Mid-Manhattan Library

I hate to say it but the sports pages, I generally don’t read them. I like to watch sports but often the columns talk about sports in a way that makes it hard for me to understand. I often don’t know who they are talking about or I don’t know enough about sports so that a writer’s discussion of the minutia of a game will be completely over my head. Hence, this is the reason why I stay away from the reading the sports pages.

The writing of George Vecsey is something different. I am not sure exactly when I began reading Vecsey’s columns but I remember the first time, thinking what I had just read was a fluke. Then I began to look for his columns because I enjoyed them so much. I did not have to know all the ins and outs of the game to understand his columns; in fact I did not have to know anything about sports at all. The subject of sports for George Vecsey seems to simply be a vehicle for him to tell a greater story, the story people and human interaction. The playing of sports provides a superb stage for the examination of the human spirit.

There is no place better to find the best and worst qualities of people than on a sports field, be it on the 26 mile course of the New York City Marathon or daily grind of the Tour de France. George Vecsey eloquently reveals the human side behind the Adonis like athletes, like he did in his Sept 24 article “The ‘Other’ Armstrong is Bowing Out of Cycling in Style,” about cycling champion Kristen Amrstrong. He also brings the people behind the big names to life, like he recently did for his Oct 22 titled “Sympathy for the Umpires.” The crux of the article is we are all human and sometimes some of us have to pay more dearly for our mistakes than the rest of us. Vecsey’s seems to say love the sport for its human qualities and give a guy a break who usually does a damn good job is what I got from that wonderful article.

Please join us at the Mid-Manhattan Library on Wednesday Nov 18 at 6:30 PM on the 6th floor to listen to Mr. Vecsey talk about his work.

The largest cultural institutions of New York City like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, The American Museum of Natural History and New York Public Library, were established in the latter half of the 19th century and the early part of the 20th century. There was a major push among the wealthiest Americans to establish a cultural identity of our own. We were a young country, bereft of the cultural lineage that existed in Europe. Despite America’s youth we showed ourselves to be a vast country, devoted to the dollar, with seemingly room for little else. But men, like J.P. Morgan understood that life void of education and culture was a life not worth living. A balance must be met, to soften the edge of a hard capitalist society. Despite the controversy surrounding Morgan in regards to how he conducted himself in business, the fact remains that we owe much to him and others like him who bestowed great wealth on institutions, whose sole purpose was to enrich the lives of everyone and that tenet still holds today.

A number of years ago while in graduate school, I took part in a private tour of the Morgan Library. While we sat in Morgan's sumptuous jewel toned library, replete with priceless volumes from the 16th century to the 20th century, the speaker encouraged us to read Morgan: An American Financier by Jean Strouse. He described the book as the definitive biography of J. P. Morgan. At the conclusion of the tour, my mind a swirl in the world of J.P. Morgan, I made a mental note to myself to read Strouse’s lengthy tome. A few years later, I did.

After reading Strouse’s biography of Morgan, much impressed me about the man: his power, vision and his philanthropy. During the bridge years between the 19th and 20th century, tremendous energy was devoted to giving on a truly monumental scale. Morgan took the lead in giving among his peers. He perhaps more than any other of his colleagues combed the world over for treasures to fill the museums he was establishing back in America. With the steady intelligent eye of Bella de Costa Greene by his side, Morgan created a grand and lasting legacy. Every time I enter the Morgan Library or the Metropolitan Museum, I bow my head in thanks.

Please join Jean Strouse as she examines J.P. Morgan’s legacy in the arts on Wednesday, Oct. 28 @ 6:30 @ the Mid-Manhattan Library

Images of the Morgan Library courtesy of the Morgan Library
http://www.themorgan.org/about/historyMore.asp?id=11

Image of the Metropolitan Museum courtesy of: http://www.nyc-architecture.com/UES/UES074.htm

The commercial strips of the neighborhoods of New York City are the lifeblood of the community and city at large. It is where the action is. People shop, stroll, and mingle on the street. In warm weather men often pull up chairs, to discuss the day’s events in front of their local barbershop, with the twirling barbershop poll acting as a beacon in the background. While bodegas with their blinking colored signs often seem to host a never ending domino game in front of their storefronts. And corner candy stores are magnates for youngsters, tossing balls or cruising on skateboards. Teenage hoods hang out too but at curbside with cigarettes in their mouths. The commercial strips of the neighborhood of the city are a microcosm of the city itself. You can feel the life and energy in front of many storefronts. The social community that is organized around the business district help gauge the health of the neighborhood. Commercial strips are fluid entities and change like a river. In one generation the street may be lined with mom and pop businesses: a bread store, dry cleaner and an Italian deli with meats hanging in the window, while in latter generations the street may change many times over. In Park Slope, where I live, I have witnessed one storefront after another close, because the next generation did not want to continue in the family business.

