Jeremiah's
Vanishing New York

Good news! After an outcry from the public and small business activists, Neir's Tavern has received a new lease. One source in city government informed me that the owner of Neir's will receive 5 more years on the lease and right of first refusal to purchase the building should it go up for sale.

The #SaveNYC rally to save Neir's will now be a celebration--and a rally to fight for commercial rent regulations in New York City. Because there are many more small businesses being crushed by landlord greed.

Come out to Neir's tomorrow, Saturday, at 2:00pm--bring signs, make noise, fight to save NYC!

View the Facebook invitation here

VANISHING

After nearly 200 years in Woodhaven, Queens, Neir's Tavern will shutter.


photo via NY Times

Owner Loycent Gordon sent an email to his customers to share the sad news. He says:

"Yesterday I was forced to make one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make. Sunday January 12th I will have to step down as owner of Neirs Tavern and I have no one available to replace me. I’ve been unable to obtain an affordable long term lease to reach our goal of the 200th anniversary in 2029. I’m operating month to month with an unaffordable rent and insufficient sales to overcome a year of losing money every month...

I hope my Neirs Team will be here until Sunday in the event a miracle happens. But I have no more money after Sunday. I’m sorry i let you down. I’m sorry I couldn’t get landmark status. I’m sorry I couldn’t buy the building."

Neir's has been fighting for its life; recently, the Landmarks Preservation Committee rejected its application, though it's been around since before the Civil War. Founded in 1829, Neir's is greatly beloved--but love can't save our historic small businesses. Only a policy that ensures commercial rent regulation can. But we don't have that in New York City. So this will keep on happening. Over and over and over. Until nothing authentic remains.

VANISHING? 

For the umpteenth time, rumors are floating about the demise of the Neptune Diner in Astoria, Queens.

We first heard about it last winter, but it was denied. We heard about it in December, but it was some kind of a misunderstanding. Now it returns. This time, though, the rumor sounds possible.



The Queens Gazette reported it on their Facebook page.

"Sadly Neptune Diner Site is for Sale," they wrote earlier this month. And they pasted in a realtor's listing (but no link to the source):

"As exclusive marketing and sales agent, Eastern Consolidated is pleased to present 31-05 31st Street aka 31-01 Astoria Boulevard North in Astoria, Queens (the 'Property' or 'Site'). The Property, which is well-located corner future development site with three sides of legal light and air and a maximum ZFA of ±41,760 square feet. The Site is currently improved with a standalone diner with on-site parking and will be sold subject to the existing diner lease, which expires August 31, 2019 with no further extension options."

A rumor is floating around (again) that the great Neptune Diner of Astoria is closing. This photo of a supposed shutter note showed up on Twitter with an Astoria hashtag:



But a call to the diner confirmed they are not closing. And a Reddit reader says the sign is a hoax.

UPDATE: A Facebook commenter say, "It's the Neptune Diner in Newburgh, NY that's closing, and that shutter note is from their menu. I know this because I ate there a few days ago. It's a shame... I really liked that place."



The same rumor went floating around a year ago. Is this an annual, end-of-year occurrence? Anyway. The woman who answered the phone at Neptune tells me the menu for their Christmas dinner is wonderful.

A reader from Queens recently wrote in, "There have been reports of the Neptune Diner’s imminent demise over the last few years. However, community gossip is much stronger and multiple people have said the lot on which the Neptune sits was sold and the diner will be closed."



So I went to Astoria for breakfast at the Neptune. It's right at the bottom of the stairs at Astoria Boulevard Station. You can't miss it with its white stone walls and red adobe-style roof, its arched windows and lighted carriage lamps.



The food was good. As the paper placemat informs you, the Daily News has named Neptune the Best Diner in Queens.

The place was busy, too, bustling with a Queensian mix of New Yorkers--working class and middle class, many races and ethnicities. The city.



