The Jefferson Market Library

The Jefferson Market Library today.

The Jefferson Market Courthouse and the Women's House of Detention in the '40s.

The 6th Avenue elevated line in front of the courthouse in the '30s.

Walking along lower Sixth Avenue, it's hard to miss the striking Jefferson Market Library and Garden, at the intersection of West 10th Street and 6th Avenue, a masterpiece in architecture built from 1873-7 that has just recently reopened after some renovations inside, but is still covered in scaffolding.  Walking down there to take a few pictures, I saw it was open for business again and took a look around inside.  The building really is a work of art, inside and out, and as I walked up the spiral staircase to the upper floors I saw inscribed on the circular wall quotes about justice and the law written in intricate gothic lettering.  On the upper and ground floors are ornately carved wooden entrances.  What's now the children's book room, with picture books, a group reading area and computers for teens only, were once the police courts where sensational trials of the likes of Henry K. Thaw and Mae West were held in the early twentieth century; Thaw for the murder of his wife's former lover, architect Stanford White, West for obscenity.  In the basement, there are a couple of arched castle-like entranceways to the former civil court, where the adult computers  and periodicals are.  Sherlock Holmes did his research down there in 1971's "They Might Be Giants".

Several merchants' sheds were set up on the land in 1832, along with the Jefferson Market Assembly Rooms that held trials, named for the late President, and, the following year, a large, octagon-shaped wooden fire tower in the center of the triangular plot formed by the intersection of West 10th Street, 6th and Greenwich Avenues.  Remaining for only a few decades, in 1873 new red-brick, richly decorated victorian structures began to be built in it's place, completed in ten years.  Of the nicely matching picturesque group that consisted of a courthouse, jail and merchants' sheds, only the courthouse remains.  The new, imposing tower and surrounding buildings were based on Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria, built for King Ludwig II from 1869 to 1886.  (Only a few blocks away, oddly enough, on the southeast corner of 17th and 7th, directly across from a bank I used to always go to when I worked at Alger, was the last home of Lola Montez, who's catch-phrase inspired the song "Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets".  She was Ludwig II's grandfather's mistress and was once made a countess, but died on that corner in poverty in 1861.)  The old jail was torn down by the end of the 1920s, and with Art Deco masterpieces such as the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings, a new Art Deco-style female prison, the Women's House of Detention, went up in 1932.  Supposedly, it was the only Art Deco prison ever built, and with it's walls and windows close to street level, the female prisoners could easily heckle passers-by.  Ruth E. Collins, the prison's first warden, called the completion of the structure "a new era in penology", and believed firmly in rehabilitation as well as punishment, and treating the women with dignity and as individuals.  She commissioned a number of works of art, most famously Lucienne Blotch's mural "Cycle of a Woman's Life from Childhood to Womanhood".  David Duchovny's directorial and writing debut, House of D, about his childhood growing up in Greenwich Village in the 1970s, is named for the prison and features it prominently.

Despite Collins' philosophy, the prison became notorious in it's final years over allegations of racial discrimination, abuse and mistreatment.  Black activist Angela Davis was outspoken about the cruel treatment she witnessed, and anti-porn feminist Angela Dworkin testified that she was assaulted by two doctors there.

The courthouse had it's last trial in 1945 and sat vacant until the late '60s, when it was slated for demolition, while contractors such as Robert Moses planned to build apartments there.  However, preservationist and Greenwich Village resident Margot Gayle enlisted the help of writer E.E. Cummings and historian Lewis Mumford and successfully persuaded the city to preserve the building and reuse it as a branch of the New York Public Library.

Instead of the courthouse, the prison, along with the famous mural was destroyed in 1974, mainly due to the bad reputation it had gained in its final years.  In its place a peaceful, well-cared-for park and garden was planted by community residents.  With benches, lush grass and healthy trees, it is one of the many intimate escapes that speckle the concrete city.  In 1996, after 135 years, the old bell in the clock tower rang out once again, putting, as the New York Times stated, "the 'Village' back in 'Greenwich Village'."  It rings every hour, on the hour, from 9AM to 9PM.

