously: Grand Central Station at Night

Fr. Rutler preaches, illuminated by the midday winter sun, at the Church of Our Saviour on the Feast of St. Sylvester. And a fine sermon it was, too.

I THOUGHT THAT since we widened our window of opportunity, I ought to give you a wider view of this capture from the 1954 film 'It Should Happen to You!', previously displayed in our exposition on Columbus Circle and the Human Scale. The more recent rehabilitation of this grand public place was discussed in one of my diary entries.

Officers of the New-York Light Guard, an antecedent of the Old Guard of the City of New York. The City Guard and the Light Guard combined in 1826 to form the Old Guard.

Categories: The Old Guard | Militaria

Corpus Christi Church, West 121st Street, New York: perhaps my favorite Catholic church interior in all New York, and one which simply cries out for a traditional Mass.

THE ASSAY OFFICE was built in 1822 as the New York branch of the Bank of the United States, located at 15½ Wall Street. The (Second) Bank of the United States was the second attempt at a central bank for this country. Eventually, the central bank grew too powerful, trying to manipulate politics and master the economy itself, and so it was abolished in 1836. The building later became the Assay Office, an adjunct to the Customs House and Sub-Treasury next door, which itself is now known as Federal Hall National Monument. When the Assay Office was torn down, the façade was preserved and donated to the Metropolitan Museum of Art by Robert W. de Forest in 1924. It is now presented in the glass-covered courtyard of the American Wing of the greatest museum of art in the New World.

THE TOLLBOOTH AT the Bear Mountain Bridge is built in a whimsical style meant to harken back to the Dutch patriarchs of old who roamed and ruled (and fell asleep in) these lands. The Bear Mountain Bridge spans the Hudson River between Bear Mountain and Anthony's Nose, and was the longest suspension bridge in the world upon its completion in 1924. (As of 2007, it is the 62nd longest suspension bridge). The South Gate of the Hudson Highlands is composed of Anthony's Nose rising from the east bank and Dunderberg (lit. thunder mountain) on the west, while Wind Gate between Breakneck Ridge and Storm King Mountain marks the northern reach of the Highlands.

POOR RIP van Winkle; I always felt bad for him. He falls asleep for twenty years, and returns to his own native village where is now unknown and taken for some strange vagrant. "I am a poor quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the king, God bless him!" he exclaims, in blissful ignorance of the Revolution which took place during his slumber. "A tory! a tory! a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!" cry the by-standers.

I have long thought that Washington Irving was trying to make a subtle traditionalist point here: the definition of a good citizen has been arbitrarily changed. If a man was a good New Yorker in 1765 and hasn't changed, why is he a traitor in 1785? It's clearly ridiculous, except to proto-Jacobins and ideologues.

Anyhow, the lesson of the story: drink not from the flagons of odd-looking personages playing nine-pins amidst the Hudson Highlands.

Previously: Rip van Winkle

ONE OF THE great things about the Morgan Library on 36th and Madison was that it used to reflect (and indeed protect) the glories of European civilization. Since its recent renovation, however, it merely expresses the post-civilization status of the mother continent. One cannot help but feel bad for poor Mr. Morgan, who would surely frown upon the vulgarity which has been thrust upon his life's achievement: one of the finest collections of manuscripts, rare books, and drawings in the entire world.

In need of a little fresh air this morning, I went for a walk amidst the lush greenery of our fair county, and took a few snapshots to show you my explorations. Shall we?

UPDATE: It appears I had accidentally deleted a few of the photos with their captions before posting, so I have reposted them in their entirety.

No. 15 East Ninety-Sixth Street, New York

THE UPPER EAST SIDE is crossed by a number of wider cross-streets, of which 96th Street has long been agreed as the northern boundary of the neighborhood. (Overeager real estate agents have recently taken to advertising properties above that boundary as being located in the "Upper Upper East Side"). At number 15 on East 96th Street sits a splendid townhouse of superb design and execution often known as the Dahlgren residence. (Seen above, before and after complete restoration).

Lucy Wharton Drexel was of the Philadelphia Drexels, from which also came Saint Katharine Drexel, the founder of the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, as well as the initiators of Drexel University in that Pennsylvanian city. Young Miss Drexel married Mr. Eric B. Dahlgren, son of Admiral John A. Dahlgren, inventor of the Dahlgren Gun used during the Civil War at a ceremony in the Philadelphia cathedral officiated by Archbishop Corrigan of that see, and the couple soon moved to Manhattan where Mr. Dahlgren had a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. The Dahlgrens themselves were a prominent Catholic family, with Eric and his brothers attending Georgetown University, where to this day the main chapel bears the Dahlgren name. (Well-to-do Catholics must have been in short supply at the time, because after Lucy and Eric's marriage, Lucy's sister Elizabeth was married to Eric's brother John).

EARLY YESTERDAY EVENING I found myself on the West Side and with a bit of free time, so I sauntered down Broadway to Columbus Circle to finally investigate in the flesh this great public place after its complete rehabilitation some two years ago. I am happy to report that the Circle's refurbishment is quite a successful one. My only reservations were minor details, but as these were all done in an extremely simple and smooth modern style, they are much less objectional, and perhaps serve to focus attention on the sculptor Gaetano Russo's splendid monumental column from which Cristóbal Colón, Admiral of the Ocean Sea, Viceroy and Governor of the New World presides over the grand plaza consecrated to his memory.

Colón's name is rendered on the monument as 'Cristoforo Colombo', which seems appropriate since the monument was paid for by public subscription raised by Italian-Americans, and it is commonly assumed that Columbus was Italian. He may have been Genoese, Catalan, Portuguese, or Corsican, but he described himself as being from lands under the rule of Genoa, which lends significant credence to the Genoese and Corsican theories. In Spain, however, he is apparently Spanish, or so one daughter of Iberia, the wife of a frequent reader of this little corner of the web, informs us. The happy couple were strolling through Columbus Circle recently and the good lady was shocked to discover the purported Italian origin of the man who brought Christianity to the New World. After all, Spain's national day — the Día de la Hispanidad — is October 12, the day in 1492 that Columbus first set foot in the New World. (In woebegone Venezuela, the vulgar socialist dictator has proclaimed October 12 as the Día de la Resistencia Indígena, or Day of Indigenous Resistance, and the Columbus Column in their capital city of Caracas was toppled on that day in 2004).

Anyhow, not only was the good lady was shocked at our monument's proclamation of the Discoverer's Italian-ness but the combination of that with the presence in Columbus Circle of the beautiful U.S.S. Maine Monument led the observer to conclude that the public plaza should be instead be named "Anti-Spain Square". It was the disastrous sinking of the Maine, after all, which led to the Spanish-American War, the result of which was America's most unfortunate and regretful act of taking Spain's empire off her hands. (Contrary to Mr. Kipling's idealistic urging of America to take up the imperial mantle in his poem 'White Man's Burden', this turned out to be a fairly good deal for the Spaniards, and a very poor deal for the peoples of the United States).

