As the ships kept coming the small protected settlement in the south of Manhattan closed in by the walled street to the north was no longer sufficient. Families packed up their goods, picked out a plot, and moved north on to their own farmlands, giving themselves more space. The Dutch word for farm is bouwerij. From it came the name of one of their routes north, the Bowery.
When we were last in New York in the 1960s, the Bowery area was filled with homeless folk living on dirty mattresses piled up in the streets. No longer. The streetscapes have today exploded with development and gone are the early days when the likes of Peter Stuyvesant set up his own bouwerij in the area where we are walking today. And, where a descendent of his, sold a nearby bouwerij to a developer named Ruggles, in 1831. Later in the day we will head south to the City Hall area, then on to the World Trade Centre. We are becoming excellent users of the buses, too. That way we can see more than if we use the subways. Transportation is excellent in the city, but we still seem to be on our feet for much of each day.
When Ruggles bought here, it was marshy swampland that he had to tame and flatten. A million horsecarts of earth had to move so he could grow his fortune. Later, we learned that it was not Ruggles who did this work. But others.
As part of his development, Ruggles created a fenced and gated park at its heart and called it Gramercy Park. Even today, it is haven with gorgeous private homes around it that all share access to the park for their own enjoyment. It is one of only two private parks in the entire city. Sixty residences, only, had access as written in the early charter. And, today, access is bitterly, and even litigiously, controlled by a board of trustees, appointed as the park’s guardians. They often make the news.
One of the first homes we came to on one of the corners facing the park was a brownstone, that used to belong to the actor, James Cagney. A large number of celebrities live in this area of the city. It is quiet, and its dignified air no doubt appeals to them. And others who live here tend to become celebrities, by hook or by crook. There have been one or two big scandals aired over this little corner of the world.
The National Arts Club, for instance, a private men and women’s club, has been occupying a couple of homes on one side of this park for a long time. The former President of the Club, until he resigned in 2011, was O. Alden James, who is currently under investigation for misusing the Club’s funds to enhance his decadent lifestyle, thus abusing his post of privilege, it is alleged. His twin brother, John, has already been convicted of fraudulent use of the club’s tax identity. So, the area is not without its dramas.
Added to which there are some quite prestigious names, as well. Not far from the National Arts Club is the brownstone birthplace of Theodore Roosevelt, also facing the park. Teddy was one of the early founders of the National Arts Club, along with J P Morgan. Today, Martin Scorsese and Robert Redford, appear on the club members list. All along the route facing the park are the most beautiful front entrances. We couldn’t get enough of them.
Further along we stopped for coffee and here was a coffee house crafting its own cheeses from premium antibiotic-free cow’s milk. All able to be viewed through glass walls specially built. Not only that, but the company donates 1% of all its profits to a Pure Food Foundation for kids. Their specific intent is to target 4th and 5th graders and teach them about healthy food choices: how to read food labels and how to use healthy ingredients to cook. They have trained over 50,000 kids to date, and their work is ongoing. Such a delight to come across these different things happening just at the bottom of what seems like a quiet residential street. It certainly makes for entertaining travel.
We crossed into another park in another area close by looking up towards the Empire State Building—Madison Square Park. Here, we took time out to sit in the sun and watch the world go by, on what has turned into quiet a coolish day, as a little polar air seems to escaping from a chilly patch, further inland, trying to seep into the city. Today we have on light coats—one of the rare occasions on this trip we have needed any. Mostly, I have been in my summer gear. Here, though, we, again, are amazed at the masses turning out for bowls of mac and cheese—a big favourite on most menus in the states, or lunch burgers—being served at this unpretentious local Shake Shack, a tiny kiosk in the park environs. Their queue, at various times, stretches right outside the park itself, and down the street to the corner. The lunch crowd numbers can be crazy, even in the off season like this, even in little places like this.
Along from here we came across a huge basement filled with ping pong and pool tables which we were tempted to go down and explore. Many of the tables were wearing Reserved signs, so the lunch crowds will soon be making their way in here for a quick game or three before they head back to their desk jobs. This vast space has been beautifully decorated with street art, a smart bar, and trendy toilets.