All in all, it's a relief for guys like me who appreciate the lost art form of a bygone era.  What a shame it would have been if this building had actually been demolished.  I walked around the Village a little more, and then headed home.  With Open House New York in November, I'll definitely get an early start to sign-ups and try to catch a more in-depth tour of this place.

Lucienne Blotch's "Cycle of a Woman's Life from Childhood to Adulthood".

East 1st Street between 2nd Avenue and the Bowery

The Mars Bar building in the 1910s as the Woolworth Theatre.

The new glass box that stands at the Bowery and E. 1st St. today.

A New York Times article from the 1870s.

Mars Bar in June 2011.

Another shot of Mars Bar in its final days.

Extra Place in June 2011, undergoing some renovations

The Mars Bar building sat empty toward the end of Prohibition.

Mars Bar in the '40s as a coffee, tea, and spices shop.

295 Bowery, formerly McGurk's, in it's final days.

The Ramones pose on Extra Place behind CBGB in the early '70s.

Another description of Extra Place from 1952.

A description of Extra Place from 1952.

Extra Place in 1934.

An 1890s map of E. 1st St. includes "Extra Street".

Extra Place in 1978.

Around the Old-New-York-memory-lane-blogosphere these days, there's been a lot of talk about Extra Place and Mars Bar, old-rocker staples that are drastically changing or being torn down all together, years after beloved CBGB's is long gone. In 2005, historic McGurk's Suicide Hall on the Bowery and East 1st Street was demolished amid protest and replaced with a glass box, and now the same is going to happen with to the buildings on East 1st Street and 2nd Avenue. Anyone who wants to have one last beer at the diviest bar in the city, I read that this is the last week to do it.

Looking down East 1st Street from the Bowery in 2002.

Looking down East 1st Street from 2nd Avenue in 2002.

A close up of 291-295 Bowery, demolished in 2005.

No. 295 Bowery went up shortly after the Civil War ended, where it served as a political and social club for the mostly German community that inhabited the Lower East Side at the time. But throughout the latter half of the 19th Century, the Bowery became increasingly seedier. While the more upscale theatre district could be found on West 23rd Street around the Chelsea Hotel, a less desirable row of opera houses and dance halls lined the Bowery, catering to the poorer lower class. Drinking and prostitution were rampant, and it was common to find sailors and longshoremen frequenting the saloons along this thoroughfare. Back-room girls would hang around these places looking for business. John McGurk, an Irish immigrant who owned a number of saloons in the area, all shut down by police by the early 1890s, took over the bar and hotel at 295 Bowery and immediately started having run-ins with the law. He is said to have had the first bouncer in the city, who was regularly taken-in by police for assault. McGurk's quickly gained a reputation as the seediest, most dangerous hang-out in town, which is saying something for the Bowery. The prostitutes who ended up frequenting this place were very much down on their luck. In 1899, there were at least six suicides and seven attempts by back-room girls here. Some jumped out the windows up above while others drank carbolic acid. One story is of two harlots, Blonde Madge Davenport and Big Mame, who had made a pact to end it. They bought carbolic acid from the local drug store, and while Madge drank her share and suffered an agonizing death, Mame accidentally spilled most of it on her face, horribly disfiguring it. Because of this, she was banned from the bar and thrown out on the street, no longer able to do her job. To bank on his bar's morbid reputation, he renamed it "McGurk's Suicide Hall" in 1901. Unable to fight the constant police crackdowns and owing money to several people, he abandoned the place and fled to California a decade later with his wife and daughter. A final blow came shortly before his death when his daughter was denied admission to a convent school out in California when the nuns learned of the girl's father's history in New York.

In Joseph Mitchell's 1941 essay "A Sporting Man", he interviewed Commodore Dutch, a neighborhood eccentric who decades earlier had gotten his start working for McGurk, bringing sailors and longshoremen there on the weekends. In Mae West's 1932 book Diamond Lil, there's a chapter entitled "Suicide Hall", describing the place. In the 1960s, writer and sculpter Kate Millet and photographer and custom furniture maker Sophie Keir worked there. Despite some protest, the building was unable to get landmark recognition due to its unremarkable architecture and unfortunate if not colorful past, and was demolished in 2005. Next month, the remainder of the buildings that originally made up the German theatre and nightlife scene will be razed as well, and sad to say, I'm sure some giant, expensive, glass hotel will go up in it's place just like one did with McGurk's.

