319. 569 Hudson: Buddha, a Speakeasy, Greek Yogurt and Romance

JOYS AND HORRORS OF THE WEST VILLAGE 

AND OTHER NEW YORK STORIES

Reading at Jefferson Market Library, 425 Avenue of the Americas (near West 10th Street), on Sunday, October 8, 2-4 p.m.  I will read excerpts from my novels and New York stories, sign books, and take questions.  Books will be available for purchase.  I'll be glad to see a friendly face or two there.

Dark Knowledge: Release date January 5, 2018, but copies now available from the author.  Adult and young adult.  A fast-moving historical novel about New York City and the slave trade, with the sights and sounds and smells of the waterfront. More excerpts to come.


The back cover summary:

New York City, late 1860s.  When young Chris Harmony learns that members of his family may have been involved in the illegal pre-Civil War slave trade, taking slaves from Africa to Cuba, he is appalled.  Determined to learn the truth, he begins an investigation that takes him into a dingy waterfront saloon, musty old maritime records that yield startling secrets, and elegant brownstone parlors that may have been furnished by the trade.  Since those once involved dread exposure, he meets denials and evasions, then threats, and a key witness is murdered.  Chris has vivid fantasies of the suffering slaves on the ships and their savage revolts.  How could seemingly respectable people be involved in so abhorrent a trade, and how did they avoid exposure?  And what price must Chris pay to learn the painful truth and proclaim it?

__________________________________________________

Early reviews

"A lively and entertaining tale.  The writing styles, plot, pace and character development were excellent."  Four-star LibraryThing early review by BridgitDavis.

"At first the plot ... seemed a bit contrived, but I was soon swept up in the tale."  Four-star LibraryThing early review by snash.

"I am glad that I have read this book as it goes into great detail and the presentation is amazing.  The Author obviously knows his stuff."  Four-star LibraryThing early review by Moiser20.

_________________________________________________________________

         Every old building in New York City has its history, whether recorded or not, and 569 Hudson Street, on the northwest corner of Hudson and West 11^th Street just one short block from my apartment building, is no exception.  Today at ground-floor level it houses Philip Marie, a restaurant with tables outside in good weather, offering what it terms a fusion of New American cuisine, plus wines from all over the world.  Its name is a combination of the middle names of the owner and head chef, John Philip Greco III, and his wife, Suzanne Marie, who also acts as hostess.  Though I have often lunched there on Sunday, I cannot evaluate the cuisine, since I am quite content with their delicious Greek yogurt with strawberries and granola, perhaps followed by a cappuccino, its double espresso topped with frothy foamed milk lightly sprinkled with cinnamon.

         When I last lunched at Philip Marie, three waiters came in turn to welcome me back.  Seated inside at a small table in front, I noticed a menu offering Brunch Madness at $26.95, with Bloody Marys and Mimosas on the house.  The noise was deafening, but at least the patrons were having a good time.  And taking full advantage of something, as well, for I saw a tall waiter visit many tables repeatedly, filling everyone’s glass from a pitcher of an orange-colored liquid that I now know was Mimosa, a cocktail combining champagne and chilled orange juice. The restaurant asks brunch patrons not to linger more than 75 minutes and entreats them to “enjoy responsibly,” explaining that they reserve the right to refuse service to anyone who has had a glass too many.  Have they ever had to refuse anyone, I asked the hostess as I left, and she thought a moment and said, “No.”  At brunch, then, a joyous, noisy crowd, but no drunks.  And on one wall I noticed a quote from the Buddha defining happiness as existing in one’s mind.  Wisdom as well as good food and, with the brunch, free booze.  I left unboozed, but was told that my cappuccino was on the house.  Needless to say, I’ll be back.