I don't know how long the Neptune has been in existence. Long enough for David Bowie and Catherine Deneuve to dine there during the filming of The Hunger, and no doubt longer.


Photo by Jean-Claude Deutsch, via Findery

But back to those closing rumors. I asked a man who looked like he knew the score.

"I heard you might be closing," I said. "Is it true?"

"That's the Twitter," he replied, waving away the rumor with his hand. "You know the Twitter?"

"Yes."

"You know Donald Trump on the Twitter? He's gonna build a wall? Ha!"

"Yes."

"It's like that."

Make of that what you will. There is currently no public record of the building being sold. Maybe they're thinking about it, maybe they're not. But when these rumors crop up, they're usually made of something. So go to Neptune, have a good meal, and enjoy the place. Because you just never know.

What a thrill it was to round the bend on the 7 train into Long Island City and see the crazy, vivid vista of 5 Pointz, covered in graffiti art. Through the scrim of the dirty train window, all that color.

You felt it in your chest. In your heart. That flutter. That sudden flooding of feeling. Remember that?


from Untapped Cities

Then they whitewashed it and demolished it.

And here's what it looks like now when you round that bend.



Just a muddy pit. The footprint of what will be more glass, for glitz, more generic towers for more generic life.

New York, we are fucking everything up.

Norwood Rexall Drugs in Astoria has been in its spot for 60 years, but it was recently forced to move by a rent hike, according to a note in the window.

Reader Scott Levine sends in a photo of the letter to customers from owner Syed Naqvi, who's been running the shop since 1977. He explains that the building was purchased by TK Management. And then, "All of a sudden, the new owner wants to double the rent, plus add the real estate taxes, without giving us reasonable notice."


photo by Scott Levine

The storefront is an antique, with curved, deeply set window displays and a vintage Rexall sign on the glass.


2014 -- photo by Nancy A. Ruhling

Mr. Naqvi was featured in a HuffPo piece last year. He told Nancy Ruhling about his move from Pakistan, and how he worked hard to take over the drugstore and keep it going over the years.

"The price wasn't high because the owner was retiring," he said of the time, "and the shelves were bare because he had not kept up with the inventory in anticipation of leaving. I paid him $20,000 plus some notes, and it was mine. I had to borrow $5,000 from a friend."


today -- photo by Scott Levine

VANISHING

Art Cove has been selling art and craft supplies in Ridgewood, Queens, for 44 years. But no more.



On their Facebook page they've announced:

"Ridgewood, New York, has become too fancy for Artcove. After 44 years we will be closing at the end of this year."



Ridgewood Social writes: "Art Cove is a craft supply store lost in time. With its original awning still in place, they have become a staple of Ridgewood’s past. As major craft chains move towards only scrap-booking, Art Cove maintains its roots as a place to buy supplies for all sorts of crafts."

But as we keep hearing, Ridgewood is the new Williamsburg. Or the new Bushwick, which was once the new Williamsburg. Anyway, it's the "next big neighborhood." It's even got a Twitter page called Gentrify Ridgewood! So much for those cheaper rents.

Think you're safe in your outer borough hideaway? Think again. No neighborhood is safe from the juggernaut of hyper-gentrification.

After 20 years of working on Wall Street, Chris Arnade walked away in 2012, disillusioned with the business. He kept walking, all the way to the Bronx, with a camera in his hand. In Hunts Point, he got to know and photograph the other humans of New York, the ones at the margins--prostitutes and drug addicts, living in poverty. Collected in a series called "Faces of Addiction," the images are both beautiful and heartbreaking.

Arnade has also photographed the pigeon keepers of New York, the people of Brownsville and East New York, the tricked-out bikes of New York, and much more, including the transgender sex workers of Jackson Heights, Queens. When we look to the Meatpacking District and wonder where did all those girls go -- they went here.


all photos by Chris Arnade

The following text is excerpted from an essay by Chris Arnade, from his flickr page:

At 4:00 am the 7 train over Roosevelt Avenue provides the rhythm for Jackson Heights, Queens. Each train spills out people from the late shift and fills with others going to the early shift.

