Hangouts

November 7th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

HG misses a certain type of codified New York City hangout for journalists, writers, poets and theater people. The species was exemplified by Elaine’s on Second Avenue where Woody Allen and scores of writers and performers received special treatment from the owner, Elaine Kaufman. The food was indifferent but HG enjoyed Elaine’s rough edged charm. Like HG, Elaine was a product of The Bronx and HG often greeted her with the soubriquet: “Elaine, the shapely Evander Childs alumna.” (Evander Childs being the name of a Bronx high school) She died in 2011 and the place was refurbished under new owners. Don’t believe it has recaptured the old ambiance. HG was lucky to spend some time with Elaine (some months before her death) at Le Veau d’ Or, the old time French bistro on E. 61st Street. HG had just finished lunching with SJ when Elaine came in. The two New York oldsters had some laughs and much cognac drinking. She, like her eatery, was an original. Pre-dating Elaine’s was Costello’s, a bar on Third Avenue and 44th Street. It opened when the El rumbled overhead and became a favorite with the staff of the New Yorker and their pals. Became a tourist attraction after James Thurber paid a Depression-era bar bill, by painting a 24 foot by 24 foot mural of his “War of the Sexes.” A.J.Leibling, Ernest Hemingway and John O’Hara drank there. According to legend, Hemingway broke his walking stick over O’Hara’s head. Details are sketchy. Like many good things in New York, Costello’s was demolished to make way for an office skyscraper. The mural disappeared. An art world mystery. Cedar Bar (never called Cedar Tavern) has disappeared from Greenwich Village’s University Place. It was the hangout of Motherwell, De Kooning, Pollock, Kline, Rothko and other distinguished artists (they were just gaining renown in the 50’s and 60’s). They were a hard drinking crowd much prone to fisticuffs. Lee Krasner, Pollock’s widow and a wonderful painter in her own right, said of the habitués: “They treated women like cattle.” HG would take HG’s little daughter, Victoria ,there on Saturday afternoon outings. HG would drink martinis and Victoria, perched on the bar, would eat peanuts and smile at her adult admirers. Presumably, Victoria’s early exposure to restaurants and strong drink has spurred her and chef/husband, Marc Meyer, to own and run four highly regarded New York restaurants: Cookshop, Vic’s, Hundred Acres and Rosie’s. Another Village hangout of artists, writer and poets (namely Dylan Thomas), was the White Horse Tavern on Hudson Street. Became famous for the presence of Thomas and Delmore Schwartz. Legend has it that Thomas consumed 18 shots of whiskey before walking (or stumbling) to his death.Though strongly identified with Thomas, it was actor Charles Laughton who made it famous. He would give away White Horse beer mugs to friends and fans. White Horse is still operating. Not very literary or poetic, it’s favored by college students. Best of the Village hangouts catering to journalists and writers, was the Lion’s Head on Christopher Street. Pete Hamill, Jimmy Breslin, Joe Flaherty, Frank McCourt, Norman Mailer, Sidney Zion, Vic Ziegel, Dennis Duggan and many others hung there. (An aside: Duggan reported for the New York Times and Newsday and was a fount of New York lore. HG was disturbed by Duggan’s unhealthy lifestyle and lured him to a gym on E. 45th Street where HG was a regular. Dennis didn’t like the mandatory exercises or the spartan atmosphere. After ten minutes, he said: “Okay. I came to your lousy gym. Can I have a drink now?”) The Lion’s Head closed some years ago but there’s now a Lion’s Head on Amsterdam Avenue much frequented by Columbia students. When HG was a journalist in the early 1950’s, HG spent much time at Artists & Writers (always called Bleeck’s) on W. 41st street near the offices of the old New York Herald-Tribune. Served very good German food and the convivial Trib journalists loved playing “the match game.” Lucius Beebe, the society columnist and elegant dandy, played with three custom made golden matches nestled in a velvet case. A class act. All of this has been swept away by time. Still functioning is Sardi’s, the theater restaurant a few blocks north of Artists & Writers. The endearing Vincent Sardi is gone and the food has gone downhill. A shadow of its former self. Lindy’s, Stage Delicatessen, Carnegie Delicatessen in the West 50’s, is where you found comics, song writers, press agents, bookmakers, gamblers. Lindy’s and Stage are gone and the Carnegie flourishes, selling overstuffed pastrami sandwiches to tourists. Russian Tea Room on W. 57th Street is where the classical music and ballet communities gathered as well as famous actors, producers and directors. HG once saw Jackie Onassis and Mike Nichols enjoying the Wednesday special, Siberian Pelmenyi. (this was a type of small ravioli served in strong chicken broth reinforced with mustard and sour cream). RTR is now an overpriced, over fancy place that has lost its luster. The hip Russian Tea Room crowd shifted to the Cafe Edison, a down to earth eatery in the Hotel Edison. The cooking was down home New York Jewish and the customers called the Cafe “The Polish Tea Room.” Alas, it closed this year, another victim of the real estate steamroller. HG imagines that the new generations of writers and painters and actors have their own places to drink and revel in the New New York, but HG doesn’t know them and can only hope they have as much fun in them as HG had in his own time.