In the time that I have lived in my neighborhood, I have seen the closing of many storefronts. Some close up shop because storeowners want to make a big buck as developers greedily eye the strip and think of tearing down and building anew, while others can’t bear the thought of having an outsider running their business, choosing instead to shut down their business that was instrumental in supporting their family. Remnants of the old sign of the business are often buried under the new signage, sometimes it is visible: a shadow on the wall where the letters were once placed or painted words that peak out from under the new sign and sometimes you can even see hints of where the neon tubing was attached. Or in the case of Garry Jewelers on 5th Ave, in my neighborhood, it is the name Garry in a smooth mosaic tile on the ground, at the entryway. The neon of Garry Jewelers is still there, but now it is always dark and it is only a matter of time until this beautiful sign, established in 1951, finds its way to the junk heap.

Please join the authors of Store Front James T & Karla L. Murray as they present a slide lecture on the Disappearing Store Fronts of New York City on Monday, Oct 26th at 6:30 PM on the 6th floor of the Mid-Manhattan Library.

Images from: http://www.jamesandkarlamurray.com/JamesandKarlaMurraySTOREFRONT.html

In the Rossville section of Staten Island there is a small little graveyard. It is hidden away, on the side of a two-lane road. This tiny graveyard seems out of place in an area that is dotted with light industry and that’s about it. The smattering of houses that probably once existed, as well as a store or two are long gone. Perhaps there was a ferry crossing here and a depot too, but whatever was here long ago is only represented by an early 19th century graveyard. The graveyard sits on a bit of land that is on the water, near the infamous Tugboat Graveyard. Stone stairs lead to a shaded spot, where the overhang of the trees acts as a natural screen, blocking any view from the street. No one has stopped by this graveyard in a long time. Maybe a dozen grave markers rest on either side of an overgrown path. Some gravestones are in very good condition, made of stone that has withstood nature’s natural erosion process. Other markers are in much poorer condition, almost bare with only a hint of letters on the face of the marker. The stone of these naked markers is sparkly with crystals and when you touch them, the crystalline grains of stone come right off in your hand. Sadly some markers sit in heaps of thin sheets of shirred brown stone on the ground. It has been years since anyone has taken care of this graveyard. At one time this was a visited place. People whose lives were taken from them while they were in their prime are buried here: children and men and women of varying ages, many quite young. These beautifully carved stones may have been the only relic remaining to give solace to the living for their loved ones who are buried at this graveyard.

At the time these stones were made, they were carved by hand. Chisels and mallets carved sinuous lines into the hard stone. No computer driven machine wrote the tender missive underneath the name and date of death on one stone. The elegant decorative design that is at the top of another marker was carved by a caring hand. Men with tremendous skill, cut into the hard stone in such a way that makes the letters look light, even ethereal. Some stones show a combination of writing styles. Script with arabesques may be followed by a heavily stylized letter design, and then followed by yet another style. The letters rest on an invisible line of unbelievable straightness. The beauty of these stones is the result of dedicated training, strong hands, simple stone carving tools and an intuitive design sense.

Please join us on Tuesday October 20th at 6:30 PM when Mid-Manhattan Library will be presenting New York’s Early Gravestone Imagery: The Artisans of the 18th Century Memorials in the Metropolitan Area with guest speaker John Zielenski.

Photographs courtesy of Peter and Genevieve:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/peteandgenevieve/3645700576/in/set-72157619...

Almost 30 years ago, my husband and I stood on a corner in Brooklyn, to watch the New York City Marathon. We were essentially alone watching the runners on that cool fall day so long ago. We watched, as a trickle of runners became thousands of runners, coursing through the streets of New York City, eventually to the large fanfare that would greet them in Manhattan along 1st Ave, Central Park South and in Central Park itself at the finish line.

Since that day, I have watched a lot of NYC marathons. I live on a street that is steps away from 4th Ave, the long stretch the runners hit as they come off the Verrazano’s Bridge. I leave my house early, grab a spot next to a traffic light on my corner, I place a step stool at the base. I bring a warm drink and I sit on the stool and wait. It will be hours before the main body of runners come. I cheer and clap as the early starters pass my spot. Sporadically, a few at a time come by, often with guides by their sides. I think about the commitment it takes to undertake such a feat. Soon my corner where I have set myself up becomes incredibly crowded. Police try to hold back the crowd, as spectators lean out far into the street to catch a glimpse. I now stand on my stool and over the heads of others; I can watch the mass of runners pour down the avenue better than anyone else. I scream, clap and shout the runners names who have them affixed to their jerseys. I become overcome with emotion and sometimes my eyes tear up. The sea of bobbing bodies that is the New York City Marathon, is my favorite event of the year.