The closing of the bars brings another rush: Drunken men to the sidewalks and hack cabs to the streets.

It is also the time the transsexuals start working, selling sex. They stand out: Tall, heavily made-up black and Hispanics dressed for show. They cluster about one intersection flirting with passing men and dodging the desperately drunk ones.

Their corner has two all-night bakeries where they rest. The young women working the bakeries know all of them; they have their drinks ready without the need to ask.



Jessica sits and sips her coffee. “Why 4:00 am? Because the men are so drunk they can kiss me and still pretend they are not gay.” Across from her is Claudia dabbing makeup on her face. “Hispanic men have to be all macho. Being gay is a no-no. This late, perhaps nobody will know, not their family. Even they can pretend.”

At the next table sit two men in dirty work-clothes eating plates of rice and meat.

None of the Johns say they are gay. “The men out here are in the closet or they don’t want to believe what they really like. They look for us to say they’re looking for a woman, but they know what it really is. There are more closeted gay people than we know.”

The transsexuals do not consider themselves gay. They are women who like men. “I am not gay. I am a woman. I just want what every other woman wants, a tall white handsome guy like you. Do me a favor, forget that camera and give me a big kiss, honey.”



They almost all come from very modest backgrounds and from places where homosexuality is not only shunned but a sin. They knew they were different early.

Desire, from Jamaica, knew when she was six. “My dad hated who I was. Jamaicans hate fags.” It took until the age of sixteen, when she went to jail and was happy for the attention of the other men that she was able to come out. “Guys started liking me in jail.”

Jessica from Puerto Rico had the same story. “I always knew I was different, from five. I did not want my penis. I wanted what the girls had. I came here because it’s better to be this way in New York than where I come from.”



Chris Arnade has since left New York City. He wrote an essay for The Awl about what he'll miss about Brooklyn. You can find his photos on Flickr.

Barnes & Noble is removing its stores from Queens, including a location in Forest Hills that preservationists tried to save. It's ironic to fight for a chain, but the neighborhood is otherwise a bookstore desert. And what's coming to replace it? A Target.

Meanwhile, on Fifth Avenue and 18th Street, the flagship Barnes & Noble bookstore (since 1932 and closed in 2014) has been completely transformed into a Banana Republic.



The plaque on the outside wall ("Founded 1873") has been pried off, leaving a shadowy scar on the masonry.

Inside, a message for all who might still think books have value: THINK LESS.



(I took this picture awhile ago, so it may not be there anymore. It was there when they opened.)

Tucked close to the Queensboro Bridge, on Long Island City's Vernon Boulevard, there's a little jewel of an abandoned building: the offices of the once-sprawling New York Architectural Terra-Cotta Works.



When the company closed in the 1930s, these offices continued to function in various capacities until 1965 or so. Citibank bought it, boarded it up, and forgot about it for decades. In old photos, the building sits forlorn and mysterious, its gorgeous ornamentation covered by plywood.

In 1987, Christopher Gray described it in the Times as "a burnt brown riot of pressed and shaped brick, chimneys with spiral designs, stepped gables and round-bottomed roof tiles... The entire building is a rich symphony of hard-burnt brown, cream and umber."



The building was landmarked in 1982 but nothing was done to protect it from the elements. The plywood on its doors and windows was left to rot and warp.

A couple of years ago, the building was wrapped in scaffolding and netting for "remedial repairs," noted Brownstoner. "Silvercup Studios planned to build a studio on the lot behind the building and restore the Vernon Boulevard landmark. Plans stalled after the economic downturn."



In old photos, the little building stands in front of a large factory and next to a yard for storing terra-cotta sculpture. (In the background, the cantilever Queensboro Bridge is half built.) In his 1891 book Terra-Cotta in Architecture, Walter Geer described the factory in detail. "The first story contains the engine, boilers, machinery for preparing clay, and the clay, coal and grit pits." This machinery included washer and slip tanks, crushers and mill stones, as well as some items known as pug mills. There were 12 kilns.