First Minister Carwyn Jones February 27, 2014 vists New York and participates in A Dylan Thomas Tour in Manhattan, New York, USA

Golden Oldy

November 4th, 2015 § 2 comments § permalink

There are some tasty, old fashioned dishes that are always a pleasure to revisit. Meat loaf, for example. There are scores of recipes but HG thinks BSK’s version is the best. The late Nora Ephron, a witty writer and a stylish hostess, was famed in her theatrical-cinema-literary circle for a splendid meat loaf. HG never tasted it but has enjoyed BSK’s many times. Here’s how BSK does it: Mixes chopped beef, pork and veal (lamb if veal not available) with eggs, Panko crumbs, parsley, basil, shallots, Aleppo pepper and salt. And, since HG/BSK reside in New Mexico, world center of great roasted green chiles, BSK adds some of these to the mix for a El Norte blast of flavor. When formed into a loaf, the mix is girdled with slices of thick bacon and popped in the oven for 90 minutes. The meat loaf emerges brown and juicy nestled in a pool of savory juices. BSK serves it with mushroom sauce and quinoa. HG is fond of spicy condiments so devours the meat loaf with nibbles of chipotle peppers and splashes of Frank’s Hot Ketchup. Meat loaf leftovers are fine reheated for dinner the next night and make splendid sandwiches. HG’s favorite: Sliced meat loaf on pumpernickel bread with raw onion, coarse salt and Heinz Ketchup. Only good restaurant meat loaf HG ever tasted was at the Trinity Grille in downtown Denver. This was a veal meat loaf swimming in a dark brown onion gravy. Creamy mashed potatoes was the appropriate companion.