I'm a guy who likes an unpretentious, affordable bar just as much as anyone else, but the first time I took a peak inside Mars Bar, it was almost scary. Talk about a bunch of degenerates and druggies. My cousin who works at a hair salon nearby said she dated someone who loved the place, and there would be people passed out on the floor and in the bathroom. That's why some of the locals are glad to see it go. In a recent article I read, some bartenders said that that place took all the drunks who would be rejected any place else, so all they did was cause trouble. But the buildings that opened up as the Volksgarten and the Steuben House in the 1850's have certainly seen a lot. Called the German Assembly Rooms by the late 1800s, they housed saloons, bowling alleys, and ballrooms. Thanks to the Vanishing New York blog, I've found some great pics of the building: one during Prohibition when it was boarded up and available for lease, and another from the 1940s when it was a coffee, tea, and spices shop. It can also be seen in the opening credits of NYPD Blue (for about a second), and I've added a link. Down with it will also go the locksmith shop next store, whose owner I saw the last time I was down there, but unfortunately only saw him in an online magazine article about a week later.

The glass box on the sight of McGurk's is called "Avalon Bowery Place", and their next project is to turn the easily-missed, yet very-old "Extra Place" into the next yuppified strip-mall, filled with over-priced cafes and boutiques. I had ventured down there a couple of times to see some sort of cafe ready and open for business, tables and chairs out side, and a number of twenty-somethings enjoying the closed-off space and fresh air, but other than that, not too much. The last time I was on the block, it was closed off again -- I guess more gentrification is on its way. The alleyway dates back to about 1800, when landowner Philip Minthorne divided his 110-acre farm equally among nine children. The tiny bit of land that remained was called "Extra Place". The great Vanishing New York blog provided a couple of priceless pictures of Extra Place in the '70s, and a long-lost 1952 interview of a man who worked in a garage that was on the corner at the time. He reminisced about a speakeasy that used to be there that he loved to frequent in the '20s. I also found a great shot of the ally in 1934. Extra Place, in what some would call it's heyday, was the back door of the Palace Bar of the Palace Hotel flophouse, which later became Hilly's on the Bowery, which later became CBGB & OMFUG. Country Blue Grass Blues & Other Music For Uplifting Gourmandizers reluctantly started allowing bands like Blondie and the Ramones to play, and became the birthplace of American punk and New York City cutting-edge Rock & Roll. But as we all know now, it was evicted in October 2006, and replaced by a shoe boutique that sells blank t-shirts for $800.

My plan in the next couple of days is to take a walk down to East 1st Street and walk up and down 2nd Avenue to the Bowery one last time, just to soak up the history, and if they'll let me, get one last beer from Mars (now that I know it's safe, haha). I just want to appreciate the old buildings that are left one last time ... and as for the others, I only wish I had explored down there sooner.

Central Park

A security guard company on 42nd Street near 5th Avenue.

Don't waste your money at this place on 42nd and 5th.

For the past three years or so, I've been on the lookout for a new job, trying almost anything. Sending resumes and cover letters online, going to job fairs, calling people, calling my old job, all for naught. Usually, when I get an actual response, it turns out to not quite be a real job ... just a commissions thing, or some kind of pyramid scheme where I would never really make any money, and maybe I'm supposed to pay them about a hundred dollars for "training". Craigslist is full of these listings for security guard jobs -- "Jobs available!", "Hiring Immediately!", "No Experience Necessary!", "Will Train!"

I unfortunately became a victim of this myself back in 2009. Desperate to find a job, I signed up for a three-day class at NYC Trailblazers out in Jamaica, Queens. Pay $320, take this class, and you'll be hired by Monday, they said. They were very accommodating to me, very willing to help me out and get me hired, which most of the time is a dead give-away that they're full of it. Any time a company wants to help somebody off the street because he seems like a good guy, that usually means somewhere along the way they're going to ask you for your money.