The clay came from New Jersey. It was mined, seasoned, and delivered to the factory, where it was crushed, ground, washed, and mixed with grit before being molded and sculpted. From there, the terra cotta got shipped off to adorn some of the most beautiful buildings in the city.



Today, the scaffolding and netting has been removed from the terra-cotta works office building. The windows are properly protected. The bricks, many of them made of textured terra-cotta, along with all the scrollwork, are looking clean and fresh.

What's next for this historic site?

Filmmaker E.J. McLeavey-Fisher has made a lovely short documentary about Joe Leisner, former owner of the shop Comic Book Heaven in Sunnyside, Queens.

I asked E.J. a few questions about the film--which you can watch in its entirety right here:


Comic Book Heaven from E.J. McLeavey-Fisher on Vimeo

Q: Something I like most about the film is its depiction of what might be called "a real New York character." Can such a breed still exist in the city? And can they still run a successful business?

A: That breed can definitely still exist, but I don't think they can necessarily run a shop like Comic Book Heaven without making some serious tweaks over time. To me, Joe's "New York character" comes from that defiant, stubborn outlook that often gets equated with the overall NYC attitude. That's the charm, of course, but when it applies to a business model, it's not so sustainable.

The conflict now is that people get a kick out of Joe and appreciate his efforts in a film like this, but when it comes down to it, they might still prefer a new coffee shop in that storefront.

Q: It seems like many of the newcomers to New York have trouble dealing with shopkeepers who have...let's call it an "edge." In Joe's shop, he had a sign that said if you don't put the comics back in alphabetical order, "we will break your fingers." I suspect that if a sign like this existed today, in the gentrified parts of Manhattan or Brooklyn, people would be screaming bloody murder about it on Yelp. What are your thoughts on this?

A: Joe definitely has that edge, but it's hard not to notice the intentional humor within it. I would hope that if a character like Joe and those signs existed in a store in another neighborhood, people would take the time to soak him in and find the humor in it. But some people aren't looking to necessarily engage in a conversation or get to know the person running the store they're shopping at, which is understandable too.

New York City is rather unrelenting in how much interaction it's throwing at you at all times and it takes a while to get used to that. So if you just want to get your comic book and get out, Comic Book Heaven may not have been the place for you. It's a personal preference thing, I guess. If I read negative reviews on Yelp about Comic Book Heaven that still included any of those anecdotes, I'd probably want to go even more.



Q: What was lost when Joe's shop closed?

A: I’m not into comic books myself and had never been to the store before I started this project, so I don’t have that personal connection that some do. But after observing the business over the months that I was filming, I saw how comforting a store like this was for some of the customers in the same way that others might go to a local bar.

And I don’t envision these people now making the trek into Manhattan to hang out at Forbidden Planet. So that specific community, however small, isn't there for these customers in the way that it once was.

Q: What inspired you to do this film, especially since you're not a comic book fan?

A: Sunnyside has a small-town vibe to it compared to some other neighborhoods in the city, so it's more noticeable when a business opens or closes. I'd been following a local neighborhood news site for a while that covered these stories pretty frequently and wanted to try and catch one of these businesses to document the process of closing--not after they had closed suddenly.

I saw the article about Comic Book Heaven closing and stopped by, figuring it might make for a quick 3-minute piece as the shop closed a month later (which was the original plan). But once I met Joe, I realized there was more to it. Plus, he ended up staying open for 5 months longer than he was supposed to, so I was able to shoot much more than I initially anticipated.

Q: What's Joe up to these days? Does he miss the shop?