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Ida Kopkind Freeman

November 2nd, 2015 § 1 comment § permalink

HG’s late Mom was a short, hefty woman with a big bosom and an ample bottom. Her marriage to HG’s father was not ideal but they remained married for more than a half century. For immigrant Jews of her generation divorce was non-existent. Chaika (later anglicized to “Ida”) Kopkind, was born in Plestyanitz, a “shtetl” (a Jewish village) in the Minsk province of Belorussia. She was one of three sisters in a family of seven children. Ida, her sister Feigel (“Fanny”) and brother Shmuel (“Samuel”) emigrated to the United States in the early 1900’s. Some of the family died in the pogroms and disruptions following the Russian revolution and the ensuing civil war. The rest were murdered by the Nazis during World War Two. There is no trace of her family left in Russia. (HG’s father’s family, the Freimann family [later anglicized to “Freeman”] fared better. A few members survived including a very old man who recalled HG’s father by his boyhood nickname, “Grisha”.) Ida loved the lively Lower East Side of New York where she lived in a tenement with another immigrant young woman, Maryasha (“Marie”). From her earliest childhood, Ida was nimble with a needle and thread (later a sewing machine). She found employment as a sewing machine “operator” in a clothing factory and her speed and skill gave her a reasonable income doing piece work. (Some of her unlucky friends died in the tragic Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, an event that galvanized the Jewish immigrants and led to the unionization of the garment industry). When Ida married Harry Freeman, a skilled cutter in a woman’s coat factory, the young couple moved away from the teeming Lower East Side to the healthier neighborhoods of The Bronx. And, that’s where they raised a family and lived for the great majority of their lives. HG’s Mom was a master of household skills. She had the powerful energy needed in those days of low incomes and no labor saving devices. The HG home was always surgically clean. Laundry was done by hand and dried on clothes lines. Socks were darned and clothing rips were repaired. Mom made shirts, dresses, night gowns on her busy Singer Sewing Machine as well as curtains, table cloths, slip covers, bed covers, etc. She prepared robust food for the HG family of five. The cuisine was Eastern European/Jewish Great stuffed cabbage and chopped liver. Incomparable gefilte fish. Borscht. Schav. Chicken soup with matzo balls. Brisket and gravy.The best blintzes ever. Stuffed derma (a chicken neck stuffed with matzo meal, onions, garlic and spices). Knaidlach (hefty matzo meal dumplings). Mom pickled herring, made her own noodles, baked apple pies, honey cake, rugelach. Ginger and honey glazed pastries were little HG’s favorite. The only vegetable HG recalls was a carrot dish called “tzimmes”. (carrot shavings were baked in a casserole with honey, ginger and cinnamon). Sorry, there were other vegetables. So terrible, HG has blanked them from memory (almost). A big bargain at a local supermarket were “mystery” cans. These were canned foods that had been knocked about and lost their identifying labels. They cost pennies. Mom believed she had a secret talent. She would shake the cans. From the sound she would determine if they contained dessert choices–canned peaches, plums, cherries, prunes. She was often correct but often erred. That meant she opened a can at dessert time. Unfortunately, it might contain brussels sprouts or lima beans. Depression era. Waste not. Want not. The family ate these cold vegetables for dessert. Mom rendered lots of chicken fat and the flavorful stuff played a big role in her cooking. There was a brief, unhappy period when Mom served “American health” food. She was influenced by a radio program, “You Are What You Eat,” hosted by nutrition expert Dr. Victor Lindlahr. Fortunately, under pressure from family protests, the good chicken fat cuisine resumed. Ida did not shower little HG with praise. Mrs. Brownstein, HG’s first grade teacher, told Mom at an obligatory school visit, that HG was a brilliant, gifted child. Mom’s response: “So, if you’re so smart you should help out around the house. And, you should learn to tie your shoelaces so you don’t trip.” Later, when HG was 11, the young fellow competed in the Americana Quiz, a history contest held in New York’s elementary schools. HG was judged best in The Bronx so was eligible to compete for The Best In New York Prize with four other young contenders, one each from Staten Island, Queens, Manhattan and Brooklyn. The event was held in the studio of WNYC, the New York City radio station and hosted by the city’s colorful Mayor Fiorello La Guardia, “The Little Flower.” HG’s Mom was in the audience. HG came in second, beaten by a smart little girl from Brooklyn. The Mayor shook HG’s hand, praised his effort, and gave him the second prize, an American history book by Charles A. Beard. Mom’s comment: “So, why didn’t you win?” HG discussed this incident and others relating to his Mom with a Freudian psychoanalyst. Her mysteries were only partially revealed.