So, needless to say, I never got hired, and neither did any of the about thirty other people who signed up for that class. The class had all kinds, young and old, just looking for a decent job ... down on their luck. After I had taken these classes, the instructor proceeded to jerk me around for a while, sending me from one place to another, none of which had any jobs. Instead, I was sent from one agency to another, and each one had a deposit or two. Eighty dollars here, a hundred dollars there.

The last one I went to was on 42nd Street near 5th Avenue, right before Thanksgiving. After sitting there for about an hour, a big burly guy with a badge around his neck took me into his office and kept saying to me, "We're in the middle of a recession, I want to put you to work!" and "You seem like a good guy, I want to help you out! There's an ATM upstairs, go get me ninety dollars!" By the end of meeting, he wanted to take over a thousand bucks from me! Naturally, I didn't have that much money in the bank, or what would I even be doing there? He mentioned that I needed to take such classes as "Handcuffing", and "Homeland Security", and more nonsense like that I can't seem to remember.

These places prey on the poor and unemployed, claiming that the security industry is growing at about 500 percent a day or some absurd amount due to 9/11. This is what they do for a living ... take money from unemployed people? That's pretty low. During these tough economic times, a lot of us in the city are struggling to find work, so I just wanted to put the word out to not take these places seriously, and don't waste your money on them. They prey on the poor and unemployed, and exploit the memory of September 11th.

Securty Guard Jobs in the City

A security guard company on 42nd Street near 5th Avenue.

Don't waste your money at this place on 42nd and 5th.

For the past three years or so, I've been on the lookout for a new job, trying almost anything. Sending resumes and cover letters online, going to job fairs, calling people, calling my old job, all for naught. Usually, when I get an actual response, it turns out to not quite be a real job ... just a commissions thing, or some kind of pyramid scheme where I would never really make any money, and maybe I'm supposed to pay them about a hundred dollars for "training". Craigslist is full of these listings for security guard jobs -- "Jobs available!", "Hiring Immediately!", "No Experience Necessary!", "Will Train!"

I unfortunately became a victim of this myself back in 2009. Desperate to find a job, I signed up for a three-day class at NYC Trailblazers out in Jamaica, Queens. Pay $320, take this class, and you'll be hired by Monday, they said. They were very accommodating to me, very willing to help me out and get me hired, which most of the time is a dead give-away that they're full of it. Any time a company wants to help somebody off the street because he seems like a good guy, that usually means somewhere along the way they're going to ask you for your money.

So, needless to say, I never got hired, and neither did any of the about thirty other people who signed up for that class. The class had all kinds, young and old, just looking for a decent job ... down on their luck. After I had taken these classes, the instructor proceeded to jerk me around for a while, sending me from one place to another, none of which had any jobs. Instead, I was sent from one agency to another, and each one had a deposit or two. Eighty dollars here, a hundred dollars there.

The last one I went to was on 42nd Street near 5th Avenue, right before Thanksgiving. After sitting there for about an hour, a big burly guy with a badge around his neck took me into his office and kept saying to me, "We're in the middle of a recession, I want to put you to work!" and "You seem like a good guy, I want to help you out! There's an ATM upstairs, go get me ninety dollars!" By the end of meeting, he wanted to take over a thousand bucks from me! Naturally, I didn't have that much money in the bank, or what would I even be doing there? He mentioned that I needed to take such classes as "Handcuffing", and "Homeland Security", and more nonsense like that I can't seem to remember.

These places prey on the poor and unemployed, claiming that the security industry is growing at about 500 percent a day or some absurd amount due to 9/11. This is what they do for a living ... take money from unemployed people? That's pretty low. During these tough economic times, a lot of us in the city are struggling to find work, so I just wanted to put the word out to not take these places seriously, and don't waste your money on them. They prey on the poor and unemployed, and exploit the memory of September 11th.

The World Trade Center

The plaque on the Ground Zero cross.