One of the attendants showed us an amazing gadget for picking up dropped ping pong balls, too. It has horizontal fishing lines stretched across a light racquet frame with a mesh basket on top. To pick up balls you simply press on top of a loose ball floating on the floor and it pops through the fishing line right into the little mesh basket area on top of the flattened racquet. When the mesh basket is filled its top opens, and you can flip all the balls back into a large container for continued mass use. They sell these picker-uppers online, we were told. And they are hugely popular. This place is called Spin, and it occupies a huge slice of underground space in this very expensive real estate city. And doing well. Amazing what goes on in the big smoke when you go looking.
A hugely angled building next caught our eye, the Flatiron building. It was specially designed by an architect to fill a blank wedge-space on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Broadway. Our camera finds it irresistible, as we head off now, to hunt down our bus to head further south.
We pass through The Bowery area, riding south. These days this is a tiny Chinatown location, with little alleys filled with market stalls selling massed cheap buckets, brooms, cleaning cloths, plastic and paper products as traditional Chinese sellers tend to do in many of the cities around the world. We alight on Duane and head down a side street at the back of City Hall, between tall buildings, labelled Federal Buildings, all with security officers carrying guns located every hundred feet, or so. They step out from their kiosks if you so much as put a toenail over into their secret Federal men’s business.
We are stopped by an impressive black granite monument on a grassy space where there are seven distinct mounds that look exactly like burial mounds. They are, we soon learn.
We had not really thought there might be slavery in New York. We hadn’t really imagined it as part of the history of the city. Yet, it was rampant, we have learned. In the early days of the colony, when there were roads to be built, canals to be diverted, and rocks or a million carts of earth to be moved the solution was simple, another ship of slaves needed to be unloaded.
They had few, if any, rights. No homes. And churches would not consider burying them. So, they tended to congregate together for protection, and in the early days, found a space here, beyond the walled city in the outer reaches of the settlement surrounded by all the animal skin factories belching foul smelling smoke, where they gathered what few comforts they could to make a home to share with one another.
And here, they died. And here, they buried each other. And here, their very existence was forgotten, until these grim Federal buildings were being developed in the 1990s and bones were uncovered below a carpark. An entire city-block of bones. Some 15,000 slaves and freedmen blacks who had been buried here since the 1690s, and forgotten.
Black activists became vocal at the discovery of the bones, and the city paid heed, respecting the bodies exhumed. The bones were carefully examined by forensic archeologists before being meticulously laid back into their burial grounds. They were identified: a child of so many months, or a woman of between 20 and 25, the bones of a man of indeterminate age, too ravaged to date, and so on. The archeologists learned much. They learned that many were ritual burials—in the way of their people. They learned that important items like coral from their homeland and a glass girdle of beads were significant, and were carefully placed with individual owners at burial. They learned that the blacks had been worked brutally hard. Their bones told the sad tale.
In memory, and to their credit, the city built this beautiful granite memorial to the many thousands who died helping to build New York City. It is called the African Burial Monument and it stands simple, black and gracious here where so many lived and died. A place of remembrance. A place of peace.
From here we crossed through the City Hall park area surrounded on all sides by various court buildings of every conceivable kind, international and local, and moved on—slowly, as suddenly the crowds were massing shoulder-to-shoulder, impeding our progress. In the direction of the site of the World Trade Centre Monument and Museum the crowds flowed and so did we. Quite silently.
Some of the work from the 9/11 disaster is now finished, complete. Much, though, is ongoing, and will be for years. We took time out, though, to spend with the many thousands who turn up each day. To remember.
It was late when we left. Passing the amazing wingspan of the Oculus which, when it is complete, will be the roof over a walkway that will be able to cater to 250,000 visitors a day, if necessary. So many visitors wishing to remember. In ages present.
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| Gramercy Park. Litigiously private. |
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James Cagney's home.
Grander than Teddy Roosevelt's birthplace close by |
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| National Arts Club entrance. |
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| Teddy Roosevelt's brownstone birthplace |
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| There are dignitaries even on the facade of the National Arts club |
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| Magnolias over the entrance |
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| Beautiful entrance |
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| Beechers handmade cheese |
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| Beecher cheese and coffee shop |
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| Shake Shack in Madison Square Park |
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| Spin, an expensive games area |
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| Clever gadget for picking up ping pong balls |
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| Flatiron building |
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| Where slaves were buried |
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| African Burial Monument |
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| City Hall in bloom |
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| World Trade Museum late in the day |
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| One World Trade |
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| Oculus skylight over a walkway that will fit 250,000 folk |