A: Joe does not miss the shop but he misses the companionship and activity for sure. He does his best to stay in touch with former customers and people from the neighborhood, but without a specific schedule and living out in Canarsie I think he's a bit bored. His motivation and energy is incredible though; he wants to become an actor now that he's spent some time in front of the camera. But as any aspiring actor in NYC knows, it's not a quick or easy career to launch. He keeps telling me that I need to find him a gig because he's "running out of time."


You can follow the film on Facebook

The following is a guest post by Max Falkowitz

VANISHING

For 23 years, Rahita Raval has baked croissants and carrot cake in a 470 square foot storefront in Forest Hills, Queens. Now, as thanks for those pastries and two decades as a respectful tenant, her landlord has handed her an eviction notice. Bonelle Pastry Shop, today a fixture of the neighborhood, must clear out by the end of the year.


photo: Ed B Flowers, flickr

Raval isn’t facing eviction to make way for a new store that wants her space. Her landlord, the Brooklyn-based Babad Management Company, just signed a lease with Dunkin’ Donuts for a space down the street. Babad argues Bonelle would make undue competition for Dunkin’ and thus must vacate the premises. With only a verbal rental agreement, not a formal lease (it was foisted on her after her first 10 years as a leased tenant), she has few options.

The Daily News and Gothamist have been on the case, and over 850 people have signed a petition urging Babad to reconsider. Most recently, the Dunkin’ Donuts franchisee Scott Campbell has pledged his support for Bonelle, in an effort to highlight where the eviction pressure seems to be coming from: a massive real estate company that hardly has a sterling reputation. Babad’s company, meanwhile, has been unresponsive to journalists’ calls, and has not replied to Raval’s (or her lawyer’s) request for a meeting.

It’s unclear just what the original terms of discussion were between Babad and Dunkin’ Donuts. It’s uncertain if all this protest will have any effect, or, if it does, if Campbell won’t change his tune about Bonelle staying put.

But here’s what I can tell you about Bonelle and its place in Forest Hills.

Jeremiah spends his days chronicling the painful ways New York is losing its vital organs. Forest Hills has stood as a resilient counterexample to this necrosis, a neighborhood populated by decades-old businesses and the customers to keep them thriving. Take Eddie’s Sweet Shop, the marble-countered ice cream parlor with nearly 100 years of history behind it. Or the 80-year-old German chocolate shop Aigner’s, which makes its honeycomb candy just like always. Or Bonelle’s neighbor, Nick’s Pizza, which for 21 years has been slinging some of the borough’s finest pies.

I could tell you about the bagel shops that have stood the test of time. And Wafa’s, which years ago graduated from a lunch counter to a full restaurant, where chef Wafa Chami’s Lebanese cooking has a dedicated clientele.

And then there’s Bonelle, which loads its moist carrot cake with nuts and fat slabs of not-too-sweet cream cheese icing. You can buy oversized jammy hamentaschen there, and flaky rugelach, and sweet, dense petit fours. Raval doesn’t have a hot take on a cronut or much reason to change her menu at all. She’s a bakery owner succeeding where more and more New York small businesses are failing. And she has the fans to keep it that way.


photo: Daily News

Forest Hills has the advantage of housing some of Queens’s wealthiest residents. And those residents gladly shop at the many chains on Austin Street and Queens Boulevard. But they support their local spots with gusto and show no sign of stopping. Babad’s eviction notice isn’t an omen of gentrification; Forest Hills is already comfortably gentrified. Rather, it’s an awkward, unwelcome, and ungainly attempt at a powerplay fueled by the basest form of greed.

Raval is now fighting her eviction, seeking out a new space, and handling the rush of holiday orders all at once. She has no problem with a Dunkin’ Donuts opening nearby; she just wants to keep baking. “I would love for the landlord to come to the table. I’d love to have a five-year lease and to show him that the neighborhood supports us. He’s allowed me to be here for 23 years. All I would like is a few years more.”

Supporters can sign the petition at her bakery. You can also contact Forest Hills councilwoman Karen Koslowitz, borough president Melinda Katz, or call Babad Management Company at 718-633-7586 and urge them to respond to Bonelle’s request for a meeting.