Politics aside, I enjoyed the few minutes during which I ruminated in the square (or circle, if ye be pedants). I recall many years ago the debate surrounding how to improve Columbus Circle that there was a near-universal desire for there to be more trees but that the very shallow depth between the street surface and the subway below presented difficulties in this regard. The redesigners have solved this problem by encircling the center of the circle with a raised ridge, on which are planted a number of trees which, we trust, will be even more appreciated as they mature. The raised ridge, which features jets of flowing water around the inner circle, also serves to innoculate the center from the noise of the traffic which, the Circle being situated at the confluence of Broadway, Central Park West, Central Park South, and Eigth Avenue, is considerable.

And so, I judge the new Columbus Circle a success, and I am happy to the report that the American Society of Landscape Architects concur, having awarded it their General Design Award of Honor. Another random fact which surprisingly few people know is that Columbus Circle is the spot from which distances to New York are numerated, akin to Moscow's Red Square and London's Trafalgar Square (if I recall correctly).

LEAVING COLUMBUS CIRCLE, I sauntered back up Broadway to another of Manhattan's engaging places, Lincoln Center. Critics accused the architects of the performing arts complex of cribbing off of Rome's E.U.R., but one wishes the three halls facing Lincoln Center's plaza had the same crispness of those modern Roman structures. The thirty years between the E.U.R. of 1930s Italy and the Lincoln Center of 1960s New York were years in which the quality of modernism declined just as greatly as its supremacy increased. Despite this, the plaza of Lincoln Center is one of the most successful public places in Manhattan. I have often lamented the absence from New York of the open piazza so common on the Continent. This plaza competes with Central Park's Bethesda Terrace as the best example of the type in Manhattan.

The plaza is raised above the neighboring Lincoln Square (one of the many triangular squares created by Broadway's healthy disregard for the grid) and is reached by a gentle rise of stairs. Viewed from the square it appropriately seems like a stage upon which all our great dramas are played. The dance of the New York City Ballet in the State Theatre on the left, the music of the New York Philharmonic in Avery Fisher Hall on the left, and in the center, the Metropolitan Opera in the Metropolitan Opera House; the greatest opera company in the Americas, not to mention one of the best in the entire world. And from the hour of seven or so on the evening of performances, the three arts mix and mingle in the plaza as attendées wait to meet their companions and enter whichever of the respective halls they are to spend the evening. Some jealously preserve a seat of honor on the rim of the central fountain, while others hide from the elements (the beating sun, the heaving rain) in the shelter of the arcades, while still more meander slowly to and fro around this piazza dell'arte.

It's unfortunate, then, that the elders of Lincoln Center insist on erecting temporary stage structures in the middle of the plaza, partially obstructing the fountain, during the warmer months when, above all other times, it should be open for all to enjoy. The creators of Lincoln Center conceived of the obvious desire for outdoor performances during the summer, and so they built the bandshell in Damrosch Park in between the Opera House and Avery Fisher Hall, just diagonally adjacent to the plaza. Surely the plaza is meant to be an open space where all the events can mix, blend, interact, influence, before finally separating into their appropriate places. If there are to be outdoor performances, hold them where they were meant to be, and if that place suffers from some malfunction of design, then redesign that place rather than rudely interjecting a particular event into what was meant to be the public square for all.

THIS PARTICULAR EVENING it was into Avery Fisher Hall for a performance of the New York Philharmonic, now in its 165th year. The program was Rossini's overture to Semiramide and Schubert's Symphony No. 3 in D major (D.500), with Dvořák's Symphony No. 5 in F major (Op. 76). Riccardo Muti wielded the conductor's baton and the result was definitely less than was expected. I had only heard Muti's conducting on the radio in passing and, while admittedly not devoting much thought to it, he seemed a fairly capable conductor. In person, however, he left much to be desired. Rossini's overture was merely lackluster but Schubert's symphony was actually surprisingly poor. Perhaps the worst thing was observing Muti in action, for the man looked like an utter fool. His conducting seemed unnatural, choreographed, even foppish. And those ridiculous jestures towards the first violins! I wanted to slap the man, and I shouldn't be surprised if the violins wanted to themselves. Towards the middle of the Schubert symphony, I began to think of the man as a proper ass, the tails of his evening jacket acting the part of hind legs. My only solution to the St. Vitus's dance on the conductor's dais was to shut my eyes and imagine that I was there in the Austrian capital in that autumn of 1815, after the chancellors and ministers of the crowned heads of Europe had departed the Congress of Vienna when peace and order were plotted, in the home of Otto Hatwig where (scholars posit) the work was premiered.

The friend I accompanied that evening actually knows about the inner workings of music (I am actually an ignoramus on the subject, and simply like what sounds good to me) and agreed completely with me on the subject during the intermission. Luckily, the Dvořák fared better, but one had the niggling suspicion that this was the Philharmonic working its magic in spite of Mr. Muti, rather than at the command of his baton. My knowledge and appreciation of Dvořák has slowly grown, from that first passing fondness we all have for his Symphony No. 9 "From the New World". My appreciation for the Philharmonic grows, when I see they have printed in the program that Mr. Dvořák was born in Mühlhausen, Bohemia, rather than the more modish style of "Nelahozeves, Czech Republic" that would find favor elsewhere.

Perhaps I am too hard on Mr. Muti. Perhaps he and the Philharmonic were simply not a good fit for eachother. At any rate, I shouldn't complain as one doesn't often get box seats to a sold-out performance with every seat in the hall occupied (though, to be honest, the sound is better down in the orchestra seats). But how I wish I could have seen von Karajan while he was alive!

After the baton had finally fallen for the night, my friend and I had the same stroke of genius at exactly the same moment and decided to head up to good old Café Lalo, but unfortunately everyone else had the same idea (Saturday night? Lalo's? What did we expect?) so we comforted ourselves with a pint or two at the Parlour instead.

The Knickerbocker Greys, the Upper East Side corps of cadets, is celebrating its 125th year in existence. Both the Times and the Sun have featured articles on the Greys:

'Celebrating 125 With the Knickerbocker Greys' by Gary Shapiro (The New York Sun)
'Manhattan’s Littlest Soldiers' by Eric Königsberg (The New York Times)

Above: A mother mends a cadet's uniform.
Below: Cadets assembled in an Armory corridor. (Note the interior scaffolding due to the State's grievous neglect of the Armory).

STEALING A GLANCE at the photo above, the viewer would easily be forgiven for mistaking the vista for that of a subway entrance in turn-of-the-century Siena, Italy. The proud medieval tower lurks over a comely metal-and-glass structure of continental flavor. However the city fathers of that ancient Italian municipality never deigned to erect an underground railway. The precise locus of the vista is far removed: it is the corner of Park Avenue and 33rd Street, and the building behind the subway entrance is not the town hall of Siena, but rather the armory of the 71st Regiment, New York National Guard.

When the earlier Romanesque Revival armory of the Seventy-First Regiment burnt down in 1902, it was decided to build the new armory on the same, though slightly enlarged, site. The 1905 construction was built to the design of the architectural firm of Clinton and Russell, and was clearly inspired by the Palazzo Pubblico (the town hall, photo at right) of Siena, on that city's Piazza de Campo. While the Seventh Regiment Armory contains the finest interiors of any military building in City, and probably the entire Empire State, the exterior of the Seventy-First's armory was far superior. Even though the interior was not to the same lofty standard as the Seventh, it was by no means lacking, for it had all the wood-panelled rooms filled with military regalia from times gone by which one expects of New York's armories from the period.