         So much for today, but 569 Hudson has a history going back years, even centuries.  When John Greco bought the building in 1998, he broke down a brick wall in the basement in order to get more space.  Behind the demolished wall he found a small room with a trap door to a sub-basement that he hadn’t even known existed.  Going down the stairs to the sub-basement, he found a makeshift bar and some old broken chairs – the remains, he realized, of a hidden speakeasy of the 1920s, now unused because the room didn’t meet city regulations.

         But that wasn’t all.  He also decided to tear down a sheet rock wall and ended up breaking through four layers of sheet rock to reach a brick-and-limestone wall.  Behind that wall he found the remains of a kitchen of a farmhouse that once stood on the site, probably dating back to the 1700s.  It had two fireplaces and a window, and in the ashes in the fireplaces were oyster shells and clay smoking pipes left by the farmhouse’s original inhabitants.  But wait – a window in an underground structure?  Yes, because in those days the Village was hilly farmland and the home was above ground.

         When I learned of these underground excavations, I became fascinated by the history of 569 Hudson Street.  A farm in the 1700s and now a popular restaurant with delicious yogurt and Mimosas, but how about all those years between?  So I set out on an online voyage of discovery, tracking down every scrap of information that I could find.  Bits and pieces of history – tantalizing, but frustratingly incomplete – emerged.  Here is what I found.

         According to the Greenwich Village Historic District Designation Report of 1969, the four-story brick corner building at 569 Hudson Street was originally two buildings, a corner house built by one Abraham Miller in 1836, and a rear house at 303 West 11^th Street built in 1857-58, both of them altered in 1874.  The cornice, the projecting ledge that tops the entire building today, dates from that time, though the casement windows are later additions.  The three fire escapes on the West 11^th Street side date from when the building was converted to multiple tenancy.  Originally, I assume, the two buildings were private residences.

         Now follows a long gap in my knowledge.  The building was said to have served as a hospital during the Civil War, but I haven’t been able to confirm this.  The Proceedings of the Board of Aldermen of August 6, 1895, lists a Grognen & Co. at 569 Hudson Street.  What this company was up to, I have no idea, but we can assume that by now Hudson Street in this neighborhood was no longer residential, if it ever was, but decidedly commercial.  Confirming this is mention, in the Democratic newspaper The Tammany Times of January 15, 1900, of Gwynne & Richardson at no. 569, a highly regarded dealer in builders’ hardware doing an immense business with New York City contractors.  So now the site is helping to build up the city.

         A speakeasy in the basement?  A 1922 publication entitled The American Perfumer, vol. 17, p. 508, reports that Sardou, Inc., at 569 Hudson Street, is in involuntary bankruptcy at the instigation of a number of creditors, including George Sardou, who is owed $5,000.  This, of course, was the Roaring Twenties, when Prohibition gripped the nation, and government agents had seized fifty barrels of alcohol in the company’s warehouse at no. 569, alcohol that the company was allegedly diverting to “illicit uses,” which, I suspect, meant the gullets of thirsty New Yorkers.  And sure enough, the New York Times of July 26, 1922, reported the seizure of $20,000 worth of grain alcohol on the premises when the firm’s head – Mr. Sardou himself, I assume -- tried to sell it to the agents.  So the hidden basement room was perhaps not a speakeasy, but storage space for forbidden booze.  Sardou, Inc., the article added, was a manufacturer of toilet articles with branches in London, Paris, and Bombay.  Ah, how the mighty have fallen!

         Fast-forward to circa 1975.  A photograph in the collection of the Museum of the City of New York shows the corner building with two enterprises on the ground floor: La Sangria restaurant on the corner, and next to it on Hudson Street, the Bendix Supermatic Laundry.  And looming next to them at 571 Hudson was a five-story building housing Liberty Moving and Storage.  I had moved into 286 West 11^th Street in 1970, so this was what I found on Hudson Street just one short block away.  I don’t recall the restaurant and laundry, but I do recall Liberty Moving and Storage in the five-story building next to them, where it remains to this day.  La Sangria, presumably serving Spanish food, is the first restaurant that I am aware of at no. 569, and the presence of the laundry and Liberty Moving suggests that Hudson Street, still decidedly commercial, was servicing residents of the West Village like myself who lived nearby in old buildings on quiet residential streets.