Max Falkowitz is the national editor editor at Serious Eats, a James Beard award-winning food and drink website, where he covers dining in New York across the five boroughs.

I took a walk around what's left of 5Pointz recently.



You can see the destruction as you roll past on the 7 Train, looking down into rubble. And get a closer look on the ground, through a grimy plastic window in the plywood demolition fence.



The entire rear section has already been demolished.



Across the street, a tribute in spray paint: "RIP 5Pointz: Rest in power" and "Enjoy Your Legacy Gerry!"



That probably means Jerry Wolkoff, the owner of the property who was behind the white-wash and now the demolition.

Coming to this spot will two high-rise luxury towers, 47 and 41 stories tall, glittering and dull as downtown Dallas office complexes.



It was also have some very bland people hanging out in its very bland courtyard, where a "graffiti wall" will give the place "street cred."

For this week's piece in Metro NY, a long walk to the Lemon Ice King of Corona.



To get to the Lemon Ice King of Corona, especially on a day when the 7 train is running express, you walk from Junction Boulevard in Queens. The walk is half the pleasure.

Under the elevated tracks, you go past the botanicas and tarot card readers, the driving schools and tortillerias, the women at sidewalk stands blending fruit into juice. You walk past the giant, flashing signs for Corona Oral Surgery–the ones that inexplicably advertise OB-GYN! OB-GYN!–and turn right onto 104th Street, through the land of barber shops...

...It’s Indian summer, or more Global Warming. The locust trees along the sidewalk are turning gold. The Mets have just one game left to play. At the Lemon Ice King, the candy apples have appeared, another sign of the changing season. A new crowd arrives, taking vivid colors into their hands—pistachio green, cherry red, blueberry blue. No one buys a candy apple. They’re not quite ready to give up the ice.

Read the whole essay at Metro NY

For my column in today's Metro NY, a visit to Leo's Latticini in Corona, Queens.



“Is this your first time here?” she asks from the kitchen, her hands over a basin of milky water where she’s pulling mozzarella like it’s taffy.

I nod. I must look lost.

“You like mozzarella? Come. Taste.”

She rips off a hunk of the soft cheese, squeezes it in her dripping fist, and thrusts it towards me. Like a good Catholic faced with the Eucharist, I take and I eat. The fresh cheese is warm, silky, and delicious.

“Chew it good,” she says.



This is my introduction to Irene DeBenedittis of Leo’s Laticcini, also known as Mama’s of Corona. Irene makes the mozzarella and her sister Marie does the cooking—turkey with gravy, roast pork, manicotti, you name it.

“I don’t use recipes,” says Marie. “I just go on instinct" ...

Please read the rest of the essay here.

Photographer Tim Schreier sent in a collection of depressing photographs showing what's become of the Iron Triangle at Willets Point. What had been a bustling community of small business people and their customers is now a dead zone, waiting to be flattened by bulldozers set in motion by Bloomberg.



Tim writes: "I had not been to Willets in a few months and was curious to see how the community of businesses (primarily auto repair and supply businesses) was faring since receiving eviction notices from the city. What I saw was a few businesses hanging on but, for the most part, it was like a ghost town. Willets Point was a thriving, multicultural business community. One could detect not only various languages being spoken but dialects as well. It was a very busy community, businesses thriving individually and collectively.

To the small business owner, it was a place of active trade. A place where they could earn and work. To Citi Field, the city, and other gentrification-driven agendas, it was an eyesore, a neighborhood that could not stand next to Citi Field."





"What stood out most to me was that, on one side of the train tracks, the city was celebrating the 50th Anniversary of The World's Fair Pavilion, and on the other was a clear exercise in plutocracy today. Where Robert Moses stood on eminent domain, The Willets Point Development Project (including Sterling Equities, The Related Companies, and the Queens Development Group) was perfectly aligned.