Clinton & Russell's design for the 71st Regiment Armory.

Soldiers enjoined in a game of cards in the E Company chambers of the Seventy-First Regiment Armory.

January 1, 1917: A soldier of the 71st bids farewell to his sweetheart as he prepares to leave for Camp Wadsworth, S.C. and then on to Europe, and war.

The subway beneath Park Avenue had a station adjacent to the armory on 33rd Street, which was architecturally signified by the faience eagles, made by Heins & Lafarge, which bedecked the station walls. Whenever you see a subway station's street number held on a shield by an eagle, it means that a National Guard armory was once located above, or nearby. The eagles and shields from a closed platform of the Union Square-14th Street station have been reassembled elsewhere in the large station.

Despite the grandeur of the armory, the building was still somewhat unloved. Only thirty years after it was erected, Time magazine rather unfairly called it "Manhattan's ugly old brownstone 71st Regiment Armory". It was, of course, a place of history. True to its original purpose, it was not only the home of one of the more prominent regiments of New York's National Guard, but also served as the headquarters of the state's reknowed 27th Division — "O'Ryan's Roughnecks" — which included the 71st, the 7th, and other New York regiments. The massive drill hall was not only a functional site for military training but also a prominent civic meeting place. Exhibitions, expositions, labor rallies, fairs, and meetings were held in the hall, which had a capacity of 11,000 people. For example, it was here, in 1964, that the carpetbagging son of a bootlegger named Robert Kennedy won the nomination to the U.S. Senate from the state Democratic caucus. A year later, during the Great Northeastern Blackout, the armory took in 2,500 stranded souls until the lights came back on.

With it's efficacious design, high standard of construction, and architectural beauty, the 71st Regiment Armory was singled out for destruction by the 'monotony monitors' (as my old Latin teacher used to call them). During the 1960s, they demolished this little corner of Siena on Park Avenue. The site lay fallow for a decade before it was redeveloped with a skyscraper, containing a public high school as part of the developer's deal with the City. To add insult to injury, the Board of Education named the school after the pacifist and socialist Norman Thomas; salt in the wounds of New York's fading military heritage. So if ever you're strolling down Park Avenue in Murray Hill and you come upon an ominous modern skyscraper where socialism and capitalism combine, try to think of better days, and pray they soon return.

Category: New York Militaria

My favorite statue in Central Park is that of King Władysław II Jagiełło of Poland, by the Turtle Pond.

Credit for last photo: Bridge & Tunnel Club

I crossed the Harlem River into Manhattan today just as Patrick Leigh Fermor traversed the Danube in his brilliant book, A Time of Gifts, which has immediately become one of my favorite reads of all time. Settling into my seat on the train yesterday, I opened my knapsack to utter shock and surprise—I had left my reading at home. The Leigh Fermor and P.G.W.'s Cocktail Time were resting somewhere in my bedchamber while I stared into the compartment of my bag, bare but for a photocopied page from the Art Newspaper and two (already-read) issues of the Hungarian Quarterly. These are the times that try men's souls. Getting out of the city late in the evening proved even harder, as the bridge carrying the railway over the river was actually up for once ("First time in my life, folks," the conductor informed us), leaving a steady backlog of trains awaiting their northerly destinations.

But this morning there were no bridge-raising complications, and the sky was a delightful, clear blue (soon to change) as we entered Manhattan. Thankfully, I had my two books; a bit of Wodehouse while waiting in Bronxville station and then Paddy Leigh Fermor on the train. After crossing the river, the train stops at 125th Street (Harlem) before submerging at 96th, taking the passenger down to Grand Central, that well-kept remnant on 42nd Street, reminding us that we too were once civilized. There, after taking a stroll through the market (Nürnburger sausage! Kaiser ham! Norwegian salmon!) you switch to the subway and hop down just one express stop on the 5 train.

Just half a dozen steps after emerging from Union Square station I saw a speck of white fall from the sky, and then another, and another. So it began: the first snowfall of the year. And, I might add, a New York record for the latest snowfall. (January 10th? No, there was no white Christmas for us this year). Two children on the swings in the playground ecstatically proclaimed their approval at the opening of the heavens. Wandering through the farmer's market in the square, I picked up an herb focaccia bread I thought might be particularly enjoyable, and it complimented the exceptionally tasty Tuscan vegetable soup I had for lunch. The snowflakes swirled above the square and fell down on all the market-goers and the folks walking on Broadway as I marched up to work. And yet, how fleeting! In the few steps from the front door to the elevator, the white snow had already melted and merged into the green of my loden coat. Very well, Mother Nature. Very well.

EVERY ONE OF the myriad plans put forth for the 'redevelopment' of the venerable old Governors Island in New York Harbor has so far either stalled, been neglected, or otherwise poo-pooed. In this, we have something to rejoice. As I have often said, realistically speaking there is little that can be done to it which will not neglect or disgrace the island's long military heritage. The officially-approved ideas put forth so far have been horrific: an amusement park, a casino, a 'technology park', as well as a number of other vapid proposals.

Naturally, we'd be enthused if it returned to its former role as swankiest post in the entire Army and the home of Army polo, but don't hold your breath. West Point being the single exception, if it has even a touch of history, tradition, or class, Congress and the Department of Defense will do their best to get rid of it. After all, the National Guard has been pulled out of the Seventh Regiment Armory, the Navy has withdrawn all but a few institutions from Newport, and the Army has left the ancient Presidio of San Francisco; how long will it be until Fort Leavenworth's foxhounds are brought out back and shot by the Monotony Monitors?

Gen. James H. McRae greets polo players on the island, 1927.

The Veteran Corps of Artillery on the Parade Ground, Governors Island.

Nonetheless, while meandering through a book on the history of Governors Island from the 1637 to 1922, I came across a rather excellent depiction of one of the early plans for the improvement of the island, devised just after the First World War. Owing to landfill from subway and tunnel excavations, the island expanded during the period, and it was thought that something proper ought to be done with it rather than just fill it with utilitarian military huts and barracks.

Eventually, a whole complex of neo-Georgian brick buildings was constructed, including Liggett Hall, the longest building in the world at the time of its completion, and the only single building which could house an entire regiment. Before that plan was finalized, however, someone thought of surrounding old Fort Jay, a Revolutionary-era star fortification, with a similarly shaped castellar structure in that particular American military style of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The result was brilliant.

Click [here] for a larger image of the castle depiction. Just imagine what it would have been like to sail into New York Harbor and to be greeted by a castle and a little village on an island, right smack dab next to the towering skyscrapers of lower Manhattan. Genius.

My only qualm with the plan is that I would orient the main gate towards the rest of the island, rather than towards the sea. Then, a little main street could roll from the castle on its height to a parade ground at the other, lower, end of the island. It would give the units stationed there an excuse to march from their barracks in the castle down to the parade ground—and really, shouldn't life be organized so as to have more parades and military marches? I certainly believe so.