         An ad on p. 102 of New York Magazine of May 24, 1982, announces  the Hudson River Café, featuring Nouvelle American Cuisine, at 569 Hudson Street.  Next, the New York Times of April 18, 1988, mentions the newly arrived Harlequin Restaurant, a stylish Continental restaurant, at no. 569.  And on p. 124 of New York Magazine of May 22, 1995, an ad appears for the Nine Muses Café at that address, offering Greek Mediterranean Cuisine, which another ad that year mentions as including fresh grilled octopus and fish brochettes, plus quantities of ouzo.  Finally, the May 15, 1998, issue of Eating Out, listing Greek restaurants in the city, mentions Uncle Nick’s, a handsome Greek seafood taverna at no. 569, offering sautéed Greek sausage, and an appetizer named saganaki in which a sheep’s milk cheese is set aflame and served in lemon-butter sauce.  So the site is definitely enticing restaurants, but unlike the legendary White Horse Tavern just across West 11^th Street, they don’t seem to last very long.  But their presence implies a sophisticated residential community in the West Village and beyond, with a taste for international cuisines.  But Uncle Nick’s was presumably ousted when, in that same year of 1998, John Greco bought the building, began his excavations, and launched Philip Marie.

         And today?  The studio apartments on the floors above the restaurant at 303 West 11^th Street are going for an average monthly rent of $2,550.  And the so-called hidden speakeasy?  The space one flight down has been converted into the Wine Room, a “romantic, private dining room for only two,” voted one of the top places for romance by the New York Times, the superlative arbiter of romantic atmosphere and taste.  Yes, just above where barrels of illicit booze were once stashed, loving couples now dine intimately under a ceiling with thirteen eyebeams that have protected this secret vault for over fifty years.  “Do couples really dine there?” I asked the hostess when I last lunched in the restaurant upstairs, and she answered with an emphatic “Yes!” and assured me that a couple had been there just the day before.

         So what does a couple experience in these intimate nether depths?  I can’t say from first-hand experience, not being in the market for romance and romantic settings, but online sources have given me an inkling.  Descending the narrow staircase, guests find themselves in a small room lined on all sides with wine bottles stored properly on their side.  Behind an iron gate are bottles of champagne and the secret trapdoor leading to the subterranean tunnels, but exploring those tunnels is taboo.  After a glass of champagne and an assortment of hors d’oeuvres, your private server offers suggestions for the three-course meal to follow, plus wine selections perfectly matched to your choices.  A stereo system provides jazz or romantic classics, and if you bring your own musical selections, your server will be glad to play them for you.  Customized flower arrangements, live musicians, and special cakes and pastries can also be arranged in advance.  And all this for only $195.00 per couple, plus sales tax and 20% gratuity.  But if you want special items ordered in advance, as for instance grilled venison with juniper berry sauce for the main course, or deep-fried chocolate truffles for dessert, add $20 for each. 

         So there you have it: venison in juniper berry sauce, chocolate truffles, and romantic music in a room just above where barrels of illicit booze were once stashed, and above the remains as well of a farmhouse kitchen where farmers once gobbled oysters and smoked clay pipes.  But in this age of feminism, who pays?  The guy?  The girl?  Both, equally?  And what if she earns more than he does?  And are gay couples welcome?  Complicated matters that ages before our own could never have anticipated.  So let’s leave the financial arrangements to the guests, and the question of same-sex couples to management, and wish the diners well in their intimate, wine-girt dining.

BROWDERBOOKS  

All books are available online as indicated, or from the author.