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The Anchovy

November 1st, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

Recently, HG ordered Caesar Salad at a Santa Fe restaurant. The waiter asked: “Would you like it without anchovies?” HG was dismayed. After all, a Caesar Salad is unthinkable without the delicious salty addition of anchovies. But, the waiter was only doing his duty. There are many people who detest the salty oiliness of anchovies. HG loves anchovies, both unadorned and as a flavor enhancer of many foods. HG thought about the magical anchovy as HG enjoyed BSK’s sublime version of penne with broccoli. Here’s how BSK does it. First, BSK cuts short lengths of the broccoli stems. Not the very tough ends but the green, slimmer portion of the stems. They go into a food processor with shallots, parsley and garlic. This miix is then gently cooked in a sauce pan with olive oil and a goodly amount of chopped anchovy. The savory sofrito is thinned with pasta water after the penne is barely al dente and completes its cooking in the pan with slightly firm broccoli florets The dish is topped with chopped ripe tomatoes and mozzarella cheese (heated for a minute or two until the cheese softens). A sprinkle of red pepper flakes. The anchovies don’t give the dish a fishy overtone.Instead, they sharpen all the other flavors. Anchovies perform this function in many other dishes. (HG is very fond of pizza topped with anchovies). The French often lard a leg of lamb (gigot) with anchovies. Haven’t tried it but HG gathers the anchovies bring flavor to the lamb without overwhelming it and create the basis for a tasty sauce. One of HG’s favorite appetizers is anchovies with roasted red peppers as prepared in New York’s old time Italian restaurants. The peppers were roasted over an open flame until the skins were blackened. Popped in a paper bag for a few moments (the steaming in the bag makes it easier to remove the skins). Marinated for a bit with olive oil and a dash of vinegar. Served with a topping of anchovies. Best version was served by a long gone Italian restaurant on E. Houston Street (Lombardi’s?).They also served Mozarella en Carozza (breaded and fried cubes of mozzarella) with an anchovy sauce and Bagna Cauda (a warm dip of olive oil, butter, anchovies and garlic in which you dipped raw vegetables). Anchovy shopping advice from HG. There are heavily salted anchovies sold from barrels in a few older New York Italian grocers in Manhattan and Brooklyn. They have to be soaked in many changes of water to make them edible. Not worth it. Instead, buy jarred Italian anchovies. Don’t buy tinned anchovies. HG has enjoyed “Alici” in Italy. These are fresh, uncured anchovies with a mild taste. “Boquerones,” pale, unsalted anchovies pickled in vinegar are a staple at Spanish tapas bars. Dried anchovies are often used as a flavor base in many Japanese stocks — including Ramen. HG’s very beautiful granddaughter, Arianna R., was an elementary school student in Venice. School lunches are a serious matter in Italy. Her teacher deplored Arianna’s small appetite and said her minimal eating would make her look like an “acciughe” (anchovy). Today, the young woman has a robust appetite but retains a slim silhouette. Must be metabolism.

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The Appetizing Store

October 31st, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

Once upon a time, many years ago, there was an affordable, funky, comfortable city known, then and now, as New York. Among the city’s many amenities was the “appetizing store.” This was a small store that sold smoked fish (Nova Scotia salmon, salty lox, sable, sturgeon, kippered salmon, herring, whitefish); olives (green and black); pickles (from a barrel), cole slaw, potato salad. On the shelves were canned and jarred items such as salmon, tuna and anchovies. Some stores offered dried fruits, nuts and halvah. “Appetizing stores” were omnipresent on every shopping street in the Jewish neighborhoods of Manhattan, The Bronx , Brooklyn and Queens. Today, only two survive: Russ & Daughters on the Lower East Side and Murray’s Sturgeon Shop on the Upper West Side. (Yes, there are two big time smoked fish landmarks on the Upper West Side: Zabar’s and Barney Greengrass. But, Zabar’s is a megaplex offering housewares, cheese, prepared foods, breads, sweets, etc. Greengrass is as much a restaurant as it is an “appetizing store.”) R & D and Murray’s have loyalists. SJ insists that R & D has the ultimate smoked fish and salads. Others think Murray’s experienced hand slicers are accomplished artists. HG leans toward R & D but finds Zabar’s sable and red salmon caviar superior. HG has heard that Murray’s has become a bit moldy. R & D, on the other hand, has become reinvigorated with an energetic younger generation that has taken over and expanded the Russ & Daughter’s brand. In HG’s youth, it was HG’s Sunday task to shop at the “appetizing store” on Kingsbridge Road in the Bronx and bring home the fixings for the joyous Sunday brunch. It was the job of the father of the household to visit the neighborhood bakery for the essential bagels, bialys, pletzels and rye bread. Moms took care of the cream cheese, sweet butter and sour cream. In the immediate World War Two years, a certain casual jacket became popular among Jewish men. A four button affair, it had a tweed body and camel hair sleeves. It was designed for weekend casual activities. It was known as the “Bagel Coat” because it was the obligatory costume of men fetching those baked (but first boiled) treats.