Regardless of how enjoyable that would have been, what actually did end up getting built on the island after the war was certainly commendable nonetheless, as you can see in my previous post giving an overview of Governors Island.

Previously: Governors Island | Old Guard on Governors Island | The Old Guard | New Globe Theater

From the Windy Hollow Hunt, up a ways, across the Hudson, and over a little. Of course, by now (in December) all the leaves are gone.

Previously: The New Yorker Hunts | Tally Ho, Empire State!

A photo of the Old Guard of the City of New York on Governors Island, with Manhattan in the background, taken on St. George's Day, 1933. [Click here for larger photo]

Previously: Evacuation Day | Marshal Foch and the Old Guard | A New York Funeral | Old Guardsmen | The Old Guard | Grandpa
Category: New York Militaria

To the old Whitney Museum down on 8th Street, now home to the New York Studio School, which held a panel discussion to mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of the New Criterion. An interesting chat between Hilton Kramer, who left the New York Times to found the magazine in 1982, Karen Wilkin, one of our regular art critics, and James Panero, managing editor and art critic, all moderated by Michael J. Lewis of Williams College. The panel discussion covered myriad subjects related to art, from art criticism to the impossibility of an avant-garde in today's culture of anything-goes to whether the New Criterion's 'view' of art can be considered part of any particular school of thought. Hilton had some particularly choice moments.

The building is a particularly nebulous one with many strange nooks and crannies, which can perhaps be explained by the fact that it is actually four townhouses gradually combined over a period of time. The Whitney Museum of American Art, of course, was founded in the 1930s by Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney and was housed in these merged townhouses until moving to the specially-designed home at Madison and 75th in 1966 — widely agreed to be the ugliest building on the entire Upper East Side.

Among the nooks and crannies previously mentioned, Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney's former studio in the old mews building provided an excellent location for the dinner held afterwards, to which the participants, organizers, and a number of hangers-on (including yours truly) were invited. I sat between Gabbe, the New Criterion's former Editorial Assistant now working for the Studio School, and Joseph, an art student from outside Canterbury in Kent whose grandmother and grandfather both taught at the Studio School. Joseph and I discussed the beauty of the Somerset countryside, and I confessed I'd buy a cottage and move there in a second were it possible. The inimitable David Yezzi sat across the table and guided much of the conversation on our leg of the three tables, which had been arranged in a U-formation. A little later, I chatted with the artist seated to Gabbe's left, who had been born in Latvia, with childhood spent in Baghdad, Italy, and England, before settling down in New York at the age of seven. We discussed the glories of Eastern Europe and the linguistic intricacies thereof. During dessert, however, I got on to architecture with the amiable Michael J. Lewis. I sung the praises of Audubon Terrace, one of my favorite spaces in all New York, which he (a Philadelphian) had only stumbled upon for the first time a month ago, and also of the nearby sculpted tomb of Bertram Grosvenor Goodhue, the greatest of all American architects.

Time waits for no man, however, and I managed to catch a late train back home from Grand Central. Alighting at Bronxville, I walked through the misty streets where the spherical streetlamps cast an eerie glow against the limestone façades of the shops. Home before midnight, and time for rest. Tommorrow, aside from being the feast of Saint Andrew, is Stefan Beck's last day at the New Criterion. Needless to say, commemorative festivities are in order, and an alcoholic concoction known as 'batch' is to be brewed. It will not, I imagine, be for the faint of heart.

Elsewhere, the Austrian navy is no more.

The Old Guard of the City of New York, raising the flag at the Battery on Evacuation Day, 1897. The day commemorates November 25, 1783, when the last royal troops left New York in accordance with the terms of the Treaty of Paris.

Previously: Marshal Foch and the Old Guard | A New York Funeral | Old Guardsmen | The Old Guard | Grandpa
Category: New York Militaria

THE BRIDGE AND TUNNEL CLUB site often features photographs of myriad places, scenes, and things all around New York and beyond. Recently, the Bridge-and-Tunneller made a sojourn to various sites up the Hudson, and thankfully decided to share his photos. We bring you a selection of them, which you can find in their original form on the B&TC website.

ONE HAS TO feel a certain amount of sympathy poor old Abraham de Peyster. The city fathers, in their infinite and unending wisdom, sought fit to erect a statue of Bram in Bowling Green, the old town square of New York down at the beginning of Broadway, many moons ago. However, having set Bram very nicely upon that green, the first public park in all New York, the city fathers have of late refused to let old Heer de Peyster rest. In 1972, the park was 'renovated' which entailed the statue's forced removal. He ended up four years later in Hanover Square, a quite suitable though less prominent location, where he gazed across the square towards India House. It was then that old rivalries flared anew.

The good old days in Bowling Green.

In a situation quite similar to that of the Year of Our Lord Sixteen-Hundred-and-Sixty-Four, when New Amsterdam became New York at the sight of English warships in the Bay, the British began eyeing old Bram's place of comfort, and they wanted it for themselves. Poor Old Bram could only sigh as the city fathers decided to move him yet again, this time to make way for the British Memorial Garden. As a consolation, however, it has been decided to move him to a place of greater prominence, namely City Hall Park, or 'the Commons' as it was known in de Peyster's day. He has taken advantage of the move to go on holiday though, as he currently sits on Randalls Island enjoying a little rest, relaxation, and refurbishment. We look forward to his arrival at City Hall, and hope they give him a good spot. Still one can't help but think he'd prefer to be back in Hanover Square, where he could keep to himself with naught but a few bankers and businessmen to bother him, and he could peacefully watch the old men slipping in and out of India House for luncheon.

Berenice Abbott took this famous photo of de Peyster in Bowling Green.

Who was the old codger, you ask? De Peyster was born in old New Amsterdam, but spent nine years working on the family farm in the old Netherlands. He returned in 1684 to what had already become New York, becoming a loyal British subject and a prominent citizen of the Province. He was of a thriving mercantile clan, and any significant position which existed in the colony, it was more than likely that Abraham de Peyster held it at one time or another. He was an alderman, mayor of the city, colonel of the militia, member of the King's Council (the upper chamber of New York's provincial legislature), and even acting governor at one point. De Peyster was a wealthy man, and founded a New York dynasty. It was his great-great-great grandson, one John Watts de Peyster, who commissioned the statue of the ancient patriarch from the American sculptor George Edwin Bissell. Bissell depicted de Peyster "sporting a lavish cloak, wig, army boots, and sword in hand denoting his political and military roles in the colonial government". De Peyster was quite proud of his swords, leaving his favorite to his eldest son and dividing the rest among his descendants. The de Peysters are still around, actually, though I suppose it depends on your definition of 'around'; I believe they are currently based way down in Palm Beach.

We neglected to mention Prince Andrew's recent visit to New York in commemoration of the anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center. Sixty-seven British subjects died in the September 11, 2001 attacks, and eleven more were non-citizens with British ties. A ceremony was held in Hanover Square, where the British Memorial Garden is being built, followed by a reception at India House, which is located at No. 1 Hanover Square (the brown edifice in the photos above and below).

