E.E. Cummings once wrote about a way to measure how well you know a city. The question was whether you can talk about what "used to be" on a certain corner or what occupied a particular storefront. Had you been around long enough to witness the city's evolution?
Growing up, my parents would take our family to New York. We were, no doubt, tourists who did things that tourists did. This included an occasional Broadway show or a visit to Times Square; a neighborhood where my mom would hold our hands a little tighter, hush her voice, and challenge all comers with a maternally protective glare. I recall her change in demeanor and knew not to cause her problems as we negotiated the crowds. At the time I didn't know that those streets were known as Hell's Kitchen.
One summer our cousins visited from Oklahoma and we took them to the city. It was hot and a man with a fresh-lemonade stand shared sidewalk with people selling watches, cameras, and offering the chance to bet on cards. Something went wrong with one of the card games and a slighted customer reacted by tossing the makeshift table. The knife used to cut lemons suddenly transformed into something far more sinister, but I can't tell you how the story ended because mom's grip went iron and to this day my cousin and I joke about how fast we moved. This was the closest I got to tasting the action that cooked in that unique kitchen; a tourist and nothing more. There is no doubt. My experience doesn't pass E.E. Cummings test. New York was a neighbor as I grew, only a small and occasional piece of scenery.
Today I know where the New York Times is based. Years before, the same building housed the Terminal Bar. The name probably came from its proximity to the Port Authority Bus Terminal, but the place's reputation spoke more of the road's end. A tough bar in the center of the city's dark heart. Personally, I'm sure my mom dragged me by more than once before it closed in 1982. However there is no reason for me to remember; too young to understand and lucky to have family that kept me far from bars. Nevertheless to comprehend a town is to know its changes. New York fascinates and today's Times Square is far from the Hell's Kitchen it used to be. Probably for the best, the tourists have won. Yet to begin to understand the city's character one needs to know what it had been.
Fortunately some of the old smoke can be tasted thanks to the son of the man who once tended the Terminal Bar. Sheldon Nadelman took photos of his clients and the people on the streets outside. Years later, his son Stefan transformed those individual black-and-white shots into a portrait of the neighborhood and of an era. From dead-end bar to world-renowned newspaper, the transformation is emblematic of Hell’s Kitchen’s renovation and Nedelman's documentary is the closest thing to a time machine that we have. To understand this evolution is to know Manhattan a little better.
Growing up, my parents would take our family to New York. We were, no doubt, tourists who did things that tourists did. This included an occasional Broadway show or a visit to Times Square; a neighborhood where my mom would hold our hands a little tighter, hush her voice, and challenge all comers with a maternally protective glare. I recall her change in demeanor and knew not to cause her problems as we negotiated the crowds. At the time I didn't know that those streets were known as Hell's Kitchen.
One summer our cousins visited from Oklahoma and we took them to the city. It was hot and a man with a fresh-lemonade stand shared sidewalk with people selling watches, cameras, and offering the chance to bet on cards. Something went wrong with one of the card games and a slighted customer reacted by tossing the makeshift table. The knife used to cut lemons suddenly transformed into something far more sinister, but I can't tell you how the story ended because mom's grip went iron and to this day my cousin and I joke about how fast we moved. This was the closest I got to tasting the action that cooked in that unique kitchen; a tourist and nothing more. There is no doubt. My experience doesn't pass E.E. Cummings test. New York was a neighbor as I grew, only a small and occasional piece of scenery.
Today I know where the New York Times is based. Years before, the same building housed the Terminal Bar. The name probably came from its proximity to the Port Authority Bus Terminal, but the place's reputation spoke more of the road's end. A tough bar in the center of the city's dark heart. Personally, I'm sure my mom dragged me by more than once before it closed in 1982. However there is no reason for me to remember; too young to understand and lucky to have family that kept me far from bars. Nevertheless to comprehend a town is to know its changes. New York fascinates and today's Times Square is far from the Hell's Kitchen it used to be. Probably for the best, the tourists have won. Yet to begin to understand the city's character one needs to know what it had been.
Fortunately some of the old smoke can be tasted thanks to the son of the man who once tended the Terminal Bar. Sheldon Nadelman took photos of his clients and the people on the streets outside. Years later, his son Stefan transformed those individual black-and-white shots into a portrait of the neighborhood and of an era. From dead-end bar to world-renowned newspaper, the transformation is emblematic of Hell’s Kitchen’s renovation and Nedelman's documentary is the closest thing to a time machine that we have. To understand this evolution is to know Manhattan a little better.
