Wallabout Channel

More Brooklyn Navy Yard drawings. These two from the Wallabout Channel. I don't know what they are. The mysterious tower looks like some sort of lookout post, perhaps, but how would one access it? The other machine I have no idea. A pump of some kind, I guess, but so long abandoned, teetering on a dilapidated, collapsing pier, its purpose can only be guessed at. In the background of the first drawing, you can see the Williamsburg Bridge, the Empire State Building in the far distance, and to the left edge of the page, the Railroad Transfer Bridge.

These two structures sit in Wallabout Channel, a small inlet from Wallabout Bay, forming the north-western boundary of the Navy Yard. To the north of it is the Satmar Hasidic section of Willliamsburg. Wallabout Bay is the section of the East River where the Navy Yard sits. The whole area is sometimes called Wallabout. The bay is most infamous for being where the British kept prisoners of war in prison ships during the Revolution. More than 12,000 prisoners died in terrible conditions on these ships. The name "Wallabout" is an English corruption of "de Waal Boght," the Walloon Bay, so-named after the Walloons, French-speaking Protestant settlers from Netherlands, who settled area in 1637.

In 1951, Joseph Mitchell, described Wallabout Bay in the New Yorker:

"This backwater is called Wallabout Bay on charts; the men on the dredges call it Potter's Field. The eddy sweeps driftwood into the backwater. Also, it sweeps drowned bodies into there. As a rule, people that drown in the harbor in winter stay down until spring. When the water begins to get warm, gas forms in them and that makes them buoyant and they rise to the surface. Every year, without fail, on or about the fifteenth of April, bodies start showing up, and more of them show up in Potter's Field than any other place. In couple of weeks or so, the Harbor Police always finds ten to two dozen over there - suicides, bastard babies, old barge captains that lost their balance out on a sleety night attending to towropes, now and then some gangster or other. The police launch that runs out of Pier A on the Battery - Launch One - goes over and takes them out of the water with a kind of dip-net contraption that the Police Department blacksmith made out of tire chains."

I didn't see them pull any bodies out of the water while I was working at the Navy Yard.

The channel is all that remains of Wallabout Creek, which originated around Marcy Ave. in Bed-Stuy and entered the bay near Washington Ave. In the later part of the 19th century, the area became home to a variety of food and grocery industries, and a large-scale marketplace began to grow. The creek, as well as the wide streets, numerous trolleys, and Myrtle Ave El made transportation and shipping easy. The original market was a slapdash affair that grew organically and haphazardly, but between 1894 and 1896, the city of Brooklyn (it was still its own city, independent of New York at the time) engaged architect William B. Tubby to design a permanent market. He constructed an entire village of brick buildings whose architecture referenced the area's Dutch origins, arranged around a central plaza with a prominent clock tower.

With the advent of World War II, the Navy Yard needed the land for expansion, and there was also fear that the Wallabout Market would be a hotbed of spies and saboteurs. In 1941, the tenants were relocated to the new Brooklyn Terminal Market in Canarsie, and the Wallabout Market was razed. Over the years, parts of the bay and the entirety of the creek had been filled in for expansion. The site of the Wallabout Market is now occupied by Steiner Studios. This small inlet is all that remains of Wallabout Creek. It is essentially unused, except for a few small craft moored in it, and a non-descript ferry stop by the river.


Source: Hidden Waters Blog

             Brownstoner: The Great Wallabout Market

Good-bye Minerva Studio

It's a recurring lament, at least once a week, that some longtime NYC business is going under. From giant stores to mom-and-pop shops, high-end restaurants to dive bars and diners, one by one they fall. It's almost always because of the rent.

A week ago I learned that the latest victim was the life drawing studio I've been going to for over 15 years. Maybe longer; I don't remember exactly when I first entered Minerva Durham's studio. It was a cramped, cluttered basement with a small platform surrounded by rickety chairs and tables. There were three drawing sessions a day, strictly scheduled and monitored. Many of the other life drawing classes I've been to are as much social events as drawing sessions, with music and drinks and people socializing as they draw, or pretend to. But this studio was serious. No soundtrack or wine bar, and silent as people worked. Minerva opened the studio almost 30 years ago, and there were some serious old-timer regulars who looked like they'd been drawing there since Day One. The models were usually great, and the atmosphere was quiet, studious, non-judgmental.

I haven't been there as regularly these past few years, but at one time I would go to a session at least once a week. Just a few weeks ago, I was thinking about if I would be able to work some evening classes into my new schedule, and that's when I learned that the studio would be closing on July 31. They are looking for a new, cheaper location. Maybe they'll find it. A few years ago, she was put out of her original Spring Street location, and I figured that was that for the studio, but in fact it did re-open on Broome St. a short time later. So maybe there is hope for a third life.