1.  No Place for Normal: New York / Stories from the Most Exciting City in the World (Mill City Press, 2015).  Winner of the Tenth Annual National Indie Excellence Award for Regional Non-Fiction; first place in the Travel category of the 2015-2016 Reader Views Literary Awards; and Honorable Mention in the Culture category of the Eric Hoffer Book Awards for 2016.  All about anything and everything New York: alcoholics, abortionists, greenmarkets, Occupy Wall Street, the Gay Pride Parade, my mugging in Central Park, peyote visions, and an artist who made art of a blackened human toe.  In her Reader Views review, Sheri Hoyte called it "a delightful treasure chest full of short stories about New York City."

If you love the city (or hate it), this may be the book for you.  An award winner, it sold well at BookCon 2017.

Review 

"If you want wonderful inside tales about New York, this is the book for you.  Cliff Browder has a way with his writing that makes the city I lived in for 40 plus years come alive in a new and delightful way. A refreshing view on NYC that will not disappoint."  Five-star Amazon customer review by Bill L.

Available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

2.  Bill Hope: His Story (Anaphora Literary Press, 2017), the second novel in the Metropolis series.  New York City, 1870s: From his cell in the gloomy prison known as the Tombs, young Bill Hope spills out in a torrent of words the story of his career as a pickpocket and shoplifter; his brutal treatment at Sing Sing and escape from another prison in a coffin; his forays into brownstones and polite society; and his sojourn among the “loonies” in a madhouse, from which he emerges to face betrayal and death threats, and possible involvement in a murder.  Driving him throughout is a fierce desire for better, a persistent and undying hope.

For readers who like historical fiction and a fast-moving story.

Reviews

"A real yarn of a story about a lovable pickpocket who gets into trouble and has a great adventure.  A must read."  Five-star Amazon customer review by nicole w brown.

"This was a fun book.  The main character seemed like a cross between Huck Finn and a Charles Dickens character.  I would recommend this."  Four-star LibraryThing review by stephvin.  

"This is an easy read about a hard life.  Interesting characters, a bustling city, poverty, privilege, crime, injustice combine to create a captivating tale."  Five-star Goodreads review by John Wheeler.

Available from Amazon.

3.  The Pleasuring of Men (Gival Press, 2011), the first novel in the Metropolis series, tells the story of a respectably raised young man who chooses to become a male prostitute in late 1860s New York and falls in love with his most difficult client.

What was the gay scene like in nineteenth-century New York?   Gay romance, if you like, but no porn (I don't do porn).  Women have read it and reviewed it.  (The cover illustration doesn't hurt.)

Reviews

"At times amusing, gritty, heartfelt and a little sexy -- this would make a great summer read."  Four-star Amazon customer review by BobW.

"Really more of a fantasy of a 19th century gay life than any kind of historical representation of the same."  Three-star Goodreads review by Rachel.

"The detail Browder brings to this glimpse into history is only equaled by his writing of credible and interesting characters.  Highly recommended."  Five-star Goodreads review by Nan Hawthorne.

Available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

T

Coming soon:  Interview:  A Male Prostitute and His Clients.  I interview characters in my novel The Pleasuring of Men and add a note on sources.

©   2017   Clifford Browder

318. A Venerable New York Institution: the Saloon

JOYS AND HORRORS OF THE WEST VILLAGE 

AND OTHER NEW YORK STORIES

Reading at Jefferson Market Library, 425 Avenue of the Americas (near West 10th Street), on Sunday, October 8, 2-4 p.m.  I will read excerpts from my novels and New York stories, sign books, and take questions.  Books will be available for purchase.  I'll be glad to see a friendly face or two there.

Dark Knowledge: Release date January 5, 2018, but copies now available from the author.  Adult and young adult.  A fast-moving historical novel about New York City and the slave trade, with the sights and sounds and smells of the waterfront. More excerpts to come.


