In some respects, Harlem is like a fly in amber Row after row of handsome, sturdy buildings with architectural details. A few decades ago, all of Manhattan looked like this. Then"progress" came and the bulk of these buildings were bulldozed and replaced with the blandness of luxury high-rise condominiums. That process is starting here too but it will take time for these buildings to be obliterated.
A lot of Manhattan life revolved around the stoops. In the pre-air conditioning days, people would gather on the stoops to escape the opressive heat, watch the kids playing stickball and gossip with neighbors and the mailman. Visiting salesmen like the Fuller brushman, the Good Humor ice cream salesman, etc., were seized on with avidity. The airshaft in the tenement buildings was used in a similar way to socialize, as was documented in the early 1950's TV show, The Molly Goldberg Show. As I remember, the show began with Molly calling "Yoo Hoo" into the shaft, hoping to entice some neighbor into gossiping.
My son Andrew informs me that the old stoop culture is not quite dead. He told me that several months ago, he encountered a neighbor he had known for 10 years, sitting on the stoop and smoking. He asked her how her foot was (she had had surgery several months before)? As they were talking, people who were about to enter or leave the building joined in on the conversation until, 30 minutes later, a sizable knot of people had gathered in front of the building, actively talking. The stoop culture does not survive the transition to the suburbs but is one of the delights of life in New York.
Crowds of people, mostly white, were gathering in the 12 degree cold with high winds. I was wondering what was going on? A cop told me that Senator Clinton was due to speak at a church. I marveled that these people were willing to endure this bestial cold for someone like Hillary Clinton.
I passed a building that from a distance looked like the biggest White Castle hamburger joint I had ever seen. It turned out to be a church. A dissappointment. I would rather have had a White Castle hamburger at that point. At some future point, I will take pictures of the White Castle in Passaic NJ. This White Castle was a focal point of our suburban teenage years as we raced our cars to see who could get there first. Most of us did not have cars, so a whole crowd would pile into the trunk of Bob Whalen's 1947 Plymouth businessmans coupe. While speeding along the highway, we would open the trunk from inside and make obscene gestures at the traffic following. Allan Hoch loved to stick his naked ass out the window, mooning the population. Yessir, I have sentimental memories of White Castle. The food, of course, is crap.
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