My New York City Photo Safari

nyc-paintede-wallChris Gampat appeared on my radar a few years ago. At the time we were both freelancers, churning out short snippets for PCMag’s ancillary blogs. Chris and I wrote on a variety of topics, but it was easy to see we both gravitated toward photography.

He is now the proprietor of The Phoblographer, a photocentric website with tips and reviews. When he divulged the traffic numbers I gasped.

We’d never met until yesterday. There’s a spot on the East River in Queens that, on paper, seemed like a great photo location. I asked Chris if he wanted to go?

We met in at the corner of Greenpoint and West in Brooklyn. Neighborhood gentrification is in progress, but there are still garages, warehouses and small manufacturing companies. Business is there for the same reason we were–the waterfront.

We took a few shots out on a pedestrian pier, then hopped in my car and headed to Long Island City.

A few years ago LIC was like Greenpoint, industrial. Not now! Tall, slender high end condos have spring up behind the giant Pepsi sign on the Queens bank of the river. We were directly across from the United Nations with a great view of Manhattan.

We stayed a while capturing the spectacular view, then hopped the subway and headed west. Part of Long Island City’s value is its proximity to Midtown. We were under Times Square in ten minutes and down in the Meatpacking District on the Highline five minutes after that.

The Highline is an abandoned elevated rail line on the West Side of Manhattan. It has been converted to a linear park, winding its way between buildings. The views are great–people and scenery.

We walked north, taking time to take photos. As 7:00 PM approached we exited the Highline and returned to LIC.

The purpose of the trip was to get the skyline at night. It was everything I had hoped for.

Unfortunately, my gear wasn’t everything I’d hoped for! My tripod was shedding pieces as I set it up. The stiff breeze made it unstable.

I also brought my little GoPro camera for timelapse, but the battery was dead! It had been charge overnight. Early verdict: bad battery.

By the time we packed up I had a new friend and around 800 shots to go through!

(click on any of the photos for a larger view)

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Matt And Geoff’s Great Brooklyn/Queens Adventure

I was born in Brooklyn and went to high school there (via a bus and two subways). I figured I’d done my time. Did I have to go back?

I asked fellow meteorologist Matt Scott if he wanted to go to the city? Helaine had business on the other side of the state and I’m drawn to New York. I know Matt is too. We just didn’t know what we’d do once we got there!

Not to make a joke of it, but even as we left Connecticut we didn’t have a clue where we’d go or what we’d do.

IMG_1552.jpg“I’ve never been to Brooklyn,” he said.

I was born in Brooklyn and went to high school there (via a bus and two subways). I figured I’d done my time. Did I have to go back?

We drove over the Throgs Neck Bridge, onto the Cross Island and then the LIE.

There are signs on the Throgs Neck stating photography is strictly prohibited. At the same time on any given Saturday and Sunday the Brooklyn Bridge is infested with thousands of tourists and locals–most with cameras. What makes the Throgs Neck so insecure? Do they really think it’s a more tantalizing target than the storied Brooklyn Bridge?

I asked Matt if he’d like to see where I grew up and went to grade school? What was he going to say? I was driving!

A few minutes later we were standing in front of PS 163. The front door was propped open. A man was outside smoking a cigarette.

“I went here 50 years ago,” I began.

Shit, that makes me sound old. Luckily, I’m immature for my age.

Before long we were in the school.

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This building is the equivalent of one of the locales for MSNBC’s prison doc block! It was a school unsuited for me run by a woman I suspect hated me. From grade two to six I suffered inside.

The only saving grace was it was an amazing school for learning–even for someone who fought learning as much as I did! PS163 was firmly grounded in “tracking.” That’s the practice of grouping students of similar abilities together. Tracking has lost favor today. I’d be surprised to hear it’s used anywhere, though it certainly benefited me. I spent five years competing in a class of overachievers.

We had no gym. We had no recess. We had little outdoor activity–ever. Imagine.

There was… there still is a large room in the front of the building where, for a few years, we did some sort of cockamamie square dancing.

I was astounded to see numbers still painted high on the walls. This was where each class lined up in the case of emergency. The numbers corresponded to room numbers. This paint job is at least fifty years old!

PS163 worked out so well I asked Matt if he wanted to see Electchester, where I grew up? Again, to my surprise he said, “Yes.”