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Eggs

October 29th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

Poached eggs. Scrambled eggs. Omelets. Those are the ways HG likes eggs prepared. Never liked fried eggs. Never a fan of the ubiquitous New York fried egg sandwich. HG likes to eat eggs at home because that’s where they are prepared perfectly. BSK is a talented poacher. BSK poached eggs always have soft (but gently firm) whites and lush, runny yolks. BSK enjoys them on French bistro salads of frisee and bacon or topping a bowl of buttery and cheesy grits. (Poached eggs are splendid served with corned beef hash but HG hasn’t encountered a good restaurant version of this hash since the wonderful Longchamps restaurants of New York closed years ago [SJ here…The Corned Beef Hash topped with a fried egg at Keen’s Chop House is pretty much killer!] ). HG likes ultra soft scrambled eggs with gentle, creamy curds. Impossible to find such eggs at diners and other casual breakfast eateries. They must be made at home with plenty of butter sizzling in the pan (Adding sweet cream is an option). Long deft stirring is the secret. Takes time. The Alice Toklas (Gertrude Stein’s companion) recipe for scrambled eggs suggests 30 minutes of stirring. That’s excessive. The HG family Christmas season late breakfast treat is soft scrambled eggs topped with red salmon caviar and creme fraiche (or sour cream). A warm buttered bialy goes nicely with this holiday treat. HG likes omelets with soft creamy interiors. HG has learned the secret of ordering omelets in Paris. HG orders them baveuse. The translation is “oozing.” BSK and SJ are masterful omelet cooks. HG likes his with a filling of feta cheese. (Pete’s Diner in Denver, home of the world’s greatest giant breakfast burrito, makes a quite acceptable version of this omelet). Yes, BSK and SJ make delicious omelets. But, the Queen of Omelets was a stern, unsmiling Frenchwoman, Mme. Romaine de Lyon. She ran an eponymous omelet restaurant (served only omelets) on New York’s Midtown East Side for some 65 years. How to describe her wondrous omelets? Exquisite. Lush. Divine. Yummy. Many famous folk dined at the restaurant. Anne Bancroft and Mel Brooks were regulars. Brooks wrote the screenplay for The Producers (the movie with Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder) at his regular table at Mme. De Lyon’s restaurant. If you want to learn the secrets of omelet cooking read Mme De Lyon’s book, The Art of Cooking Omelettes. She spells the dish with two t’s and the book contains 500 savory recipes.

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Choucroute Garnie

October 28th, 2015 § 2 comments § permalink

Choucroute simply means sauerkraut. Choucroute Garnie (on French brasserie and bistro menus) is sauerkraut cooked with a variety of pork products. Chez Jenny in Paris has always been touted as a great place for Choucroute. HG disagrees. The Paris best is Brasserie de I’Isle St. Louis. Despite a touristy location near Notre Dame, the brasserie turns out serious, old fashioned French food. Dedicated foodies say that to taste real choucroute one must travel to Alsace. HG is not that dedicated and likes BSK’s home cooked choucroute. BSK rinses a jar of Bubbie’s sauerkraut and cooks it with onions, juniper berries and white wine (SJ notes that a nice Riesling is the preferable choice). Adds Kassler Rippchen (German smoked pork chops from Schaller & Weber online) and knockwurst. Serves it with boiled potatoes, French cornichons and Keen’s English Mustard. Noted food writer Jeffrey Steingarten attempted to codify the ingredients of Choucroute in his wonderful book The Man Who Ate Everything, but one of the joys of making the dish at home is going to a good German/Polish/Alsace butcher (SJ reccomends Jubilat Provisions for Brooklyn folk) and picking out numerous yummy things. Cold beer or ale with a shot or two of chilled vodka are the obligatory beverages.