THIS PAST SATURDAY was the anniversary of the birth of King James II and VII of England and Scotland. The third son of Charles I, he was baptised into the Anglican church six weeks after his birth and was created Duke of York at eleven years of age. In 1660, James married Anne Hyde, the daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, by whom he fathered eight children, though only two survived past childhood. In 1664 the Duke of York equipped an expedition to relieve the Dutch of responsibility for their colonies in North America, and henceforth New Amsterdam and New Netherland were known as New York after their new Lord Proprietor.

A miniature of James, Duke of York, c. 1660.

Sometime during the year 1670 both the Duke and Duchess of York were received into the Catholic Church and stopped attending Anglican services, though the conversion did not become public knowledge until the Test Act (requiring officeholders to receive communion in a Church of England service and take an oath against Transubstantiation) was passed three years later. James was forced to renounce his offices, such as Lord High Admiral of England, though not his titles. At any rate, Anne, the Duchess of York had died in 1671 only a year after her conversion. He married Princess Maria of Modena in 1673.

The Protestant oligarchs felt threatened by the prospect of a Catholic king and thrice tried to pass laws barring James from succeeding to the throne. However his elder brother Charles II, the reigning king, dissolved parliament each time before the bill was to be passed. King Charles II died in February 1685, (having reconciled himself to the Catholic faith before his end) and thus the Duke of York was proclaimed James II of England and VII of Scotland. A private Catholic coronation was held at Whitehall Palace on April 22 before the public coronation the following day on the feast of Saint George, which was performed according to the rites of the Church of England.

James II's seal for use in New York, in which a colonist and a native show their loyalty to the King. James had appointed the Catholic Thomas Dongan, 2nd Earl of Limerick, Governor of New York in 1682.

The Protestant oligarchs' fears that James would end their hegemonic grip on Scotland and England proved well-founded as in 1687 he issued a Declaration of Toleration as King of Scotland, allowing Catholics, Episcopalians, and other non-Presbyterians to hold public office and the right of public worship, and a Declaration of Indulgence as King of England removing the laws penalizing non-attendance or non-communion at Church of England services, permitting non-Anglican worship in private homes or chapels, and abolishing religious oaths for public offices. Furthermore, James had allowed Catholics to hold positions at the University of Oxford for the first time since the Protestant Revolution. More provocatively, he tried to transform Magdalen College Oxford into a Catholic seminary. He had already reckoned with the rebellion of the Duke of Monmouth who proclaimed himself king two years earlier but had been captured, tried, and executed for treason. With the birth of a Catholic son and heir, Prince James Francis Edward, in 1688 a cabal of seven Protestant nobles issued an invitation to William of Orange, the Protestant Stadtholder of the Netherlands. A few months later, William of Orange duly arrived and usurped the throne, having already married James' daughter Mary from his first marriage. The two ruled jointly as William and Mary.

Unwilling to create a popular martyr as had happened with the executed Charles I, William allowed James to escape and fled to France where Louis XIV gave the exiled monarch the use of a palace and an ample pension. James was intent on returning to his birthright, however, and took advantage of the Irish parliament's refusal to recognise William's usurpation of the throne. The King landed in Ireland in March of 1689 at the head of a Franco-Irish army but was defeated by William in the famous Battle of the Boyne in July 1690, and returned to his place of exile in France.

There, Louis allowed him to live in the château of Saint-Germain-en-Laye and offered to get James elected King of Poland but James felt this would prevent any chance of a Stuart again holding the throne of England. From that time onwards, James led a simple life of penance in reparation for his sins (he had had a number of mistresses in his younger days) and finally died in 1701. He was entombed in the Chapel of St. Edmund within the English Benedictine church on the Rue St. Jacques in Paris, while his brain was sent to the Scots College in Rome, his heart to the Visitandine Convent at Chaillot, and his bowels divided between the College of St. Omer (the exiled English Catholic school, now Stonyhurst in Lancashire), and the nearby parish church of St. Germain where they remained until they were desecrated by a Revolutionary mob and lost forever. His monument at Saint-Germain, however, was rediscovered in 1824 and is proudly displayed there to this day. There is also a monument to James and the Stuarts in St. Peter's Basilica in Rome (c.f. Roma - Caput Mundi).

While I am told that Padre Pio asserted that either Edward VII or George V had a deathbed reception into the Church, so far as it historically verifiable James II was the last Catholic king (and as neither Edward nor George reigned over New York, James is even more certifiably so for us). There is a lovely coronation ode to James which I just might bring to your attention someday. But for now, reflect and remember our monarchs of old and pray that God in His mercy might grant us good Catholic rulers in stead of the shabby lot we elect today.

An old Dutch gable complete with old Dutch vrouw gazing miserably from the window. Albany County, New York, 1930's. The form of brick course on the gable is known as 'mouse-tooth' and is found primarily in Holland, East Anglia, and the Hudson Valley of New York, though also here and there in the American South.

Chumley's Launch Party for 'Forgotten New York' Book

AS I GROW more and more cantankerous, my tolerance for evening trips down to Mannahatta declines, but on occasion there's an event which would be a crime to miss. Last Thursday, Dawn Eden and I popped down to Chumley's, the old speakeasy on Bedford Street in the West Village, for the shindig launching Kevin Walsh's brilliant book, Forgotten New York: Views of a Lost Metropolis. (Kevin reports on the party here). I've been following Kevin's Forgotten New York website for years now, and it has earned an unquestionable rank as one of my favorite sites ever (though, shamefully, I've never been on one of his legendary 'Forgottentours'). The author himself was on hand, naturally, and I also enjoyed meeting a number of very kind people who are as fond of Forgotten New York as I am.

The Man of the Hour himself: Kevin Walsh (in glasses).

While Dawn and Kevin are familiar friends (she even gets a mention in the book's acknowledgements), I had never before had the privilege of meeting this great chronicler of quinqueboronian miscellany. He is very much like his website: simple and brilliant. Happily, I got my complementary copy of the book personally inscribed, though I quite presumptuously upbraided him for only mentioning Audubon Terrace in passing (c.f. FNY: 'I Can't Drive 155') while I believe it is worth a Forgotten page of its own. (Naturally, I have a post slowly developing on Audubon Terrace, which I believe is one of the most beautiful public spaces in all New York, as well as one of the most underappreciated).

No, the camera isn't smudged; an angelic haze follows Dawn wherever she goes.

But enough of the fun, how's the book? Well I love it. It's emphasis is on breadth rather than depth, since it'd be impossible to reproduce the entire contents of the encyclopedic website in a mid-sized paperback book. I view the book in two regards: first, as a handy basic guide referencing the variety of forgotten, unnoticed, and underappreciated sites around the Five Boroughs; and second, as a good jump-start companion to the more thoroughly informative website.

Take, for example, the Lent Riker Smith House out in Queens. Browsing through the book we see the entry on the 'Lent Riker Smith Homestead' which gives us two paragraphs of information. Enough to whet the appitite and plant the seed of intrigue, but when we check out the website's entry on the house we get much, much more… and in color, to boot. I hope readers not yet familiar with the website will use the book as a springboard, but I also hope that we will be gifted with updated editions of the book in years to come, with added features.