The back cover summary:

New York City, late 1860s.  When young Chris Harmony learns that members of his family may have been involved in the illegal pre-Civil War slave trade, taking slaves from Africa to Cuba, he is appalled.  Determined to learn the truth, he begins an investigation that takes him into a dingy waterfront saloon, musty old maritime records that yield startling secrets, and elegant brownstone parlors that may have been furnished by the trade.  Since those once involved dread exposure, he meets denials and evasions, then threats, and a key witness is murdered.  Chris has vivid fantasies of the suffering slaves on the ships and their savage revolts.  How could seemingly respectable people be involved in so abhorrent a trade, and how did they avoid exposure?  And what price must Chris pay to learn the painful truth and proclaim it?

_________________________________________________

Early reviews

"A lively and entertaining tale.  The writing styles, plot, pace and character development were excellent."  Four-star LibraryThing early review by BridgitDavis.

"At first the plot ... seemed a bit contrived, but I was soon swept up in the tale."  Four-star LibraryThing early review by snash.

_________________________________________________________________

         New Yorkers have always liked to guzzle.  Prohibition doesn't stand a chance in the Big Apple; it was tried twice, once in the nineteenth century (briefly) and once in the twentieth, and both times it failed. 




         Back in Dutch days residents guzzled in taverns, to the extent that Peter Stuyvesant, the one-legged governor of New Amsterdam, complained in 1648 that one house in four was a tavern, and then imposed strict limits on their hours of business – perhaps the first attempt to discipline imbibing New Yorkers, and far from the last.

         When New Amsterdam became New York, the English tavern became the norm: a big room heated by a large fireplace that provided both heat and cooked food, with the bar itself a small cabinet not accessible to the public, so as to secure liquor from brawls and theft.  A hot dinner was offered at noon, and a cold supper in the evening.  There being no hotels in those days, out-of-town visitors were lodged in small rooms on the second floor or, failing that, on pallets near the fireplace where they could snore snugly with feet outstretched to the fire.  Ales and porters were popular, but rum, brandy, and Madeira were also available.  Stagecoaches might stop there, and taverns lured patrons – men only – with lectures, bear baitings, cockfights, and rat killings.  So from the very start, the tavern was central to the social life of the city, or at least, to the social life of males.  And the women?  They were home tending the kids, churning butter, putting up preserves, doing the wash, and gossiping with neighbors.

         The tavern continued as the site of public drinking into the nineteenth century, when that new phenomenon, the hotel, emerged as a place of lodging, and luxury hotels soon followed.  From then on the tavern’s successor, the barroom or saloon, could devote itself to moistening the gullets of customers, and otherwise keeping them happy.  The word “saloon,” by the way, derives from the French salon, meaning a large hall; by the nineteenth century it indicated a large compartment on a steamboat where passengers could lounge, and then, in the U.S., a public bar.  And that bar existed on every level, ranging from the liquor groceries of the slums to the luxury bars of the fanciest hotels.

         In slums like the notorious Five Points almost every corner housed a liquor grocery well stocked with everything the neighborhood might need for daily living: heaps of cabbages, potatoes, turnips, dried apples, chestnuts, and beans; bins of coal, nails, plug tobacco; shelves of firewood sold by the stick; other shelves with candles, crackers, sugar, tea, pickles, and mustard; casks of lamp oil, molasses, rum, whiskey, brandy, and any number of cordials concocted in a back room; hams, sausages, and strings of onions hanging from the ceiling; and maybe in one corner a short counter offering fresh-baked pies, hot coffee, and cheap cigars.  So much for the “grocery” part of “liquor grocery.”  And the liquor?  Across one end of the room ran a counter, maybe just a plank of wood on top of a couple of barrels, offering liquor at three cents a glass.  And to this all-purpose enterprise the neighbors flocked, the missus as well as her hubby, and often enough a merry time was had by all.  The proprietors prospered, often even to the point of buying a nearby tenement and renting out slivers of rooms to the indigent (Hugo’s miserables), while alcoholism in the neighborhood raged. 

The Five Points slum in 1827.  Look close: a liquor grocery on almost every corner.