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Part Three: Early Bronx Memories (More Woodycrest)

October 26th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

One of HG’s sharpest Great Depression memories (circa 1935-37) is of clusters of men gathered each day in front of 1210 Woodycrest Avenue, the Bronx apartment house where HG and family lived. The men were dressed in coats, suits, shirts and ties, shined shoes, fedora hats. That’s the way men dressed in those days. Sportswear hadn’t been invented and only cowboys or laborers wore jeans.They smoked cigarettes. They were unemployed but neatly dressed in case a job interview came up. Unlikely. But, they were prepared. A grim time. HG’s older brother, Bernard, found a job as a bartender at the Topps restaurant on W. 42nd Street. Then he worked in the stock room of a luggage manufacturer. Bernard was always unlucky, a rat bit him and he became the last recorded typhus victim in New York. Later he worked as a salesman in the fur district. Saved money. Studied optometry at Columbia. Became an optometrist and lived and practiced optometry in Atlanta from 1941 until his death a few years ago (Some 14 years older than HG, he was proud that he supplied eye glasses for Dr. Martin Luther King, Dr. King Jr’s father–who he called “Daddy” King–and all other members of the King family and their congregants). In 1937, HG’s late sister, Beulah Naomi, graduated high school at the age of 15 and immediately went to work as a bookkeeper for a fur coat manufacturer. At night she attended City College of New York at the 23rd Street branch (now known as Baruch College). The family weathered the Great Depression. The Spanish Civil War began in July 1936. Politically left wing (but not Communist), HG’s family supported vigorously the Loyalists who battled the Fascists. Some of HG’s brother’s friends joined the Abraham Lincoln Brigade and went to Spain to fight. Little HG was shocked by the bombing by German and Italian warplanes of the Basque village of Guernica. The vision of death from the skies haunted HG. Picasso, of course, responded to the bombing by painting Guernica, his huge, moving anti-war work of art. (Completed in 1937). In later years, HG always viewed Guernica at New York’s Museum of Modern Art. Very moving. Viewed Guernica again after it was moved to the Reina Sofia Museum In Madrid. HG and BSK agreed, It still had a powerful impact.

Woodycrest Avenue (and much of The Bronx) began to deteriorate in the 1960’s and by the 1970’s became dangerous and decayed. In the 1970’s HG’s public relations firm was retained by a Bronx-based elevator repair and maintenance company. It became HG’s mission to dramatize the dangers of the elevators in bedraggled Bronx apartment houses. The aim was to force the city to enforce vigorously safety codes regarding elevators. Of course, this would mean increased business for elevator repair and maintenance firms. At the time, HG worked closely with Carl Stokes, the African-American ex-Mayor of Cleveland and then an NBC-TV anchorman and reporter. The elevator story that Stokes reported on for NBC centered on HG’s childhood home, 1210 Woodycrest Avenue. The place was in desperate shape. Glass doors had been replaced by plywood sheets smeared with graffiti. The lobby was filled with debris. Corridors were filthy. The elevator barely functioned. The program created action. Elevator inspections and enforcement became more frequent in The Bronx and other boroughs.

At the time, Woodycrest Avenue was the home of a folk hero, idolized by some of The Bronx’s impoverished African-American population. He was Larry Davis, an alleged murderer and drug dealer. Davis, his mother, brothers, relatives and a group of friends lived in a frame house on Woodycrest. (Many of the inhabitants wound up in prison). In 1986, Davis was at his sister’s home in the East Bronx. Davis was wanted for murder. Six police officers burst into the apartment. Davis answered with gunfire. A number of officers were wounded (some seriously) before he was captured. At his trial, Davis was represented by William Kunstler, a flamboyant attorney who represented many left wing radicals and anti-Vietnam War activists (including the “Chicago Seven”).. Kunstler claimed that Davis sold drugs for corrupt police officers. Davis said the officers were going to kill him before he could inform on their activities. Thus, his actions could be defined as self defense. The jury acquitted him. Later, he went to prison on a murder charge and was killed by a fellow inmate in 2008.