Buy the book. Aficionados of forgotten-ny.com will appreciate a version of the familiar in dead-tree form, while the uninitiated will find it extremely useful as a foundation for appreciating Gotham's numerous nooks and crannies. Kevin Walsh has done a great service to all those who have a love for the Big Apple.

The Manhattan Muncipal Building (topped by Civic Fame) with the Hall of Records to the left.

Previously: The Old Police Headquarters | The Dewey Arch II | The Governor's Suite, City Hall | New York in the Early Republic | The Great War Victory Arch | More Classical New York | The Dewey Arch | 'New Yorkism' | The Maine Monument | Brooklyn Borough Hall

ONE OF THE finest buildings in all New York is also one of the least-appreciated and most forgotten. The old Police Headquarters at No. 240 Centre Street was built in 1909 on a triangular lot in what was then solidly Little Italy. Arguably, it is today located in the ever-expanding Chinatown, but real estate brokers usually describe its location non-ethnically as Soho, just on the cusp of the area which is increasingly (and most irritatingly) known as NoLIta, 'North of Little Italy'.

From the basement shooting range to the rooftop observation deck, the building was designed in the monumental Beaux-Arts style by the firm of Hoppin & Koen, "to impress both the officer and the prisoner with the majesty of the law." The New York Times wrote that "its grandeur contrasted utterly with the little buildings and crooked streets around it."

The older old Police Headquarters, where reformer Teddy Roosevelt held court as Police Commissioner, was located nearby on Mulberry Street and when the nerve center of the N.Y.P.D. shifted to Centre St. between Broome and Grand, the gun shops, cop saloons, and police reporters followed suit. One restaurant across the street was simply called 'Headquarters'. With its oak bar and ceiling of carved wood, the 'Headquarters' restaurant became a particular favourite among the higher brass of the N.Y.P.D. According to popular lore, a tunnel was actually constructed connecting the restaurant with the actualy Police HQ, in which a number of the Boys in Blue used to enjoy a drink during the trying days of Prohibition.

The view from Cleveland Place.

The design, from the north.

The execution, from the south.

In 1973, the New York Police Department decamped to the brand new 1 Police Plaza, a red-brick modernist box behind the Municipal Building and next to the Church of St. Andrew. The large building then sat empty for a number of years while a series of proposals were mulled over (hotel, cultural center, museum, et cetera). Finally in 1983 the City accepted the proposal of developer Arthur Emil to turn the building into luxury condominiums. The plan agreed to called for fifty-five apartments as well as office space for non-profit organizations. Emil paid the City of New York $4,200,000 for the old Police Headquarters and then proceeded on a $20,000,000 renovation of the building. The grandiose entrance hall was preserved and restored, but most of the interiors, as police offices unamenable to residential use, were scrapped and redone.

This famous photograph of the Old Police Headquarters was taken by Berenice Abbott.

The new apartments featured high ceilings and simple interiors respective of the building's form. One apartment featured a vaulted living room in what was once a basketball court. Especially privileged is the owner of the single apartment at the northern end of the building which has a garden, while another apartment features a terrace overlooking the garden. While none of the units are small, Edward R. Downe (of media group Downe Communications) took one of the larger apartments to house his large collection of twentieth-century American art.

Rather interestingly, during the planning phase of the 1980's renovation it was discovered that the building did not fit the land allotted to it in municipal plans. "We were going to closing and we asked for a survey," Arthur Emil told the Times. "In every single, solitary direction, the building exceeded the lot line, sometimes by several feet." This put the developers in an awkward position. The sale required the preservation of the exterior as is, but the Building Department of the City would not allow a permit for work to begin unless the proposals fit the plans the City had. This would require the developers to push back the façade as much as seven feet on one side, a change which would never get the approval of the Landmarks Preservation Commission. It took a few months for the Catch-22 situation to resolve itself as the City finally decided to grandfather in the building in its current form.

The Old Police Headquarters is unquestionably one of the hidden gems of New York, but I can't help but have mixed feelings towards its current use as luxury residences for movie stars, investment bankers, and fashion designers. My gut instinct tells me it ought to have been preserved as a single unit, and there are any number of uses it could have been put towards (university, library, high school, or perhaps even an archiepiscopal palace). But at the very least its conversion to condominiums preserved the august structure and it still stands there proudly on Centre Street for all Knickerbockers to enjoy, while so many (perhaps even most) of our other monuments of architecture and taste have fallen to the wrecking ball.

More photos after the jump…

I recently stumbled upon this image depicting a militia regiment gathered in front of New York's City Hall. The unit in question is the Jefferson Guards, 38th Regiment, New York State Artillery, amassed in bearskin caps and red-plumed shakos (red being the traditional color of the artillery). I confess I'd never heard of the Jefferson Guards before, but this is not entirely surprising. The Armed Forces of the State of New York – today composed of the New York Army National Guard, the New York Air National Guard, the New York Guard, and the New York Naval Militia – was once composed of a vast array of assorted regiments, battalions, and companies (a quite literal example of the 'little platoons' praised by Burke). These militia companies varied greatly in form, from little more than glorified social clubs to the crack units of the day.

As strange as it may seem, considered as a whole they were an almost completely organic military and, while they would be ill-suited to the armed exigencies of today, I refuse to believe that our little realm is better off for their general disappearance. Certainly the V.C.A. and the Old Guard, among others, survive to this day (in a somewhat different form, naturally), but what of the Empire Light Cavalry and the German Horse Guards? The Ulster Guard, the Weschester Chasseurs, and the New York Highlanders? The gallant Seventh Regiment of New York survived even into the 1990's before its dissolution was ensured by the monotony monitors who now, fifteen years later, seek to destroy the great and blessed monument of an armory on Park Avenue which the Seventh built and guarded for over a century. We mourn their disappearance, just as we detest the continued and increasing disdain for the proud military heritage of the City and State of New York, but the entire culture which created and sustained them is gone, too.

Category: Militaria – New York

THE RECENT PURCHASE for the Neue Galerie of Gustav Klimt's 1907 'Adele Bloch-Bauer I' (above), alledgedly for a record-breaking price of $135,000,000, gives me the perfect opportunity to write a post on the eponymously recent addition to New York's coterie of art museums. Since its 2001 opening, the Neue Galerie has resided in the handsome 1914 beaux-arts mansion on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 86th Street, designed by Carrère and Hastings (of New York Public Library fame) for industrialist William Starr Miller and later inhabited by Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt III. In the time since the construction of No. 1048, the rest of Fifth Avenue has undergone a lamentable transformation from a boulevard of beautiful townhouses and mansions to an avenue predominantly consisting of apartment buildings. While one appreciates the inoffensive design of the pre-war buildings on Fifth, there remain a number of thoroughly opprobrious modern interlopers which offend the graceful avenue. One can't help but pine for Fifth Avenue before the mansions came down, but we can at least give thanks for holdouts like the Neue Galerie.