Everything looked smaller as we wound our way through the south end of Flushing. We headed to Kissena Blvd. then the LIE’s service road and up Parsons Boulevard where I lived. I put the top up on the convertible and we got out.

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I’ve used this analogy before, but these buildings (and the ones across the street at NYCHA’s Pomonok Houses) are reminiscent of the worst of Soviet style architecture! Considering the two complexes had well over 5,000 residents we were pretty devoid of amenities and services.

Because of how our individual building was turned to the street it was always much more convenient to enter through the basement which was 100% concrete and had asbestos wrapped exposed pipes and conduits. Maybe if I’d used a more formal and ‘softer’ entrance my experience would have been different. I’ll never know.

Matt and I walked around the building as I took photos. I wasn’t about to go in an see who was living in 5E where my family moved in 1953.

Stopping at these two places was amazing even though my experiences at both were sub-optimum. I decided to give Matt his trip to Brooklyn… but would he mind if we stopped at my high school?

We drove down Jewel Avenue to the Van Wyck Expressway then westbound on the LIE to the BQE. Without a GPS the rest was dependent on instinct and luck.

“See that tall antenna?” I asked Matt, pointing at a tall radio tower atop a building. “That’s my high school.”

We took the turns I thought would get us there while Matt tried to keep the antenna in sight. When we turned onto Fulton Street we were home free.

The neighborhood has really changed for the better. The brownstones on Ft. Greene Place were decrepit and often abandoned when I went to Tech. Now the neighborhood is gentrified. Don’t think of looking at a brownstone for less than seven figures.

I remember getting off the GG (now G) train at Fulton Street and walking by three bars before turning toward the school. Even at that early morning hour I remember watching drunks stumble out as I walked down the street. The bars are gone. The new stores are nice.

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Brooklyn Tech is currently surrounded by scaffolding. There’s some sort of major renovation going on. This is, after all, a school built as a stimulus project during the Great Depression. It’s aged.

We walked three sides of the immense school building stopping at every outside door to see if it was open. At the very last door we saw three men at a car. The adjacent door to the school was slightly ajar.

“Do you work here?”

New Yorker’s aren’t usually quick and free with information, but they answered yes.

“I graduated forty years ago and haven’t been back since. Can we go in?”

The boss looked at one of his workers and told him to take us in. We couldn’t stay long. There was work to be done.

No matter how large a high school you went to mine was larger! Allow me to sing.

Tech alma mater molder of men.

Proudly we rise to salute thee again.

Loyal we stand now six thousand strong.

The rest of the song is inconsequential. Six thousand boys went to Tech. That’s the important part.

Most of the school was eight stories tall with five corridors per floor. A smaller part of the building went to eleven stories. Yes, we had elevators, but you could only use them between certain designated floors.

“What’s that up there?” Matt asked looking at a glass covered area on the highest floor.

“That’s the foundry.”

Yeah, we had a foundry. In high school I poured molten pig iron! I know what a cope and drag are and how to make a wooden pattern for pouring.

Tech was where you learned to be an engineer. Our course of study was perfectly designed to fill the needs of 1940’s America. Alas, it was a little long in the tooth upon my arrival in 1964.

We stopped for a few photos in the 3,000+ seat auditorium and a look at some of the intricate work produced by government employed WPA artisans. Remember, Tech was built both as a school and as a make-work project to employ people during a horrific economic crisis.

Again, this was a great stop. I was totally shocked we’d been let in. Thank you unknown custodial staff. I appreciate your kindness.

When Matt originally mentioned Brooklyn it was because of a weekly flea market he’d read about. It was in the neighborhood and we headed right there.

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As is the case with much of New York City this flea market was a veritable United Nations. Every possible shade of skin as well as an immense variety of accents were represented. There was enough diversity to make everyone a minority.

It’s tough to describe what was being sold because so much of it was totally off-the-wall. Yes, there were books about Hitler. Yes, there was a Jesus Christ Action Figure.

“It has wheels,” said the guy trying to sell it.

Like Tech this was a bad neighborhood at one time. Not anymore. I said to myself, “I could live here,” though I’m not really sure that’s true. Certainly on this lazy summer’s afternoon it was quite lovely and inviting.

The flea market closed at five and we were back in the car heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Last August I’d walked the bridge with my friend Steve. I thought Matt would enjoy it too. I had only the vaguest of guesses where the bridge was as we set out.