What draws me to watch the NYC marathon year after year is the simplicity of the event. It is a footrace where runners take to the streets of New York, running an incredible distance, touching a foot in each of the boroughs to complete the race in the fastest time possible. On the surface that’s all there is to it and it’s free to watch. But it is the stark reality of a 26 mile race juxtaposed against the stories of each and every runner: from the elite runners to the everyday runners, some of whom just might be your neighbors, which make marathon watching such a pleasure. I often wonder what it would be like to inch my way forward to a finish line I could not even see, even if all 26 miles were laid out in a straight line right in front of me. Roughly 30 thousand runners from all over the world take part in the race every year. And every year I marvel at the beauty of the mass of runners as they come barreling down past my lamppost where I stand atop my stool. Arms raised, hands waving, I scream at the runners to forge ahead to the end and with joyful eyes and sometimes with shouts of enthusiasm of their own, the runners answer back and in an instant a bond is formed. On that day a part of them is in me and I in them, as I cheer to heavens “COME ON RUNNERS…YOU CAN DO IT….RUN, RUN, RUN…YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!!!!”

Liz Robbins, author A Race Like No Other, presented a program on the New York City Marathon at the Mid-Manhattan Library on Tuesday October 13th. Liz revealed that the reason why the New York City Marathon is so successful and different from any other marathon is that the race is in the streets of New York, a city of people. Two million race watchers line the street to watch the runners. And runners will testify to what a joy and pleasure it is to run through the neighborhoods, with people cheering, handing out water and marching bands playing music for them. The runners feed off the good energy of the spectators. And there is no race in the world that best does this than the New York City Marathon. During the program Liz asked some of the audience members who had ran the marathon before to talk about what it is like to run this race. Feelings of joy, accomplishment and camaraderie were touched up, as well as debilitating pain. What I found interesting is some participants in the audience did not consider themselves athletes. They took up running late in life, though now they are committed runners, with some having run in hundreds of marathons already.

Lisa Peterson-de Cueva attended Tuesday night's program and posted about the event on her blog.

Then you are in luck!

The Mid-Manhattan Library has expanded its hours and we are celebrating by sharing donuts and coffee from Tim Horton's with everyone who comes by today! Also, stop in at 8 p.m. for a live music performance by the Bushwick Book Club, a group of songwriters who take their inspiration from literary works.

Mid-Manhattan's New Hours:
Monday - Thursday, 8 a.m. to 11 p.m.
Friday, 8 a.m. - 8 p.m.
Saturday & Sunday, 10 a.m. - 6 p.m.

Many of New York Public Library's branches are expanded their hours to keep services available for people on a variety of schedules. Check out the press release here.

Today's big news around the Library? Our newly expanded hours at a number of locations across the city, including my own home base, the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building, and the Mid-Manhattan Library right across the street. (Check out this announcement for all of the details.)

What does this mean for curious crafters? If your craft inclinations lean to the vintage and historic, then you are in luck, because the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building, with its rich research collections of vintage knitting, sewing, and handicraft books and magazines, is expanding its hours. You'll have more time to find the perfect pattern, picture, or information to inspire you in your work.

And if you like to browse through new craft books, then head to the Mid-Manhattan Library. There, you now have hours and hours in the evenings to browse through the craft books and select the ones that you want to borrow. This location's a great source for all sorts of new handicraft titles. And today it's also a great source for free doughnuts, too! The Cover-to-Cover Cafe, a pop-up snack spot there, is giving out free and fortifying Tim Horton treats until 11:00pm tonight.

So grab a doughnut and hit the stacks, crafters!

I am embarrassed to say but up until a week ago, I had never read The Great Gatsby. I had never been assigned to read it in school and frankly over the years I never wanted to read it. I actually had developed an aversion of sorts to the book. This was founded on nothing more than air. Seems strange but I can develop an instant dislike to anything based on nothing and unfortunately have it flavor my feelings for a book and for that matter, a movie, type of cuisine, a neighborhood and finally something as innocent as a public beach, sadly almost anything.