         A notch or two up in the hierarchy of watering places was the stand-up saloon, often with a long bar backed by a mirror, and shiny glasses and an array of bottles on display in front of it.  There might be sawdust on the floor to cushion the patrons’ feet and absorb spat tobacco juice and spilled beer, while  a pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room put out waves of thirst-inducing heat.  On the walls were pictures of pugilists in noble poses, sleek racing horses, a local politician, and maybe a bevy of buttocky female nudes. 

         Conspicuous by its presence was the free lunch, offering spiced ham, pickles, olives, pretzels, sauerkraut, crackers, and tangy sardines: fare well calculated to keep the working-class customers – again, all men – thirsty.  Conspicuous by their absence were tables and chairs, so the establishment could accommodate hordes of workers who flocked there on their lunch break or after work.  The saloon was their place of recreation, a refuge from the harsh reality of their lives, a place for conviviality, for drinks and jokes and gossip.  And on pay day also a place to spend generously of their wages, downing their whiskey neat or wetting their whiskers in foam-topped mugs of beer, while their wives waited anxiously at home, wondering how much money would be left for groceries, clothes, and the rent.  Little wonder that middle-class female reformers, fighting for the vote, saw the saloon as a bastion of male intemperance and irresponsibility, prompting working-class males to close ranks against this assault on their sanctuary.

         The saloon owner was often a Tammany alderman who used the place as his headquarters at election time, when anyone coming to him able to deliver a hundred votes would be invited to a back room with a table and chairs, so the caller could state what he wanted in exchange for those votes.  Many an alliance was sealed in that legendary smoke-filled room, and many a betrayal conceived.  With an election approaching, a rally might be held outside on the street, with fiery campaign rhetoric topped off by an offer of free drinks that sent hordes of voters surging to the beer spigots and bottles of whiskey inside.  Despite periodic middle-class calls for reform, in this way many a Tammany man recruited votes and assured his re-election.

The Hoffman House bar, with the famous painting on the right.

         But there were fancy saloons also, often in luxury hotels.  Foremost of these in the 1870s and 1880s was the elegant seven-story Hoffman House at Broadway and 25th Street, whose barroom was a must for male visitors, not because of the handsome carved mahogany bar, or the tapestries allegedly once made for Napoleon, or the Turkish rugs on the tiled floor, but because of a huge painting by the academic French artist Bouguereau on the wall opposite the bar.  Topped by a red-velvet canopy and lit by a large chandelier, the painting, Nymphs and Satyr, showed four voluptuous female nudes cavorting around a satyr.  Needless to say, it wasn’t the goat-legged satyr that attracted the gaze of the patrons.  There were tables and chairs for guests, but gentlemen standing at the bar, with one foot on the requisite brass-plated foot rest while sipping a vermouth cocktail or creamy Hoffman House Fizz, could feast their eyes discreetly on the reflection in the bar’s huge mirror.  Reproduced in miniature on boxes of Hoffman House Cigars, the painting spread joy and titillation throughout the country, thus guaranteeing more visits to the bar by eager out-of-towners. 

         In their heyday Boss Tweed and his more presentable cronies were seen at the Hoffman House bar, as well as Buffalo Bill Cody, assorted specimens of European nobility, Texas cattle barons, Chicago hog butchers, and Colorado mining kings made rich by a strike in silver.  Resident there was the dapper man-about-town and perennial race track loser Ned Stokes, who for murdering financier Jim Fisk spent four dreary years in Sing-Sing before being released and allowed to resume his high living at the Hoffman House, of which in time he became part owner and, by purchase, owner of the painting as well.  Other residents at one time or another included Ulysses S. Grant, William Randolph Hearst, Sarah Bernhardt, and Grover Cleveland, who was living there when elected President in 1892.