These are a selection of drawings I did there over the years, somewhat randomly selected. It was a trip looking through my stockpile of drawings, most of which I haven't looked at in years. Some I remember quite well, others I don't remember doing at all. Some made me happy to see how much I've developed, and many made me feel like I haven't improved at all in all these years!

UPDATE: I learned today that they have found a new space on Canal St.! A happy ending after all!

Roosevelt Building

The Roosevelt Building, at 13th Street and Broadway

In the early 19th century, the Roosevelt family, headed by Cornelius Van Schaack Roosevelt, grandfather to Teddy, were major landowners and investors in New York City. Their holdings included the block between 13th and 14th Streets on Broadway, where CVS Roosevelt's mansion and gardens were located. After his death in 1871, the mansion was destroyed and replaced with commercial buildings. Two decades later, the six small buildings were razed to allow the construction of the Roosevelts' most ambitious project, an eight-story building that towered over its neighbors.

Architect Stephen D. Hatch was hired to design the Romanesque Revival building, constructed of brick and Terra Cotta with a copper cornice. It was completed in 1894. Originally, it was commonly known as the Hackett Carhart building, after its earliest major tenant, a manufacturer of men's wear. The stretch of Broadway south of Union Square had become the center of menswear, lined with men's clothiers and haberdasheries, while women's clothiers dominated 6th Avenue's "Ladies' Mile". Another early tenant was Biograph Studios, where D.W. Griffith started his movie career.

Not everyone was a fan of the Roosevelt Building. The Real Estate Record & Guide referred to its "vast amount of not over-admirable decoration." This aesthetic criticism was probably a reflection of the journal's dislike of the Roosevelts' business practices.

On Feb 26, 1903, fire destroyed the top 3 floors. Seven fire fighters were injured and Capt. John T. Andariese killed. When the building had been announced, the New York Times had advertised that it would "be fire-proof throughout." After the fire, The Architectural Record & Guide tartly noted, "Nothing burns so readily as a fireproof building."

In 1912, Hackett, Carhart & Co. went bankrupt, costing the building its primary tenant, and over subsequent decades, the area steadily declined and the building deteriorated. In 2007, the current owners engaged Israel Berger Archiects to undertake a complete restoration, The firm conducted historic paint analysis to match the original, re-created the lost copper cornice, and replicated the original Terra Cotta decoration. Stanford Chan, director of restoration, said, "We treated it like a landmark even though it isn't one."


Sources:
Daytonian in Manhattan

New York Times: A Family's Legacy, Burnished Anew

Flushing Avenue

I still have many drawings from last year when I was working at the Brooklyn Navy Yard that I never got around to posting. I'm trying to get them all up in the next few weeks. This batch is all of structures along Flushing Avenue, which forms the southern boundary of the Yard.

I couldn't find out exactly what this building, between Ryerson St. and Grand Ave., was used for, but it was part of the Naval Yard Hospital campus. Up a hill beyond that fence is the main building and the Surgeon's House of the Hospital. The hospital operated from before the Civil War through World War II. The property is now controlled by Steiner Studios, which has proposed various uses for it. Nothing has come of those plans yet, and the buildings remain, hidden behind fences, shrouded in overgrown trees, intact but abandoned, and very spooky. If you're lucky, a quick visit is sometimes included in the tours run by Turnstile Tours.

Not officially part of the Brooklyn Navy Yard, this building nonetheless is an important remnant of the yard's history. During its heyday, Sands Street and Flushing Ave., forming the perimeter of the Navy Yard, were lined with dozens of stores supplying uniforms and clothing for sailors (as well as the other two businesses indispensable to sailors: bars and brothels). In Brooklyn! An Ilustrated History, Michael Faiella, the second-generation owner of Reliable and Franks, is quoted as recalling that "when the fleet was in, from the gate to the Navy YMCA at the top of Sands Street, all you could see was a sea of white hats. Some of [the supply stores] stayed open all night."

Reliable Naval Tailoring was established in September, 1927, on Sands Street by Natale Faiella. His son, Michael, took over the store in 1964, and moved it to the Flushing Ave location in 1971, when he bought out the Frank's Naval Uniforms building, hence "Reliable & Franks." Michael's son, Vincent, later took it over. This site has some 70's-era photos of the interior.

Obviously, business dropped dramatically when the Navy Yard was decommissioned in 1966. Reliable & Franks continued for some time, selling Army-Navy-style clothing to hippies, uniforms to cruise ships and private yacht crews, and costumes for the Village People's "In The Navy" video. But by 2006, the store finally closed, with the NY Times reporting that the entire stock was being moved to central New Jersey, where Vincent Faiella lives. I did see the roll gate up one day, but the windows were papered over, so I couldn't see what was going on inside.

As for M&J Navy Yard Sub, I think they just cashed in on the name. It's just a deli. 

