In the mid 1960s through the mid 1970s my grandmother was legal secretary to Judge Xavier Riccobono in Manhattan's Supreme Court in Foley Square. Nan respected and loved working for "Ricky" (never to his face). If my grandmother called the judge at home in the morning to let him know she was ill and not coming in he stayed home, too. The judge knew who ran the office.
Being on the subway at 10 or 11 alone in 1965 was no big deal and I began visiting my grandmother downtown on school holidays if she was working. Going to the Courts, being treated swell (except by my grandmother, who told me to watch my step and keep my big mouth shut unless someone spoke to me) was a pretty good deal. I got to know a lot of folks at 60 Centre Street and enjoyed their company but would grow itchy and go out and explore the neighborhood.
Of all the places I played in, Tweed Courthouse, City Hall, Municipal Building, Woolworth Building, my favorite downtown building was and remains 31 Chambers Street. The Surrogate Court was built over an eight year period and opened in 1907. Made from Maine granite, it was Disneyland to me. In the 1960s security was lax or nonexistent and I wandered the top and bottom of most offices surrounding City Hall Park. But 31 Chambers was the winner, dark cavernous basement with long poles to pull voucher boxes from drawers fifteen feet in the air, secret entrances, a lobby that beat ancient Rome's Senate floor for beauty (seen in 10,000 films and TV shows), and the best part of the whole trip: I had full access to the judges bathrooms on the top floor.
These were not bathrooms. They were turn of the century male powder rooms with enough exquisite wood and polished brass you'd think you were in Delmonico's and just ran into your old pal, Diamond Jim Brady. The 1960s were a time if you were a kid and without saying a word you looked like you were going to ask a merchant, "Could I please use your the bathroom?" Out on your ass, no delay. I grew up in a noisy apartment with a closet size bathroom. I knew lavatory heaven when I saw it. I'd take two newspapers up there that I'd find on benches along the way up the long marble staircases ( I knew the judges and staff schedules and when the bathrooms were empty of traffic). I'd rest a spell on a toilet bowl so luxurious the King of France endorsed it in "Crapper Magazine."
From the Royal Throne I ruled fairly over the land.
Here are photos of 31 Chambers Street and Foley Square.
Tomorrow, Friday, December 21st @ 7pm, I'm a guest storyteller at Eric Vetter's
No Name and A Bag O' Chips free variety show @
Otto's Shrunken Head @ 538 East 14th Street. We promise a fine time, and then the world ends.
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River to River: New York Scenes from a Bicycle" available @Amazon @ $12.95.
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| Barbara, Pat O'Rourke & Pat Carmody on SE corner of 86th & York |
Happy 75th Birthday tomorrow to my baby aunt, Barbara Ryan Fiorillo. I remember the sweet rides she'd give me in the carriage over to Kronk's Soda Fountain shop to flirt with the boys on 87th Street in the late 1950s. Free egg cream and a pretzel every time.
I'm walking through Central Park last week minding my business and who do I run into? That's right, Jessica Rabbit. She finishes her "Acme" photo gig, then we shoot the breeze and hit it off. Who knew? Well, Red's coming to No Name... & A BAG O' CHIPS: SUMMER READING EDITION '15 tomorrow night, so please, give the lady some room.