The Vanderbilts sold the home to the Astors in 1940, and in turn the Astors sold 1048 Fifth Avenue to the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research. Founded in 1925 as the Yidisher Visnshaftlekher Institut in Berlin, the YIVO was responsible for most early orthographic and lexicographic work on the Yiddish language. Though originally based in Vilnius after its foundation in Berlin, the combined Nazi-Soviet invasions of Eastern Europe forced the Institute to flee, centering their operations in New York and Buenos Aires. Much of the YIVO Institute's massive archives was carted to Berlin by the Nazis and managed to survive the war, moving to New York after the end of hostilities. A large portion, however, had lain dormant and forgotten in a Lithuanian records building (a converted Catholic Church, actually) until rediscovered in 1989 and eventually returned to the YIVO in New York.

A reading room in the YIVO Institute, contrast with today's Café Sabarsky.

The YIVO Institute, however, found itself somewhat cash-strapped faced with repatriating the rediscovered Vilnius trove to New York. In response, the Institute sold the air rights to 1048 Fifth to a company which was redeveloping the old Adams Hotel next door at 2 East 86th Street. The President of the Borough of Manhattan then granted the developers' request to redesignate 2 East 86th Street as 1049 Fifth Avenue, adding a chunk of value to the new apartments while infuriating address purists. After cashing in on the unused air rights, YIVO sold 1048 itself and moved to a more capacious abode. The building was bought by Ronald S. Lauder and Serge Sabarsky in 1994, who together conceived the Neue Galerie as a museum for German and Austrian art, almost entirely of the Expressionist school.

With the death of Serge Sabarsky in 1996, Ronald S. Lauder took the helm as the driving force behind the newest addition to Fifth Avenue's Museum Mile. The Neue Galerie hired German-born architect and designer Annabelle Selldorf to redesign the interiors before the opening exhibition in 2001, a task which was accomplished with taste and modernity, while keeping an eye towards preservation. Austrian chef Kurt Gutenbrunner was brought in to run the Café Sabarsky in one of the main rooms on the museum's ground floor. (The less-crowded Café Fledermaus can be found in the basement, with the same menu as upstairs).

Two views of the much-vaunted Café Sabarsky.

The museum wisely admits only three-hundred and fifty viewers at a time, at the price of $15 for adults and $10 for students and the elderly. Normally closed to the general public on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, the management of the Neue Galerie had considered charging $50 per person for semi-private admittance on Wednesdays, but when a maelstrom erupted after the word got out, the plan was quietly placed to the side.

The ground floor of the Neue Galerie.

The first floor.

As with the purchase of Klimt's 'Adele Bloch-Bauer I', which Lauder has described as "Our Mona Lisa", the Neue Gallerie's collection continues to expand, and the institution has quite the prodigious benefactor in Mr. Lauder. We hope, however, that it remains a small museum, on the human scale which makes its home at the corner of Fifth and 86th so appropriate. The building which once housed the wealthy today is home to priceless works of art which, though of foreign origin, New York must be proud to call its own.

The fair-minded, independent observer would look at the figures above and think to himself "Interesting, the proportion of Asian students is on the rise, while that of White, Black, and Hispanic students is generally in decline". However the racialists (I will not use the more loaded term of 'racist', though the meaning is exactly the same) at the New York Times can only see the Black and Hispanic decline, captioning the chart 'The share of black and Hispanic students New York City's three most elite specialized schools has declined'.

And why no chart depicting the racial make-up of the also public selective Hunter College High School? Is it, by some unknown criterion, not in the same league or perhaps the proportion of black and Hispanic students there actually rose? The Times reader is left uninformed as to the greater picture, but suitably inculcated in racialist thinking.

Gothamist's Jen Chung notes the decline is "in spite of the city's best efforts to encourage [Black and Hispanic students] to apply and attend" while City Councilman Robert Jackson ponders ""Is it institutional racism or is it something else?".

Could it perhaps be that the racial makeup of the city's elite public high schools is subject to (quel horreur!) occasional fluctuations? What is the racial makeup of an elite public high school "supposed" to be? Here's a concept worth considering: how about giving the students in selective public high schools the best education on offer and admit students based purely on a meritocratic standard which does not descriminate by sex, race, class, or creed? Just a thought.

ONE OF THE splendid things about New York is that it's a land which continually manages to throw up a surprise or two, even to time-hardened devotées of all things knickerbocker such as yours truly. One of my most recent discoveries is the fabulously haunting and impressive Buffalo State Hospital out in the far west of the Empire State. The magnificent building was built to the design of Henry Hobson Richardson, the progenitor of the eponymous 'Richardsonian Romanesque' style, as one of a series of governmental asylums for the insane founded throughout the nineteenth century. Richardson also did a great deal of work on the Capitol in Albany, designing the south façade which, since the construction of Nelson Rockefeller's Little Brasilia, is now the main façade of the building and was inspired by the Hôtel de Ville in Paris.

Construction on the State Hospital began in 1870, and the central administration block with its two towers and a number of flanking pavilions housing patients were opened in 1880. Interestingly, the towers which so dominate the building are purely decorative and remain unfinished on the interior. The footprint of the building follows the V-shaped Kirkbride plan, conceived by Pennsylvania's Dr. Thomas Story Kirkbride in his 1854 opus, On the Construction, Organization and General Arrangements of Hospitals for the Insane which revolutionized care for the mentally unstable in the nineteenth century. The location was a 100-acre parcel of property near the city of Buffalo, and the grounds were landscaped by Frederick Law Olmsted, who designed Central Park with Calvert Vaux.

The grounds originally included farms which helped to feed the patients and staff, but in the 1920's this land was redeveloped as the Buffalo State College, now the University at Buffalo (State University of New York). The hospital, renamed Buffalo Psychiatric Center, moved out of the Richardsonian complex into a plain, ugly, modern building on the grounds in the 1960's, leaving the beautiful Victorian structure to rot and ruin. However recent efforts by Buffalo and New York state officials have led to the replacement of the roof and other work to ensure the continued integrity of the building. The latest plans would have the building serve an educational function under the auspices of the State University next door, an appropriate purpose for this majestic gem of New York architecture.

Wandering around the merry old world wide web I stumbled upon these stamps, which I bring to you for your own enjoyment. Above we have the Great Metropolis itself, the island of Manhattan in its swankier days. Below we have a view of the Crown of the Hudson, West Point, with the beautiful Cadet Chapel designed by that American Master, Bertram Grosvenor Goodhue himself, presiding over the campus of the United States Military Academy.

The postage stamp was once a thing of beauty and composition, but it's heartening to see that some still design beautiful stamps. Just examine Elliott Banfield's stamp of General Washington, based upon the staute in Union Square. Mr. Banfield believes that the decline in the design of postage stamps is due to a "moral void" most readily shown when the Postal Service unveiled its famous 'Elvis Stamp' a few years back.

"Elvis was important in the popular culture, yes," writes Mr. Banfield. "But how important is the pop culture? Important only to those who can't see anything higher or better. It's scary to think that people like that are in charge of public policy. But they are, and the Elvis stamp proves it."

Hear! Hear!

An irrelevant stamp, after the jump.