Fortunately no one ever as asked me about the book and so I did not have to reveal my completely unfounded, unintelligent, biased opinion about a book I never read. Until that is my boss at the time Rene Kotler made reference to The Great Gatsby when we were in conversation. She then looked to me for a response and I had to admit that I never read the book. Rene looked at me sideways and said “You have never read The Great Gatsby?!?!” I could feel my cheeks turn red and I made a lame excuse and then boldly told her I actually had no interest in ever reading it. Incredulous and shocked, she shook her head. She then went into an emphatic defense of why the book is so good and should be read by me, “It is really a love story more than anything else, a truly passionate love story… you would love it. Trust me you will.” That was in the summer of 08 and I thought a bit about The Great Gatsby after our talk and put it in on my mental list of books I would read one day. However, I still had an uneasy feeling about the book despite the glowing recommendation of Rene, a woman I like and respect. One year later I still had not read The Great Gatsby but it was on my mental list. It was July and I happen to be in the car driving to the Rockaways to spend a glorious day at the beach. It was a Saturday morning around 10:00 and I was listening to WNYC. The radio show about to begin was NPR’s Studio 360 and on that day the show was to be devoted to F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. When I heard this, I turned the volume up a bit more, ready and interested to listen. It was a wonderful broadcast. On one of the segments, writer Jonathan Franzen was interviewed about his feelings on The Great Gatsby. It was at this point that all the bad feelings I had about the book went away. The entire show was very good but it was Franzen’s remarks about The Great Gatsby that singlehandedly changed my feelings about this American classic. After listening to the show, I knew shortly I would be reading The Great Gatsby.

Now it is September and I have just finished the book. After hearing The Great Gatsby broadcast on Studio 360, I knew that I was in store for a treat. From the very first page, I was pulled into the book. The story is a good one, but more importantly it is Fitzgerald’s deft command of the written word to tell the story that is dazzling. The writing is so powerfully good. In some passages it is one phrase after another, a confluence of words and rhythm, creating a lexiconal beauty that is magical to experience, as line after line unfolds before your eyes. Some passages warrant a re-reading because the language is so tight, poignant and light, almost ethereal. The Great Gatsby was far greater than I ever could have imagined.

Below is one passage that made me pause…

“He smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in a life. It faced—or seemed to face—the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as much as you would like to believe in yourself and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.” (from chapt.3)

It is odd that I was able to miss out on reading The Great Gatsby all these years. It was simply chance. Honestly though had I been assigned to read it in high school or college, I think I might have liked the book, but not fell in love with it the way I have now, after just reading it. There are many things I would have missed: the nuances, the imagery and the shifts in tone, the wonderful construction and the important social history displayed within the pages. Had I read it many, many years ago The Great Gatsby may have just been a good book and nothing more to me and that would have been a crime. I am actually thankful that somehow I missed out on this American masterpiece all these years until now. I actually feel fortunate to have read The Great Gatsby at this point in my life, many years later than most have read it.

Now when someone makes reference to The Great Gatsby and looks to me for a response, I will be able to add my two cents based proudly on the fact that I have actually read the book.

And another beautiful passage...

“…Out of the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalk really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees---he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder.” (from chapt. 6)

While looking through the "Personalities" reference files in the Picture Collection, I happened across this official portrait of a proud, confident man in a tightly-buttoned uniform with waist sash and epaulettes.

Portrait of Francisco Solano Lopez, President of Paraguay (Born 1827-Elected president 1862-Died 1870). From the French magazine "L'Illustration", November 29th, 1862.

This sort of uniform, along with the feather-decorated cocked hat that went with it, was very much the norm in its day, but now evokes thoughts of Ruritanian romances and comic operas. The portrait was of Francisco Solano Lopez, the president of the South American republic of Paraguay from 1862 until 1870. He was the dictator of his nation during the War of the Triple Alliance (1864-1870), during which his country's small army fought, and was eventually defeated by, the combined forces of Argentina, Brazil and Uruguay in a war which bankrupted his homeland and left most of its male population dead or wounded.

I remembered being fascinated by this war as an undergraduate in college. The bloodiest conflict in South American history ostensibly began as a dispute over navigation rights on the Rio de la Plata, but was also fueled by issues of national pride which contributed greatly to keeping it going for six years. Large battles were fought by men in colorful Victorian-era uniforms using the strategies and tactics of the Napoleonic wars, featuring infantry delivering massed volleys of rifle fire, cavalry charging with drawn sabers, and barrages from horse-drawn artillery pieces. More terrible fighting ensued during the storming of forts and networks of trenches. Naval engagements took place on rivers as ships fought one another while dueling with fortifications on river banks and trying to pass huge chains stretched across the waterways. (Picture Collection has copies of a series of official paintings from the Brazilian navy depicting some of these battles.) The desperate bravery of the soldiers and sailors combined with the ferocity of the close-quarters fighting to produce horrific casualties, only made worse by the appallingly primitive state of military medicine at the time (think of Civil War doctors sawing off limbs without anesthesia).

Bird's-eye view from a balloon of the defenses of Humaita, the Paraguayan fortress guarding the water approaches to their capital of Asuncion. Here were fortifications and army camps along the banks of the river as well as several gigantic iron chains stretched across it to prevent the passage of enemy ships. Humaita served as Lopez's headquarters in the field as well as a sort of unofficial capital during parts of the war. From the American magazine "Harper's Weekly", May 9th, 1868.