7 World Trade Center being rebuilt.

The Ground Zero cross at St. Peter's Church.

The graveyard at St. Paul's Chapel.

1 World Trade Center being rebuilt. 

Looking down Church Street.

The area in the 1930s was known for it's radio-parts stores.

The twin towers.

This Sunday the twelfth will be one year since I've posted my first blog about the life and times of yours truly living in New York City, and, oddly enough, I've never even mentioned Ground Zero, the site of the city's biggest event, so I thought I'd give it a go. Actually, I think the name "Ground Zero" is practically never used anymore, because it looks like the city's actually making some progress. When I'm down there, its strange to see part of the Freedom Tower for real instead of just in CGI. (Forgive me, nobody is calling it the "Freedom Tower" anymore, either. That was just one of those terms that seemed to stir people's emotions shortly after 9/11, but nobody wants to call the building that FOREVER. World Trade Center 1 is a better fit.) That area remained a giant construction site for years, though. Like so many other places in the city, it was an inconvenient eye sore that stayed put while bureaucracy took over. But this September 11th will be the ten year anniversary, so suddenly everyone's rushing to get at least the memorial finished.

Plans to develop a World Trade Center in New York City were first suggested in the early 1940s, but the city's economic growth was concentrated in Midtown Manhattan, around the city's most striking skyscrapers. But by the early sixties, prominent businessman David Rockefeller suggested a new center in Lower Manhattan to promote urban renewal. Previously, the area had been somewhat neglected. Small antique shops lined the streets, and it was the center of the radio repair trade, with such prominent radio-part businesses as Heins and Bolet. Its hard to believe that there was once a time not too long ago where when you bought something, you kept it for life. That mentality, in a way rather regretfully, seems pretty far removed from how the vast majority of Americans live today. But it's also a result of progress, technology building upon itself at such a rapid rate that most people wonder if they can keep up ... myself included. How about a computer or a phone that doesn't go out of date in a year? I still use my phone to call people and talk to them (what a concept) and I'm sure my computer is a few years out of date but by God it gets the job done! (And by "the job", I mean departing this gem of a blog to you my readers. You're welcome.)

Anyway, I'm rambling. The twin towers, when completed in 1973, were the tallest buildings in the world, and despite their ugliness and plainness that everyone always criticized them for (I would've too if I had even been that aware of the city's landmarks back then), they were a pretty impressive testament to the city's industry. Like everyone else, I remember where I was that morning -- in my college dorm room at New Paltz, and, like most of us, it was the most unreal thing I'd ever witnessed. To this day I sometimes find it kind of absurd that these hijackers actually pulled it off. It also feels good to finally say the U.S. got Bin Laden, but I never would've thought it would take almost ten years.

Anyhow, I took a few pictures and started to take the long walk back up to the Upper East Side. In the quest to lose a few pounds and reacquaint myself with an active lifestyle, I've been trying to take these long walks around the city more. I headed north through the narrow streets of TriBeCa and SoHo, and up toward First Avenue, past Bellevue and the U.N., even briefly running for a block or two. Boy were my dogs barking, but you know me ... eye of the tiger!

Up In the Old Hotel

Graffiti dating back to about 1800 was found in the rooms upstairs.

South Street Seaport Museum's historian Jack Putman exploring upstairs.

Joseph Mitchel returned to the hotel in the '90s.

Louis Morino in the '50s.

A last look at the old hotel along water street.

The former Sloppy Louie's is now a dining room for the Heartland Brewery.

The Brooklyn Bridge from the South Street Seaport.

The front door of what is now a Heartland Brewery Branch.

The boarded up old hotel dates back to 1811.

A sign in the window for Pittsburgh's Iron City beer, a favorite of mine.

A ship sits in the seaport.

The Manhattan Bridge from the South Street Seaport.