25-Year-Old Buys the Salmon Siren of the Upper East Side

AN NYU LAW student of just twenty-five years of age has purchased the majority stake in the New York Observer. Jared Kushner (right), son of the currently jailed big-time donor to the New Jersey Democrats Charles Kushner, bought the biggest-piece-of-the-pie off of publisher Arthur Carter, who founded the insouciant weekly printed on salmon-tinted paper back in 1988. No official word on how much money changed hands during the deal, though the Times cites "one person familiar with details of the sale" claiming the amount was nearly $10 million. Carter will maintain a significant say in the paper's operations, and there are no plans to make any changes to the masthead as of the moment. Earlier in the year Robert de Niro was in talks to buy the Observer through his Tribeca Film Festival operation, but the negotiations fell through.

The Observer, with a small-but-influential circulation of 55,000, has undergone a miniature transformation recently with the hopes of turning around the current losses of about $2 million a year. The most noticeable of these changes came in May when the paper trimmed over an inch in width, moving from six front-page columns to five and giving it a taller, more narrow appearance. While the thinner size saves on rising newsprint costs it also means diminished space for advertising, and the newspaper lost its easy, leisurely feel, also moving from two sections to one. The Observer has also increased the volume of its internet operations on Observer.com, some might say at the expense of the quality of the printed edition. The new owner, however, will take a back seat in the content of the newspaper while concentrating on improving the bottom line, citing the Observer's strong brand despite its current financial woes.

Kushner's father, a well-known New Jersey real estate developer, was sentenced to a jail term last year after being found guilty of tax evasion, and is well-known for a number of other stunts which do not bear repeating on, er, family-friendly sites such as this. The younger Kushner himself has given over $100,000 to various (Democratic) political outfits since 1992, when he was a mere eleven years of age.

I used to read the Observer often (though not regularly) because it had the most style of all the New York newspapers. While its flighty spirit meant it lacked a certain depth, it still had zing and usually at least a handful of interesting articles each week. The quality of the content began slipping, however, and when I came home to New York I bought one copy while waiting for the train in Grand Central, was completely dissatisfied like the new size and feel, and decided to give it up. I will always have a certain fondness for the Observer though; in the age when Gannett-style corporate monotony is king, it has managed to maintain a certain classic swankiness (epitomised in its reporter-and-skyline emblem) and for that we can be grateful.

NEW YORK STATE ELECTIONS 2006

Governor	Lt. Governor	Comptroller	Attn'y General	U.S. Senate
John Faso (Conservative)	C. Scott Vanderhoef (Conservative)	J. Christopher Callaghan (Conservative)	Rachel Treichler (Green)	John Spencer (Conservative)

The Conservative Party line, except for Attorney General; Jeanine Pirro must be stopped! The most important races are for the United States Senate (back native John Spencer to dump the foreigner Hillary) and Governor, the race which determines the party's ballot status. Bill Kauffman says Rachel Treichler is a good localist so she's got my vote (and so should have yours, too!). And naturally, anyone who votes Demoblican or Republicrat is sowing their own perdition.

EDUCATION HAS been one of the long-standing traditions of the Christian faith, as has service, and what better expression of education and service is there than the Catholic military school. La Salle Military Academy in Oakdale, L.I. was just one of these institutions, founded by the de la Salle Christian Brothers in 1883. The school was actually founded here in Westchester as the Westchester Institute, but moved in 1926 to Indian Neck Hall on Long Island, built by F.G. Bourne (whose upsate shack was Singer Castle on Dark Island) and once one of the largest estates on the Island. The main building was a 110-room mansion overlooking Great South Bay, designed by Ernest Flagg who, coincidentally, was responsible much of the Naval Academy at Annapolis including the great chapel containing the tomb of John Paul Jones, sometime admiral of the United States and Imperial Russian navies.

The setting proved attractive to many wealthy Catholic families of New York and New England and elsewhere in the United States, who sent their sons to La Salle. Among its graduates are a number of congressmen, governors, and even a Latin American dictator. However, the popularity of military education waned during the latter half of the twentieth century and, while other northeastern academies like Valley Forge and New York Military Academy managed to stay the course, La Salle had dropped its military ethos in the mid-1990's and lacked a fundamental vision. The school closed in 2001; another name to add to the long list of defunct American military schools and – much like Governors Island and the Seventh Regiment Armory – yet another sign of the fading appreciation for the living military heritage of the Empire State.

Flipping through an old book called 'Magical City: Intimate Sketches of New York', I came upon this sketch of the Gould Boathouse of Columbia University on the Harlem River by Spuyten Duyvil. I had never come across this little building before and had significant doubts as to whether it was still there, but to my pleasant surprise it does. I'm afraid I don't know much about the boathouse nor its history, but here follows a number of photos and images of it, and of various Columbia boathouses of the past.

This calling card of Marshal Ferdinand Foch, Supreme Allied Commander during the First World War, was for sale in November of 2005. The text reads Le Maréchal Foch, Ancien Commandant en Chef des Armées Alliées, remercie le Major E.H. Snyder et la "Old Guard" de la Ville de New York or, in English, "Marshal Foch, Former Commander in Chief of the Allied Armies, thanks Major E.H. Snyder and the Old Guard of the City of New York".

Previously: A New York Funeral | Old Guardsmen | The Old Guard | Grandpa

I PROMISED MYSELF I'd wake up this 4th of July morning and head down to the Battery for the annual Independence Day artillery salute by the Veteran Corps of Artillery. However, the gods of slumber ordained that I remain in bed asleep and so in recompense I thought I'd bring you, dear readers, an informative post about the Corps itself. While this site has featured a fair amount on the Old Guard (c.f. here, here, here, and here) we mustn't let our readers be mistaken that we are somehow ignoring the VCA. After all, the Veteran Corps of Artillery, State of New York, founded in 1790, is more senior to the Old Guard, founded in 1826 (though in fact an amalgamation of the two older militia companies, if I recall correctly). While there is more of the Old Guard available from online research, I am more familiar with the VCA owing to my Uncle Matt's membership thereof. And of course, like the Old Guard, the VCA operates on a seperate ranking structure, so that one could be a Major General in the Army, National Guard, or New York Guard, and yet be a mere private in the Veteran Corps of Artillery.

The VCA was organised on Evacuation Day (November 25) in 1790 at the City Arms tavern by the corner of Broadway and Thames Street, to provide a corps of artillery to guard New York against any potential attempt by Mother Britain to remonstrate her wayward daughter America. The earliest record currently existing of any public display by the Corps dates from Evacuation Day 1793, when a salute was fired to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the evacuation of British forces from New York. The annual Independence Day salute began on the following 4 July 1794, when, as one Captain Chapman of the VCA wrote in 1838, "National Morning Salutes, which have been faithfully and timely performed for the past forty-five years," were made, and which I am happy to report have carried on to the present day.

While the Corps remained mostly ceremonial, worsening relations between Great Britain and the United States eventually led to it being reorganised by Governor Tompkins as a formal corps of artillery in 1809, armed with brass 12-pounder guns. It was then known as the Artillery Corps of Exempts, referring to its members exemption from required militia service in recognition for their service in the Continental Army and being over forty-five years of age. The members served completely voluntarily. At the unfortunate outbreak of open hostilities between Great Britain and the