Thousands of families across a continent learned of the death or maiming of their men. After initial victories, Lopez's army was eroded in battle after battle, and his small nation suffered the agonies of pillage, starvation and refugees driven from their homes. Finally Lopez, fleeing into the hinterlands with his government ministers and the remnants of his army, as well as his Irish-born wife Eliza Lynch (whom some blame for inflaming Lopez's ego to the point where he started the war), was killed by a lance carried by a Brazilian cavalryman while trying to cross a river. Like many dictators, opinions on the legacy of Francisco Solano Lopez are profoundly mixed, largely depending on the nationality of the person passing judgment on him. To historians writing in the nations which fought against Paraguay, he is seen as the quintessential jumped-up, "tin pot" tyrant, leading his doomed country into a battle it could not win for the sake of his own ego. But to many Paraguayans, he was a brave nationalist, standing up for the rights of a small state against the overweening sway of its larger neighbors.

Thinking about Lopez's image, I started wondering about how any great man or woman's persona is demonized or burnished in remembrance with the passing years. Looking at Francisco Solano Lopez staring from the piece of hundred-and-fifty-year-old paper in my hand, I can imagine someone like Robert E. Lee chivalrously seeing himself defending a lost cause, or a Pol Pot driven to reshape his nation to an idea of greatness even if it must be broken or perish outright in the process. I looked away from the picture and, for a brief moment, imagined the person in the engraving standing on a balcony, watching his army march by to the music of a band and the "Viva!"s of a cheering crowd.

There are two recent, rather episodic and impressionistic novels which attempt to give a sense of Lopez, his nation and his war. They're worth reading in parallel, comparing how they describe the same incidents. They are "The News From Paraguay" by Lily Tuck, and "The Pleasure of Eliza Lynch" by Anne Enright.

This is one of my favorite images from the million and a half items held by the NYPL’s Picture Collection. Of course, I haven’t seen them all, and if you ask my co-workers they’ll tell you that I usually work with pictures about ships, airplanes, battles and weird animals like bats, insects and snakes. But this image really stirs me. Every few months I take it from its folder (labeled FAMILY LIFE – 1950s) and revisit it to remind me of the evocative power of art from another time. This picture stands for all the reasons we save it and other pictures for the public to use and enjoy.

It’s an illustration from an elementary school level reading book, and it shows a family getting ready to leave after a visit to relatives on a farm. It’s dated 1951, but still has a strong late-40’s feel, especially in the car with its small-windowed, round-fendered “roadster” look so unlike the plumper, chrome-adorned autos we associate with the Eisenhower era and which turned into the big-finned “land yachts” of the Kennedy years. Look how the artist has captured the behavior of the animals: the dog pulls back from the baby’s outthrust hand, while the cat leans into the ear-scratching given by the little girl. A chicken comes running to see what all the fuss is about. Father is opening the trunk of the car. He has his jacket and hat ready to go with those suit pants because, even though he may have gone around with his tie off and top button of his shirt undone, he’s going back the city now, and men have to dress for this. The young boy wears a straw hat as a memento, but his Mom has a hat and high heels. Grandpa (in overalls) and Grandma (in her apron) are bringing a farewell gift of fresh vegetables and eggs to take back to the suburbs.

Yes, it’s idealized, and even a little corny (no pun intended!), but it speaks to me in so many ways. I love the trim neatness of the farm buildings against the blue sky. I feel the undertones of modest prosperity and the strength of family ties. I’m reminded that there’s a whole country beyond the borders of New York City, with real people whose work feeds us all, and whom we often dismiss from our lofty urban perch. It all makes me try to imagine the classrooms where this book would have been used. What did the kids there do after school? Where did their parents work, and what did they watch on TV? It’s almost too clean and perfect, and all the faces are white.

It’s very much a product of its era, and I know this. But it still suggests how America wanted to see itself at the time it was made. To me, it’s as evocative of its era as anything by a Greek black-figure vase painter, Breugel or David Hockney. It’s an America I just missed seeing, and perhaps that’s why it appeals to me so strongly.