The only striking difference is that Moses used The World's Fair to develop Corona Park, while at Willets Point businesses are displaced to make way for a 1.4 million square foot shopping mall, a hotel or two, and of course luxury condos overlooking Citi Field (to add insult to injury, over $500 million of public money will be subsidized for the private developers, infrastructure, and land acquisition). In a city where a promise of opportunity is steeped in its history, this is yet another in a growing list of examples of how opportunity is reserved for the wealthy and not for the working poor."



Previously:
The Fight for Willets Point
The Iron Triangle
Bono Sawdust

People for the Pavilion is a group fighting to save the New York State Pavilion, a ruin of the World's Fair in Flushing Meadows park. Recently, they hosted a kick-off event to share their plans and engage in conversation with the community to strategize the future of this un-landmarked landmark.

I asked co-founder Matthew Silva a few questions about the project.



What's the story with the pavilion? Is it being torn down--and why?

The New York State Pavilion was built for the 1964 New York World's Fair and was meant to showcase "The best that New York had to offer." Basically, it was a showcase for New York industry. Some of the unique features were its three observation towers, the large elliptical tent of tomorrow, and its floor, which was giant Texaco road map made out of terrazzo. [See it here.]

It was meant to be retained as a tourist attraction after the fair but due to some unfortunate circumstances politically and economically, the building quickly became a low priority and essentially sat with little maintenance for decades.

At this point there is no order to tear it down, and I don't know of any governing body that WANTS to tear it down. The latest buzz came from results from a city-funded engineers report that was released in late November that provided cost estimate for the building's demolition, stabilization, and adaptive reuse. Basically, it will cost about $14 million to demolish it, and about $70 million to turn it into something new.

Why do you think it's worth saving?

Herbert Muschamp said "The essential feature of a landmark is not its design, but the place it holds in a city's memory." I think that sums it up. The building has become a symbol and a recognizable landmark of our city, especially Queens. Some argue that world's fair pavilions are only supposed to be temporary and that this should have been taken down years ago. Although that might be true, the fact is that it has endured, and has become a iconic building that people have come to recognize and admire. It's a part of the backdrop to so many people's lives, and to remove it would be to erase a part of their own history. Not to mention it was designed by world-class architect Philip Johnson, who was a major advocate for the arts and architecture. He was jointly responsible for saving one of New York's greatest treasures, Grand Central Terminal, and it's now our job to repay the favor.

How can people get involved?

People can get involved by staying informed and participating in the various events that our organization, People For the Pavilion (PFP), plan to hold in the new year. Visit our website, follow us on twitter, and like our Facebook page to keep up with the latest.



Matthew recently launched a Kickstarter campaign for his film, Modern Ruin, on the history and life of the Pavilion. Please visit the page, view the trailer, and give your support.

The fight to save 5Pointz might very well be over. In the dark of night, with police protection, the building owners have white-washed the public work of art.

This morning @5Pointz tweeted the news and Jeff Carroll posted the following photos of the destruction on Instagram:





After the City Council approved the demolition of 5Pointz to make room for luxury development, the founders of the 5Pointz Aerosol Art Center filed a lawsuit to block the demolition.

With their lawsuit defeated, the 5Pointz defenders held a major rally this weekend and announced their plan to seek landmark status for the building. As we've seen many times before, when preservationists seek landmarking, building owners act fast--destroying the structure trying to be saved.

This morning, commuters on the 7 train are getting a shock, many of them taking to Twitter to say #RIP5Pointz.

These are photos from my recent trip to 5Pointz.












And yet another part of untamed New York is destroyed for more towering glass boxes, more hollow architecture for a city that has lost its soul. Again, too often, I think of Ada Huxtable's words:

“Any city gets what it admires, will pay for, and, ultimately, deserves… We want and deserve tin-can architecture in a tinhorn culture.”



Update: As the morning goes on, more gut-wrenching photos are emerging online:


Stephen Nessen's twitter