I recently finished Joseph Mitchell's acclaimed essay, "Up in the Old Hotel". Written in 1952, it's an account of his many interviews with old friend Louis Morino, the proprietor of Sloppy Louie's, a seafood restaurant at 92 South Street in the heart of the Fulton Fish Market. The building, however, opened up in 1811 as a courting house (I'm not sure what that is), but was converted to an upscale hotel shortly thereafter. Sloppy Louie's, I was surprised to learn, stayed in business as late as 1998, and Sweets Restaurant next door was a city staple from 1847 to 1992. Unfortunately, in the nineties gentrification took over.

Louie always hated the name of his restaurant, but another Italian immigrant who owned the place before him, John Barbagelata, informally called his restaurant "Sloppy John's". The name was so popular with patrons that it carried over, and eventually Louie ordered a big sign with the name, saying that he couldn't beat them, so he joined them.

Mitchell had been going to Sloppy Louie's for years when he started to interview Louie about the building. By the early '50s, Louie had begun to need to expand. Stairs led to the second floor of the building, where he originally kept supplies and where the workers could change, but only an ancient pully-operated elevator led to the floors above. That being a rather unreliable mode of transportation, the floors above were simply neglected for years. Louie told Mitchell that in over twenty years of business, he had never been up there even once.

Louie at first wasn't aware of the rich history of the building his restaurant was in until he was unexpectedly visited by the matriarch of the Schermerhorn family, who arrived out front in a stretch limo to get an update on the condition of the building. The Schermerhorns were a prominent family who owned a number of popular hotels and boarding houses in the 19th century. With the ferry to Brooklyn right there, the old hotel at 92 South Street and others surrounding it became a bustling tourist destination. But over the years, with the building of the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges and the subway system, the area went into decline, and what used to be a fashionable middle-class clientele turned more into a seedier breed of sailors and longshoremen. The nail in the coffin for the area was Prohibition, when the tavern on the ground floor of the building was forced to close.

By the early fifties, Louie and Mitchell had convinced each other to take that old elevator upstairs once and for all, and what they found among the cakes of dust was piles of old hotel furniture which had been sitting in the dark for decades. A sign on the wall read, "THIS READING ROOM WILL BE CLOSED AT 1A.M. FULTON FERRY HOTEL". Another read, "ALL GAMBLING IN THIS READING ROOM STRICTLY PROHIBITED. BY ORDER OF THE PROPRIETORS. FULTON FERRY HOTEL." Some cabinets, bureaus and mirrors were left in place, and around the corner there was a long hall with rows of bedrooms, that contained a couple of old bedframes and coat hangers,

Louie found the whole experience to be rather depressing, and wanted to get out of there, not even bothering to go up to the fourth floor, and so they left, without even bothering to go up again. It wasn't until over forty years later, when Jack Putnam, historian of the newly-opened South Street Seaport Museum, invited Mitchell to explore the floors on the upper level once more. Rarely opened to the public due to its unstable condition, the hundred-plus-year-old furniture, plaster and wallpaper remained virtually intact.

And so I decided to head way downtown to try to find the old hotel for myself. Following the door numbers along South Street, I eventually came across what is now a Heartland Brewery, a chain in the city, with other locations in Union Square and the Empire State Building that makes it's own line of craft beers. I went in, ordered a beer, and began to ask the bartender what he knew about this place. He had never heard of Joseph Mitchell, but he told me that this used to be the North Star Pub, and before that Sweets Restaurant. To my left was a dining room annex that was boarded up when Heartland moved in, but was recently opened to the public. That was once Sloppy Louie's, he told me. Around the corner is an Ann Taylor which also occupies the second floor, and further down the street is the museum. I asked him about the old abandoned hotel, and he said that the top three floors still contain all that old furniture from the nineteenth century, but very rarely is anyone allowed up there. He had never been up there, and neither had anyone he knew.

With that I thanked him for his help and told him I'd see him next time. I've heard that those floors are going to be renovated and opened to the public someday, but so far that isn't happening. Taking one last look, I headed back uptown, leaving behind that relic of a long-gone city.

The Chelsea Hotel

"The Corner" building on 24th and 6th.

The Chelsea Hotel on 23rd between 7th and 8th.

Another shot of the Chelsea Hotel.

Another shot of the Chelsea.