I am from Detroit and I don’t remember noting the ethnic background of anyone while growing up. In Detroit we seemed to organize ourselves by way of race not ethnicity, you were either black or white. The food had more distinction of ethnicity than the people responsible for making it. For the time we lived in Detroit, it seemed like it was the center of the world. My folks, really my mother, would travel all over the city to get her taste of food she craved. Years after the riots in 68, when our family followed white flight, just like everyone else, my mom would say “hop in the car Cyn, lets go to Etta’s Shrimp Shack” or someplace else. She and I would drive into Detroit via the expressway, get off at the desired exit and travel a few miles. We would come up to Etta’s a take-out shop. The place would be packed with cars. I would wait behind the wheel and in my mom would go, a short time later she would appear with a bag of good smelling food. Sometimes it would be barbeque, but it would always be shrimp, my personal favorite. The order would be accompanied with tasty side dishes like greens flavored with pork and flavorful black-eyed peas. For dessert, my mother would order the rhubarb pie too. Too tart for me but she and my dad loved it.

For many years, that type of food, what I came to know as soul food vanished from my life. I went to college and there seemed to be very few African Americans on the western side of Michigan. Eventually I moved back to Detroit and then to New York City. Once in New York, Harlem was close by and when the urge hit, my husband I would be on the train. I was happy with the nameless spot that had the mouth watering menu in the window and I was never disappointed. Now it seems you can find soul food or a variation of soul and southern cooking in any of the boroughs. Likewise barbeque is everywhere. In the last twenty years there has been a hybridization of food styles, though the roots clearly are southern or what I would call soul food, like what I had in Detroit.

Fortunately in New York City we reap the benefits of this food revolution. Greens smothered in flavorful bacon fat (lardon or pancetta) are an offering on any number of menus in French restaurants to eclectic dining spots all over the city. Where race seemed to clearly divide us not that long ago, it’s food with its many offerings that seems to be bringing us back together.

Frederick Douglas Opie will be discussing his book Hog and Hominy: Soul Food from Africa to America at the Mid-Manhattan Library this evening at 6:30 PM.

In the next coming weeks I will be hosting a series of programs on the subject of NYC sanitation. Below is a post devoted to the first program Gotham and Its Garbage: A History of Public Waste, Public Health and the Department of Sanitation. A Slide Lecture with Robin Nagle Ph.D.

No matter where you live or what your economic status is, in New York City garbage is your neighbor. You may live in a penthouse apartment and never actually touch the garbage yourself, but chances are you pass it all the time on the street. If you do live on a high floor, in a full service building, on garbage days you will undoubtedly notice a mound of filled fat black garbage bags piled high and long on the sidewalk curb, outside your building. When you have lunch at your favorite café, you may notice that the outdoor seating is beautiful but just beyond the greenery is a mound of black garbage bags. Everyone everywhere in New York City has an intimate knowledge of the garbage that is piled on any given block or corner on any given day. Like any disgusting entity, we choose to ignore what is a necessity and obvious nuisance rather than adequately address it. Not that any one of us could actually do anything to help change the way we process our trash. Because of this, we have an uneasy arrangement of being silent and patient, as the trash is picked up and hauled away. At the same time, we seethe with anxiety until the streets are empty of the big black bags that line the sidewalk at least twice a week, in front of where we live. For homeowners, it is hoped that no animal will tear into the bags for the chicken carcass resting inside or that a bottle collector will not aggressively rip through the plastic to get to a redeemable bottle, clearly visible through the blue plastic bag.

We live in probably the greatest garbage producing city in the world, with tons of trash being collected daily. Garbage collection has had an interesting history in New York City from swine roaming the streets as the first street sweepers, to white coated men who swept the street in the 19th century into the 20th century, to incinerators and transfer stations of present day and a host of recycling attempts. Early on in NYC’s sanitation history, garbage was transported to the piers of lower Manhattan, piled high into big barges and then brought out to sea and dumped. This practice went on for decades. The many changes of garbage collection in New York City has been initiated through political reform and public health campaigns, plus simply education, throwing trash out your window is not the way civilized human beings live. Garbage collection has also been closely associated with the underworld, where crime families controlled the dumping of commercial trash. New York City garbage collection is a complicated affair. From the beginning there were always problems and there still continues to be. Nonetheless trash must be collected and dumped and preferably “not in my backyard.”

Please join Robin Nagel as she presents Gotham and Its Garbage, on Monday June 8th, at 6:30 PM at the Mid-Manhattan Library.

Realistically we know no relationship is perfect, especially the relationships we have with our families. They say you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family. My father has not talked to his siblings in years and three out of the five are dead and the rest are in their late 80’s. My father can’t accurately state what it was that drove them apart. The wedge that was forced into the heart of my father’s family was powerful enough to keep the siblings apart forever. I see elements of regret, even remorse when my father speaks about his family, even after so many years, the hurt is still there. Perhaps because it is family. They say blood is thicker than water and a hurt within family hurts deeper than any other. In one sense, you can never walk away from your family, even if the steps you take, take you clear across the country and to a far distant city. Your family is still with you, by way of shared experiences and at some point shared values and a shared intimacy, even if that all ended, when as young person you decided to walk away and never looked back. Blood is blood.