“There it is,” Matt blurted, but he was looking at the Manhattan Bridge.

Typical out-of-towner mistake. A bridge is a bridge–right? But knowing where the Manhattan Bridge was the same as knowing where the Brooklyn Bridge was because they’re so close to each other.

We found on-the-street parking a few blocks from the entrance to the bridge’s walkway. A whole day in New York City without paying for parking! My father is proud!

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The Brooklyn Bridge provides an incredible vista from which to view the city. Crossing the East River the bridge connects Downtown Brooklyn with Downtown Manhattan. It’s about a one mile walk.

I bought a bottle of water from a vendor and we headed over.

I cannot recommend this trek enough. Looking south you see Lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty. In the distance tall cranes mark the port facilities in New Jersey.

To the north is the nearby Manhattan Bridge and a glimpse into Midtown. The Empire State Building dominates most northward views.

The East River is a working river. There’s plenty of commercial traffic though not the international fleet found on the Hudson.

There were lots of interesting looking people on the bridge, but none more interesting than the couple (by her accent, French) who found a girder with hand rails which led over the auto roadway to the edge of the bridge. It looked scary. They had just begun to head back when I spotted them.

After the bridge roundtrip we were hungry and found the Water Street Restaurant and Lounge. Surprisingly it wasn’t busy. I had a Cajun Blackened Sirloin Burger with BBQ Sauce, Andouille Sausage, Crisp Onion Ring, Cheddar Cheese. Matt had the Norwegian Lox Sandwich with Avocado, Pickled Cucumbers, Lime Mayo on Black Rye.

Good choice! Dinner was tasty.

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Our last stop was the area under the two bridges. This being the weekend there were weddings taking place with the Manhattan skyline as backdrop. When you get married down by the banks of the East River you’re inviting anyone around to stop and watch. It’s really quite sweet, romantic and frugal!

We stayed near the river until the sun went down, then headed home.

We’d set out with no firm plan and yet (even Matt will admit) had a really fun day. It was nice to go back home. It was nice to see how Brooklyn’s changed. It was good for Matt to discover Brooklyn.

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The Lure Of The City

When I was a kid, this was my dream life, living in Manhattan in an apartment. That’s where the hip and successful people lived.

My friend from California called last week. As usual he waited until the last minute to tell me he was heading to New York. Sunday was his dad’s 86th birthday. Maybe we could get together. Absolutely.

My friend’s dad lives on Manhattan’s East Side. The street is Sutton Place. This is one of New York’s premiere addresses. He has two co-op apartments, bought around 35 years ago. God only knows what they’re worth today. One is a two bedroom, which he occupies. The other is a tiny but sweet studio apartment.

I’ve been coming to this building a few times a year for over three decades. A New York City rarity, there’s a protected plaza out front where cars and taxis can pick-up or discharge. At one time it was a “full service building.” That means beside a 24/7 doorman there was an elevator operator–though it was a standard push button elevator. The common areas are spotless and tastefully decorated. This is old money elegance, not nouveau riche flash.

The dad’s apartment is on the building’s wing. He has a view of the East River, but not from everywhere and not looking straight ahead. From the small balcony, the river is off to one side. You can also see much of Brooklyn and Queens and the eastern half of the 59th Street Bridge.

Driving the Connecticut Turnpike on Sunday afternoon can be very slow. No exception to that rule on this trip! The day was perfect however and I went the distance with the convertible top down taking the Turnpike to the New England Thruway, Bruckner Expressway, Triboro Bridge and then down the FDR Drive. I drove under the 59th Street Bridge then off at 53rd Street.

IMG_1305.JPGI slowed down enough to photograph the “Cameras Prohibited” sign on the Triboro. Still a rebel.

My friend, who’s recently lost a substantial amount of weight, wanted to go to Bloomingdales for a belt. Why not? It’s open until 7:00 PM Sundays and there is an 11% rebate to out-of-state shoppers. Bloomie’s is about a ten minute walk crosstown and, like I said, the weather was perfect.

Walking into Bloomingdales is to relive the 50s! At each door from the street stood a “floorwalker,” wearing a suit with pocket square. It’s the antithesis of the greeter at Wal*Mart. The sales counters all had two or three sales people, each well dressed, waiting to help.