Sculpture atop the Clinton Ave Gate. Some years ago, I was sketching in Lower Manhattan, when two people with cameras started talking to me about a documentary they were filming about all the eagle statues of New York City. I wonder if they found this one, or ever finished their film.

This structure is one of the most distinctive and iconic features of the Navy Yard. It is one of a pair of WWII-era radio antennas atop Building 1 (the cable/bridge coming from the top connects to a twin structure). The antennas allowed communication with the U.S. Naval fleet across the Atlantic. The building was constructed in 1942 as the Material Sciences Laboratory, the main site of research operations, where radio, radar, sonar, and other navigation equipment, including the navigation system for the Polaris nuclear submarine, was developed and tested. It's now part of Steiner Studios, which has the antennas lit up in blue and white at night, making it a striking landmark seen from the BQE. I drew it once before, in 2015.

Essex Card Shop

Essex Card Shop, on Avenue A between 2nd and 3rd St. It's packed full of useful items, and not-so-useful kitschy souvenirs, and all the merchandise and services advertised on its many signs.

It is co-owned by Jayant Patel, an Indian immigrant, and M. Aslam, who is from Pakistan. Mr. Patel originally ran the store on the Upper West Side, and re-located to the East Village in 2000, and was soon joined by Mr. Aslam. On the partnership of an Indian and a Pakistani, Mr. Patel said in a 2012 interview, "Politics destroy nations, not businesses. There is no politics here, just business and friendship. Normal people, ordinary people don't have those problems. It is just the leaders who care about this nonsense."

Patel wrote a memoir about his immigrant experience that was made into a movie called Desperate Endeavors. You can see the trailer here.  In that interview, he says he wanted to retire after the success of his movie. Unfortunately, Desperate Endeavors did not set the box office on fire. But the store remains. They had a second business on the next block, a copy shop, which recently shuttered. Hopefully, this store will survive, but I suspect this belongs on my "Before It's Gone" list.

Some last words of wisdom from Jayant Patel (again from that profile: "My philosophy is 'truth, love, and honesty.' It's universal. Trust is something everyone follows. If you are truthful then people will trust you. I see myself as Muslim, Hindu, Christian, all in one. If you're nice to people, people are friendly. People in New York are good. New York is a tough town, but it's full of good people if you stop and experience it. Life is hard and not always comfortable. Struggle makes you strong and I don't mind it."



Local East Village: Making It - Jayant Patel and M. Aslam of Essex Card Shop

Renwick Triangle

The Renwick Triangle houses fill this point created by East 10th St. and Stuyvesant St. It's a series of seven Anglo-Italianate style houses built in 1862 by James Renwick, one of the most prominent American architects of the time. Some of his other buildings are the Smithsonian Instituiton, the Grace Church, St Patrick's Cathedral, and St. Bartholomew's Church, notable because that's where I met my wife.

This short stretch of Stuyvesant St. is all that remains of the original, which once stretched much further across the island. The land was owned by the Stuyvesant and Fish families, and connected to St. Mark's Church, directly across the street. The road originally ran through Peter Stuyvesant's farm, to his manor. It lay just outside what was then the city limits, and became a marketplace for farmers and vendors, since they could avoid the city's market tax.

Besides Broadway, it's the only diagonal street remaining after the Commissioner's Plan of 1811 imposed a strict grid over most of Manhattan. Also, while we think of the streets of the Manhattan grid as running north-south on the avenues, and east-west on the streets, in fact it is at a 28.9 degree offset. Stuyvesant Street, on its diagonal, is actually one of the only NYC streets that runs true east-west.

In front of the building is the Abe Lebewohl Triangle. At 0.01 acres, it is one of the smallest parks in New York City. It was named after a Ukrainian immigrant who became a prominent member of the community and owned the famous Second Avenue Deli. He was killed in an unsolved murder in 1996.


Sources and more history:
Forgotten NY: Mr Stuyvesant's Garden: One Of The Few Diagonal Streets In NYC

Untapped Cities: Stuyvesant Street, One of Manhattan's Few Diagonal Streets

Untapped Cities: The 10 Smallest Parks In Manhattan

Terrace Bridge

The Terrace Bridge in Prospect Park.

The Terrace Bridge spans the Lullwater wetland and Prospect Park Lake. It was designed by Calvert Vaux and built in 1890, replacing a previous wooden bridge. It is comprised of six steel arches, set in stone and brick. The bridge was Vaux's last contribution to the park. Olmsted and Vaux originally conceived this area of the park as a site of restaurants and open-air concerts, which did not come to pass. The day I drew this, there was a man who'd tucked himself away in the trees, playing a cello, which gave a sense of what Olmsted and Vaux might have imagined.

The yellow-green of the water is a spread of pond scum that appears every spring.