What is it about a family relationship that creates such a hotbed of tension? In the case of my father, he talked about money, jealously and dysfunction that began with his parents. Sometimes it can be a slight or it can be the marriage to a person who will never be accepted into the family fold, which causes the destruction. Whatever the cause, nothing displays this tragic disarray better than Brooke Astor’s family. Plastered all over the papers, from the revered New York Times to the daily rags, we are witnessing the unraveling of Brooke Astor’s family. It is hard to believe that Brooke Astor, truly one of the most beloved philanthropic individuals in New York Society, could have been the catalyst for the manifestation of such vitriol unfolding in the papers.

Anyone who had a chance to meet Brooke Astor, not only felt anointed but also felt the caring and warmth that she shared the littlest of people. Well into her 80’s, Brooke Astor was still at the focal point in the elite social circles of New York Society. Many parties were given in her honor over many years, simply because tagging her name to such an event caused much money to be donated. She knew it and she used her power to generate millions of dollars for charities across the city. She treated New York Public Library as her home and for a long time, when you talked of one, you naturally talked of the other. It was Brooke Astor’s money that helped turn the library around after a very bleak period in the 70’s. Mrs.Astor and New York Public Library were as one. She was like that to a lot of institutions, namely the Metropolitan Museum.

Interestingly the maxim “you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family” rings like a clear bell when talking about Brooke Astor. It is her friends who remained loyal to her during her declining years and now even in death. Fiercely, they stand by her symbolic side to protect her integrity and intentions. The fight that is currently taking place in court today, is a brutal one. It pits family against family, severing a bond of familial love that will never be mended. It also pits Brooke Astor’s son Anthony against Brooke Astor’s closest and devoted friend Annette de la Renta. Always one to be the center of attention, it is hard to imagine what Brooke Astor might think of about the legal battle being waged in her name.

Please join Meryl Gordon as she discusses her book Mrs. Astor Regrets: The Hidden Betrayals of a Family Beyond Reproach on Monday June 1st at 6:30 PM, at the Mid-Manhattan Library.

Many New York artists and makers will at some point face the befuddling legal issues of intellectual property, copyright, and more. To help to answer your questions and set you on the path to being legal-savvy in your own creative work, NYPL’s Mid-Manhattan Library will present Ask the Lawyer: An Artist Career Development Lecture on Monday May 11th, at 6:30pm. This event, hosted by the Art Collection, is one in a series addressing the growing needs and concerns of New York City's independent creative workforce.

Presented in cooperation with Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts, legal experts Elena M. Paul, Esq. & Alexei Ormani Auld, Esq. will be on hand to cover a wide array of legal and business issues with an overview of the major legal topics affecting artists and professionals within arts organizations. The topics to be addressed include: intellectual property (copyrights primarily), contracts, entity choice and formation (including nonprofit and for profit options), and more. This will be an interactive panel, so please bring your questions!

Monday May 11, 2009
6:30 p.m. on the 6th floor

Mid-Manhattan Library
The New York Public Library
40th Street and 5th Avenue
New York, NY 10016
212-340-0871

Elevators access the 6th floor after 6pm.
All events are FREE and subject to last minute change or cancellation.

A great work of art is evident almost at once. We sence its greatness the moment we experience it. It may be a painting or a work of fiction or a piece of music or a body of work, but intuitively we know it to be a masterpiece. It is unique, special and a rarity. There is no pretense to a great work of art, there is only a clarity to the work, making it accessible to all. We can’t predict when something wonderful will be created. Great ideas and vision come together all the time. People paint, write books, choreograph, photograph all with the intention of creating a masterpiece. Unfortunately, it is not enough to have desire or even talent and skill. Sometimes the creation of a great work of art is simply all the given variables thrown into together at the right moment and like magic a masterpiece is created. That masterpiece will live on as such to the end of humanity. Each generation who experiences a great work of art seems to have a better understanding of its importance and raison d’etre, than the generation before.  read more »

I live for the day when some person who’s regarded as an arbiter of cultural taste is asked to name their favorite books. “I know you’re expecting an answer like Moby Dick, Don Quixote, Ulysses or Gravity’s Rainbow, but, truth be told, the one story that really sums up the human condition for me is issue number 55 of The Amazing Spider-Man.” They then proceed to deliver a literate, succinct defense of their preference which would do credit to an Oxford professor’s deconstruction of Beowulf. I know this might sound weird, but then I also hope for the day when the consumers of culture, and not a coterie of critics, decide what they want to read, see, and hear.