Woodycrest and its environs have changed through the years. It is now a Dominican neighborhood with some Puerto Rican and African-American residents. Much of the housing has been renovated (including 1210). Two architectural landmarks in the art deco style have been preserved and revitalized. They are the eight-story Noonan Towers (939 Woodycrest Avenue) and the remarkable group of buildings, Noonan Plaza on W. 168th Street. Both were built in the late 1920’s by developer Bernard Noonan. The Noonan Plaza complex was little HG’s vision of paradise. It was entered by a gate manned by an imposing fellow with a colorful cape. The buildings were white brick art deco. The courtyard had a waterfall, streams adorned with Japanese bridges and graceful swans who glided on he water. HG visited Noonan Plaza with HG’s sister (a high school friend lived there). HG was astonished by the big living rooms, bathrooms with colorful tiles and built-in tubs, kitchens that were the height of Moderne. Tragically, Noonan Plaza disintegrated. But, fortunately, the city stepped in before it disappeared. A very ambitious restoration program made it sought after housing for lower income families. No, the swans and waterfall are gone. But, Noonan Plaza lives. HG doesn’t know what has happened to another great art deco masterpiece in the neighborhood, the Park Plaza apartment house on Jerome Avenue. Built between 1929-31, it faces Mullaly Park. Its facade is adorned with remarkable gargoyles and terra cotta plaques. The architect was the late Horace Ginsbern who designed some 137 Bronx apartment houses as well as many Manhattan buildings. The late Julien J. Studley, who loved architecture (HG wrote about him recently), bought the building at one point. Fascinated by its design, Julien, an optimist, thought he could effectively maintain the building despite the strictures of rent control. He was wrong. Quickly sold the building. The Woodycrest neighborhood is improving (still a bit dangerous, however). At one time, it was composed of estates where the gentry rode to the hounds. Woodycrest Avenue was part of the Marcher estate. The Marchers loved Shakespeare and created formal gardens with busts of Shakespeare and characters from his plays. All that remains of their interest is Woodycrest’s neighboring street: Shakesepeare Avenue.

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Part Two: Early Bronx Memories (Woodycrest Avenue)

October 25th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

The year was 1935. Not a happy year for the HG family. HG’s older brother, the late Bernard F., had returned to The Bronx from the University of Georgia (where he was a football star). He had lost most of his right leg in a barnstorming airplane accident (His beautiful fiancee and the pilot perished). He was learning to walk again with the aid of an artificial leg. This was a bulky device, not the well engineered, light prosthetic limb in use today. Bernard’s misfortune caused HG’s Mom to have an emotional breakdown. HG’s father developed migraine headaches. HG’s late sister, Beulah Naomi, kept her cheerful disposition and was a source of love and comfort for little HG who was facing problems of his own. The HG family had moved to a three-bedroom apartment (Rent was $45 a month and the building had an elevator) at 1210 Woodycrest Avenue in the High Bridge neighborhood of The Bronx. It was located some 50 yards from Sacred Heart R.C. Church. The youngsters who attended parochial school there learned HG was Jewish and accused him of killing Jesus Christ. Little violence followed the accusation but the atmosphere on Woodycrest was unfriendly. (The comedian Lenny Bruce, when similarly accused, responded: “It wasn’t me. It was my cousin Milton.”) Little HG had two escapes from the tensions of Woodycrest: One, HG would walk to nearby Nelson Avenue and join a gang of tough Jewish kids who would war with the hated Italians of Shakespeare Avenue. Two, HG would find peace in the civilized bookshelves of the High Bridge Public Library. Here, something strange happened to the little fellow. HG became an idiot savant and developed a photographic memory. HG read history, all of the great classic studies, American and English. One glance at a page and it immediately entered HG’s memory bank and could be recalled at will. HG became a local celebrity. Sister Beulah’s friends would gather and ask him about obscure dates, treaties, wars. HG would close his eyes and recite the answer. HG expanded this capacity to include the listings, casts, etc, of movies playing throughout New York. This continued for some 18 months and then the memory feats disappeared, never to return. HG has never found a plausible psychological theory to explain the strange phenomenon (but did note, with joy, that Grandson Haru pulled off the same odd feat with an intensive interest in the Presidents of the United States — for months the little guy could recite the presidents in the order of their tenure and recall all of their deeds, and then, just like HG, the ability vanished). HG began his education at PS. 11 on Ogden Avenue (the school still exists). At birth, HG’s given name was “Jerome” (That’s what it says on the birth certificate). HG’s Mom and cousin, the late Anne B., walked along Ogden Avenue to register HG in first grade. The Great Depression was still raging. There were soup kitchens on Ogden Avenue and “Hoovervilles” (shacks sheltering the homeless) on the banks of the nearby Harlem River. Grim. Mom and Anne decided the name “Jerome” didn’t have a regal, aristocratic feel. They changed HG’s name to “Gerald” and that’s how HG was registered. Glad they did it. “Hungry Gerald” has more panache and élan than “Hungry Jerome.”