         The twentieth century was not kind to the Hoffman House.  As the city continued to expand northward and elegance went with it, the hotel languished financially, declared bankruptcy, and closed in 1915, following which it was demolished to make room for a 16-story office building.  And the painting?  Following Stokes’s death in 1901, it was sold at auction to a buyer who stored it in a warehouse so as to keep its “offensive” content from the public.  In 1942 it was discovered in storage by the art collector Robert Sterling Clark, who remembered seeing it years before in the Hoffman House and now acquired it.  Subsequently it became part of the permanent collection of the Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Massachusetts, but when the institute underwent renovations, it returned to New York in 2012 and for two years was displayed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  No longer scandalous today, at best it elicits giggles from groups of visiting school kids.  If Bouguereau’s painting is not as highly esteemed as the works of his more adventurous contemporaries, the Impressionists, at least it had an interesting history as the memorable top attraction in one of New York’s fanciest bars.

         In stark contrast with the elegant bars of the fashionable hotels were the dives of the Bowery, a neighborhood that by the late 1900s had achieved its reputation as the last sanctuary of booze-ridden down-and-outers, a nest of cheap saloons, cheap hotels, prostitutes, and drunks, and the missionaries trying to reclaim them.  Especially infamous was McGurk’s ill-lit Suicide Hall at 295 Bowery, between Houston and East 1^st Street, which, minus that name, opened in 1893.  The proprietor, John H. McGurk, was a veteran in the business, have already run a string of saloons that, each in turn, had been shut down by the police.  Claiming to be a hotel so it could serve liquor on Sundays, the ground-floor saloon was patronized by soldiers, sailors, and longshoremen who did their imbibing at tables, and by prostitutes eager to entice them to a room upstairs.  Keeping order was the head bouncer, “Eat-’em-up Jack” McManus, an ex-fighter, who survived knife and gun attacks while felling unruly patrons and ousting them, while the owner sat quietly at another table, sipping a mug of ale in the company of a painted lady.

         McGurk’s saloon, one of many notorious Bowery dives, acquired its name when, in 1899, six prostitutes frequenting the place committed suicide and seven more attempted it, some by jumping out a fifth-floor window, and others by ingesting carbolic acid, a disinfectant used in surgery.  Bodies on the sidewalk were lugged to the corner of East 1^st Street and the Bowery, soon christened “Suicide Corner,” to be removed from there by an ambulance.  Especially notable were Blonde Madge Davenport and her partner Big Mame, who agreed to exit together via carbolic acid.  Blonde Madge succeeded, but Big Mame only managed to spill the acid on her face, disfiguring her for life and causing her to be barred from the premises. 

         Said McGurk, “Most of the women who come to my place have been on the down grade too long to think of reforming.  I just want to say that I never pushed a girl downhill any more than I ever refused a helping hand to one who wanted to climb.”  But he then capitalized on the suicides by renaming his establishment McGurk’s Suicide Hall.  Which might seem weird, until you learn that other Bowery dives of the time were named the Plague, the Hell Hole, the Fleabag, the Bucket of Blood, and Paresis Hall, this last a hangout for male prostitutes, paresis being a form of paralysis then believed to be transmitted by homosexual acts.  All of which brings to mind the S&M bars of the Meatpacking District in the West Village in the 1980s, prior to gentrification: the Mineshaft, the Anvil, the Spike, the Hellfire, and the Toilet.

         The police, community leaders, and City Hall finally had had enough, and they pressured McGurk accordingly.  Arrested and out on $1000 bail, he left town for California with his wife and daughter and half a million in cash; in 1913 he died of heart failure at age 59.  Suicide Hall closed down as a bar in 1902 and became a hotel catering to bums – in other words, a flophouse.  Occupied by a co-op of women artists from the 1960s on, it was demolished by developers in 2005, to be replaced by the steel and glass marvels of Avalon Bowery Place, a luxury apartment building with a doorman, private terraces, and programmable heating and air-conditioning controls.