Hidden treasures are what make looking for materials on the Mid-Manhattan Library’s Art and Literature floor so interesting. Three-quarters of the books and DVDs that people request will be about art and plays and architecture and novels and cartoons and poems and buildings I’ve never heard of until today. That’s why it’s interesting to flip through the pages of each book that’s pulled from the shelves. I want to see what kind of sculpture Antoine-Louis Barye produced (more on this later), what factors influence the design of an airport, and just what sort of poem is “Aniara” by Harry Martinsson (more on this later, too).

I first learned about Stanford White in E. L. Doctorow’s book Ragtime. It was the lurid tale of lust and murder regarding Stanford White that remained in my mind until I moved to New York City many years ago. Over a long period of time, I have come to learn Stanford White was much more than the scandal that I first associated with him. Stanford White was a master designer and instrumental in many of the great architectural works of the city.

Without knowing it, I came across the legacy of Stanford White time and time again while living in the city. Slowly I learned many of the great architectural prizes that exist in the city are White's designs. There are Stanford White treasures all over New York and the ones that are gone nonetheless register prominently if only in photographs. For example the long gone great Penn Station was designed by the prestigious architectural firm of McKim, Mead and White. I had been looking at images of Penn Station long before I moved to New York in the early 80’s. Penn Station’s demise in 1963 by no means crushed the spirit and importance of this building. Tragically its structure was destroyed for something inferior, but the old Penn Station’s voice speaks loud and clear from the many photographs that exist.  read more »

New York City is a big place, very big. The aggregate information out there to describe the city is also big, very big. Its vast, ubiquitous quality makes it seem unknowable and unmanageable. Much of our knowledge about the city is in small bits and pieces, mostly unrelated to each other. Many us may generally know a thing or two about our neighborhood: we may know who lives there, we may even know something about the crime stats or the average price of a co-op. Other than the of odd pieces of knowledge we carry around with us about New York City, the real numbers of the city are essentially a blank in our heads. Outside the fiendishly organized grid of Midtown, New York City is very hard to describe, from the attendance at the major cultural institutions to the most dangerous intersections for pedestrians between 1995-2001. The information is simply too complex for it to be easily accessed.

Many of the librarians at the reference desk consult online or bound references for statistics. A lot of the information is general in nature. For information specific to New York City there is the NYC government website but the information is not readily transparent. Not until the Almanac of New York City was published was there a source unique to New York. Answering questions about New York City was always a complicated challenge. The simplest question requires a multi-step process to get an answer. And the hope is you don’t lose the patron’s interest as you guide them through the labyrinthine process. There is the New York City website, as well the Green Book to direct people where to get further information. United States census has information and then you can even contact your local community board for information related to specific neighborhoods, but all the searches are an involved process.

The Almanac of New York City is unique because it is filled with information that is entertaining as well as informative. It is a comprehensive collection of the information on our city. For example, The Almanac lists the Gravesites of Celebrated Persons as well as the populations of the public housing projects. It also has the names all the winners of the NYC Marathon, as well as the number of seats in each Broadway theatre. It’s the type of book you want handy for a bit arcane knowledge about the city and also the type of book you want to have along side your cereal bowl in the morning to simply wander through as you dig into your oatmeal and berries.

Please join editors Kenneth T. Jackson and Fred Kameny of the Almanac of the New York City on Wednesday April 15th at 6:30 PM, at the Mid-Manhattan Library as they talk about the numbers of New York City

Test your New York Trivial knowledge.

A while ago I had the delightful experience of hearing Dr. Gene Cohen, gerontologist, psychologist, and author, speak about the developmental stages of later adult life, as he sees them. Rather than thinking of life after 50--until death--as a single phase as others have proposed, he views the years between one’s 40s and 80s+ as encompassing several stages: Midlife Re-Evaluation; Liberation; Summing-Up; and Encore.

His conclusion: not only can you teach an old dog new tricks, but sometimes the old dogs can learn the tricks better than the young dogs.

This being Women's History Month, I decided to do some digging and find women who accomplished great things after age 50.

As a former Girl Scout, I happily start out the post with Juliette Gordon Low, founder of the Girl Scouts of the USA. Born in 1860 to a wealthy Savannah, Georgia family, she lived a life of privilege, meeting her husband while on a trip to England. When he died after 19 years of marriage, the 46-year-old Low started traveling the world to find some direction in her life. She met Sir Robert Baden-Powell and his sister Agnes, founder of the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides, and became determined to bring a similar organization for girls to the U.S.  read more »

If you enjoyed spending time with the lively and passionate characters of Gabriela, Clove and Cinnamon by Jorge Amado this month, you may also find these titles interesting:

The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende
Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino
The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens
Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
White Teeth by Zadie Smith
All the King’s Men by Robert Penn Warren

Please join The Reader’s Den in April as we celebrate National Poetry Month!