The historic Chelsea Hotel is up for sale again, and since the weather has been so fantastic lately, I decided to take a walk down there recently to take a look at it. In Chelsea you can find a number of great-looking old buildings from the late 19th century, many of which survived from when this area served as the most fashionable part of town. My mother has been reading a book about Robert Mapplethorpe's and Patty Smith's time spent there in the early '70s, when it was home to some of the most creative people staying in New York City.

The Chelsea Hotel was built on West 23rd Street between 7th and 8th Avenues in 1883 as the first co-op apartment building, and was the tallest building in New York City. It remained so for nearly twenty years until the Flatiron Building was completed as the tallest building in the world two-and-a-half blocks south in 1902. Once surrounded by Ladies' Mile and the theatre district, the co-op went bankrupt after only a few years when the city's theaters and shopping centers migrated uptown and the nation suffered a minor (comparatively speaking) recession. Abandoned for a few years, it reopened in 1905 as a hotel. It flourished for a few decades until being bankrupted again by the Great Depression, and in 1939 was purchased by Joseph Gross, David Bard, and Julius Krauss, who managed it as partners until the early '70s. With the passing of Gross and Krauss during this time, the management went to Bard's son, Stanley. In 2007, Stanley Bard was ousted by the board of directors and Dr. Marlene Krause, Julius Krause's daughter, and David Elder, grandson of Joseph Gross, replaced him with the management company BD Hotels, which has since been relinquished from ownership as well.

The hotel has been home to Mark Twain, O. Henry, William S. Burroughs, Leonard Cohen, Gore Vidal, Arthur Miller, Quentin Crisp, Tennessee Williams, Allen Ginsberg, Brendan Behan, Thomas Wolfe, Stanley, Kubric, Ethan Hawke, Dennis Hopper, Uma Thurman, Michael Imperioli, Jane Fonda, The Grateful Dead, Iggy Pop, Tom Waits, Janis Joplin, Rufus Wainwright and countless others. Charles R. Jackson, author of The Lost Weekend, about an alcoholic who frequents P.J. Clarke's on 55th and 3rd, committed suicide in his room in 1968. Dylan Thomas collapsed in his room here after drinking too much at the Whitehorse Tavern on Hudson and West 11th Streets. Jack Kerouac wrote On The Road while staying here. Sex Pistols bassist Sid Vicious allegedly murdered girlfriend Nancy Spungen here in 1978, but many believe someone else killed her, such as one of the two drug dealers who visited their room that night.

Artists such as Julian Schnabel, Jasper Johns, and Andy Warhol lived here, and as I walked in the lobby I saw that it was adorned with some pretty crazy-looking art. I particularly remember the giant horse-head painting that was to my left. This hotel became a safe-haven for artist and the like who didn't seem to fit into the mainstream. Fans of the hotel have always praised it for it's inclusiveness, and some feel it is the last remnant of a once bohemian city. Many people who lived and hung out here long to keep its artistic tradition alive, and hopefully whoever buys the hotel next will respect this.

I walked around the neighborhood a little more on that Sunday evening, taking in what the neighborhood has become, and what it used to be that all these New York City bloggers wistfully reminisce about. "Billy's Topless" on 24th and 6th was shut down by Giullianni ten years ago this month, and has been a a cafe for a long time now. The "Limelight Disco" on 20th and 6th is now the "Limelight Marketplace" and just about a month ago has started selling Grimaldi's pizza. Of course not that these changes are all bad (anyone who longs for the old city has to admit that Billy's Topless and the Limelight weren't the most wholesome places in the world), but, as usual, it's all about making a buck, and the common New Yorker gets left behind. The Jefferson Market Library on 10th and 6th is locked up for some reason (hopefully not for good). I'm assuming it's just for renovations. The sign on the door directs people to go the the Muhlenberg branch near the Chelsea Hotel, named for William Augustus Muhlenberg, the first pastor of the Limelight when it opened up as the Church of the Holy Communion in 1846. When he donated his collection of books it became the core of that library. Anyway, my dogs were barking by the end of the night, so it was time to head on home until my next rambling.