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Early Bronx Memories

October 24th, 2015 § 2 comments § permalink

HG’s earliest years were spent in a fourth floor walk up apartment on Prospect Avenue located on the eastern fringe of the Belmont neighborhood in The Bronx. Southern Boulevard was a few blocks away and the Boulevard was bordered by the Bronx Zoo. Little HG would sleep with the roar of lions in the far background. HG was familiar with elephants, rhinos, hippos, lions and tigers long before HG ever saw a cow or a sheep. Horses were familiar, however. They pulled the wagons of fruit and vegetables that were familiar in the days of the Great Depression. Horses also hauled the ice wagons in those pre-refrigeration days. HG remembers the iceman (Icemen were always sturdy Italians) carrying a burlap wrapped block of ice over his shoulder to the HG family apartment. (Legend had it that the iceman was the illicit lover of Bronx housewives. Given the very taxing schlepping that was the iceman’s job, it seems dubious that the guys had energy left over for amorous dalliance). The milkman drove a white truck and delivered his product in the early dawn. A bakery chain, Dugan’s, sold its product from a truck. The driver would park his car and shout: “Dugan, the baker!!” Doughnuts and raisin bread were the Dugan specialties. Jewish Moms bought bread and rolls from Jewish bakeries and Italian Moms would walk to Arthur Avenue for traditional Italian baked goods. Relations between Jews and Italians on Prospect Avenue were cordial. HG’s father would often swap his home distilled Vishniak (cherry brandy) for the robust red wine produced at home by Italian neighbors. (In those politically incorrect days, the wine was referred to as “Dago Red.”). Street vendors were omnipresent. In cold weather, they sold hot sweet potatoes (with a pat of butter) for two cents; hot roasted chestnuts; steamed chickpeas with chicken fat and coarse salt. Summer was the time for chunks of coconut and Italian ices. HG and his little pals would augment these foods by stealing potatoes and roasting the “mickeys” in fires set in empty lots. In the summer, HG and the other kids splashed in water from fire hydrants while parents sat on improvised seating in front of apartment houses. HG very much enjoyed the itinerant street singers. They would launch into loud song and appreciative housewives would shower them with pennies, nickels and dimes wrapped in paper and tossed from windows. Sentimental love songs and ethnic favorites (“My Yiddishe Momma”) were big hits. Loew’s Elsmere on Crotona Pakrway was the nearest movie theater. HG’s late sister, Beulah Naomi, took four-year-old HG (she was 11) to the Elsmere in 1933 to see “Dracula” with Bela Lugosi (The movie was released in 1931 but it took two years before it reached The Bronx). The movie visit was ill advised. HG and sister were paralyzed by the horror of the vampire movie. It left HG with a lifelong fear of bats (and, of course, sharp toothed Hungarians).

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