This is no discount store. Make no mistake, you’re buying quality goods–pricey quality goods. You’re paying for impeccable service and you get it.

We headed back toward the apartment for dinner with his dad and his dad’s girlfriend. She ordered sushi from a nearby restaurant. Manhattan is the only place in the world where every apartment has 24 hour room service!

Joe, he’s the birthday boy, is a compact man. At 86 he is trim–a common trait of Manhattan residents who spend a lot of time walking. He owned a business just across the river in an industrial section of Queens. Now he’s living a very good life; going to the opera, symphony and theater and eating in fine restaurants. His hearing isn’t what it once as, but other than that he’s as sharp as can be.

His girlfriend is younger than he. A retired high school principal (the local school I should have gone to), she is charming and attractive. She lives two floors directly above Joe–geographically desirable!

When I was a kid, this was my dream life, living in Manhattan in an apartment. That’s where the hip and successful people lived. I never thought about the lack of space or privacy or noise or even the smells that can permeate apartment hallways when others are cooking. I never thought about the difficulty of going shopping. I was an apartment dweller and knew nothing about a private home. Manhattan wasn’t a step up, it was all the way up.

I took a few minutes to walk Sutton Place before heading to the basement garage to fetch my car. I stopped at a vest pocket park on a narrow sliver of land across the street. There’s an interesting piece of public sculpture sitting there with a compass rose at the base and zodiac on top . It’s unprotected and unmolested in this very special neighborhood.

Into New York For Friday Night

I picked up the phone and the first words were, “When’s this rain gonna stop?” Actually, there was another word between this and rain, but you get the point.

A friend of mine, from California, was in New York City. It was a quick trip to visit his dad and have a business meeting. I said I’d see him after dinner.

I left Connecticut around 8:30 and headed toward the Turnpike. Though it had been raining earlier, skies had become partly cloudy. The 100 mile trip to the city was a breeze.

I drove down the FDR Drive with the East River and Roosevelt Island on my left. The buildings of Manhattan were blocked on my right, but it didn’t matter – it’s a beautiful ride on an awful road.

I called my mom on the cellphone. More than anyone, I share my love of Manhattan with her. Given her druthers, that’s where she’d be living. Me too.

My friend’s dad’s apartment is right off the FDR. I got off the exit and turned down into the basement garage, less than 100 feet away.

This is a very expensive building on one of New York’s best known streets. In fact, this neighborhood is best known by the street’s name.

As I waited, the parking attendant pulled a huge Bentley from its space. A diminutive woman and her equally small husband walked toward the car. She looked familiar.

I stared at her and she looked back. Then it hit me – Judge Judy.

I don’t have something pithy to say to everyone I meet, but this was Judge Judy. I told her I followed her on-the-air every day and then explained how I was on the news in Connecticut.

My camera was hanging on my neck, so I asked for a photo. She was very gracious. I suppose she isn’t often asked for a photo in the garage of her apartment building!

I walked out of the garage and around the block to the building’s main entrance. Residents have a key card. I was just visiting.

A doorman stood guard in front of a bank of security monitors. After a quick call to clear me, I was in.

Years ago this was a ‘full service’ building. It is probably the last place I rode an elevator that had an elevator operator (even though it was a self service elevator). Those days are gone. Even the well to do have to cut back a little.

My friend and I decided to go for coffee. That’s one of the nice things about Manhattan. You want coffee – it’s a short walk away.

In fact everything in Manhattan is close by and it’s very walkable. I’ve joked in the past, New York is the only city in America with 24 hour room service.

It’s true! You can easily get Chinese food delivered at 3:00 AM.

The coffee, in a small Italian place under the shadow of the 59th Street Bridge, was fine. The company was better.

Since I’m talking about the building, I’ll leave his name out to preserve a little privacy. This is someone I’ve known for nearly 40 years. We have been through good and bad times together.

We’re both happy with life right now – in a good place. Professionally, he’s doing very well, and I couldn’t be more pleased.

We walked back up First Avenue, past a construction site with New York City steam blasting from a subturranean vent. Though already midnight, the city was teaming with activity.

My assessment of New York is probably overly romanticized. My friend, staying in a Manhattan apartment, said he hated it – would be glad to never leave his California home. I shrugged.

I got back to Connecticut a few minutes before 2:00 AM. I suppose that’s a lot of trip to pack into one short evening. I’m glad I did.