Leonard J. DeFrancisci

         One survivor of the old days that is still thriving today is McSorley's Old Ale House at 15 East 7th Street in the East Village, which claims to date from 1854, making it the oldest continuously operating saloon in the city.  Founded by an Irish immigrant named John McSorley, it was an Irish working men's saloon for years and a men-only bar by tradition, with the motto "Good Ale, Raw Onions and No Ladies," until in 1970 it was forced by a court ruling to admit women.  Its walls are adorned with memorabilia from another age, and only in 2017 was its menu altered for the first time in over 50 years, with the addition of Coney Island hot dogs (there's no accounting for taste).  Described by poet e.e. cummings as "snug and evil," it still has sawdust floors and still offers ale and onions.

McSorley's today.
ingawh

         On this note I will end my survey of New York City saloons, a subject too vast for a single post.  Omitted are many other species, including the pretty-waiter-girl saloons of nineteenth-century Sixth Avenue, the speakeasies of the 1920s, the Mafia-run gay bars of the twentieth century, and the singles bars of today.

BROWDERBOOKS  

All books are available online as indicated, or from the author.

1.  No Place for Normal: New York / Stories from the Most Exciting City in the World (Mill City Press, 2015).  Winner of the Tenth Annual National Indie Excellence Award for Regional Non-Fiction; first place in the Travel category of the 2015-2016 Reader Views Literary Awards; and Honorable Mention in the Culture category of the Eric Hoffer Book Awards for 2016.  All about anything and everything New York: alcoholics, abortionists, greenmarkets, Occupy Wall Street, the Gay Pride Parade, my mugging in Central Park, peyote visions, and an artist who made art of a blackened human toe.  In her Reader Views review, Sheri Hoyte called it "a delightful treasure chest full of short stories about New York City."

If you love the city (or hate it), this may be the book for you.  An award winner, it sold well at BookCon 2017.

Review 

"If you want wonderful inside tales about New York, this is the book for you.  Cliff Browder has a way with his writing that makes the city I lived in for 40 plus years come alive in a new and delightful way. A refreshing view on NYC that will not disappoint."  Five-star Amazon customer review by Bill L.

Available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

2.  Bill Hope: His Story (Anaphora Literary Press, 2017), the second novel in the Metropolis series.  New York City, 1870s: From his cell in the gloomy prison known as the Tombs, young Bill Hope spills out in a torrent of words the story of his career as a pickpocket and shoplifter; his brutal treatment at Sing Sing and escape from another prison in a coffin; his forays into brownstones and polite society; and his sojourn among the “loonies” in a madhouse, from which he emerges to face betrayal and death threats, and possible involvement in a murder.  Driving him throughout is a fierce desire for better, a persistent and undying hope.

For readers who like historical fiction and a fast-moving story.

Reviews

"A real yarn of a story about a lovable pickpocket who gets into trouble and has a great adventure.  A must read."  Five-star Amazon customer review by nicole w brown.

"This was a fun book.  The main character seemed like a cross between Huck Finn and a Charles Dickens character.  I would recommend this."  Four-star LibraryThing review by stephvin.

Available from Amazon.

3.  The Pleasuring of Men (Gival Press, 2011), the first novel in the Metropolis series, tells the story of a respectably raised young man who chooses to become a male prostitute in late 1860s New York and falls in love with his most difficult client.

What was the gay scene like in nineteenth-century New York?   Gay romance, if you like, but no porn (I don't do porn).  Women have read it and reviewed it.  (The cover illustration doesn't hurt.)

Reviews

"At times amusing, gritty, heartfelt and a little sexy -- this would make a great summer read."  Four-star Amazon customer review by BobW.

"Really more of a fantasy of a 19th century gay life than any kind of historical representation of the same."  Three-star Goodreads review by Rachel.

"The detail Browder brings to this glimpse into history is only equaled by his writing of credible and interesting characters.  Highly recommended."  Five-star Goodreads review by Nan Hawthorne.

Available from Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

Coming soon: 569 Hudson: from farm to speakeasy to grilled octopus to romance.

©   2017   Clifford Browder