Twilight on the Upper East Side

Last night's weather: hard rain, followed by spotty rain, followed by a visually sporadic sunset made for a swirly twilight sky. I snapped shots and also noted something fleeting: an intact block long tenement row without renovation (100 years or older) on one of the busiest intersections in New York City ~ 57th Street & 2nd Avenue. Not many intact blocks left on major Manhattan thoroughfares. The north west corner is a two-story taxpayer then two unrenovated buildings are west of it on 57th St. Nine tenements run north up to 58th Street. My Pryor grandfather was born on 50th Street in 1900 and it was easy for me to get a sense of the stretch with the 2nd Avenue El running down the avenue in front of the buildings.

My Irish grandmother, Helen Ryan, was a telephone switchboard operator in a building in this row in the 1950s' & early 60s'. She took the M31 bus to work. Sitting on a stoop at the corner of86th Street & York Avenue I'd wait for her to come home.

Today, I never see an M31 go by without hearing Nan Ryan's sweet calm voice. What a contrast her personality was to the rest of the family.

Here are some twilight photos of the Upper Eastside.

Horn & Hardart ~ The Original NYC Fast Food

“My family was on the dole when I was a kid,” Mom said in the steaming street.

“What’s that?” Rory asked me.

“Means you’re on a special pineapple diet,” I told him.

It was the middle of May and the temperature was 82 degrees at 11 in the morning. After getting thrown out of the cool bank for loitering, Mom pushed Rory & me down 86th Street in the stroller and told us a story. “It’s not like the old days. When I was a kid you could spend the whole day in the Horn & Hardart coin-mat with a few nickels in your pocket. Steaming coffee came out of the mouth of a brass dolphin. Best baked beans on earth. Macaroni & cheese from God.

My knucklehead cousin, John, once put a nickel in a machine to get a glass of milk. Then he yelled train wreck, and showed me his open mouth full of lemon meringue pie. He was so proud of himself he forgot to stick a glass under the milk spout. Quick thinking, he stuck his hat underneath the spout and collected the milk the hard way.”

Mom rubbed the sweat off the back of her neck and said, “It’s a scorcher. Let’s go find me some shoes.”

Del-Satins Deliver A Love Letter to Yorkville

Here are pix from last night's terrific Del-Satins show at St. Stephen's. Unfortunately, my camera does not take good inside shots when there is bright stage lighting.

Frank Florio and Marty Gillis did a great job organizing the event and ensuring everyone had a good time. The talent was amazing. The Del-Satins retain a harmonious gift and delivered a love letter to their old Yorkville neighborhood.

Yorkville Melodies Turn Into Satin

Our Town & the West Side Spirit published my story on the history of Doo-wop on the Upper East Side.

In the mid 50s' the Yorkville Melodies sung on the corner of 87th Street & York Avenue. They led to the creation of a group called The Del-Satins ~ these Yorkville men harmonized and sung on some of the greatest records of all time. The Del-Satins went on to a terrific career and are still singing together 50 years later. Their show on May 13th @ St. Stephen's of Hungary is a sellout.

"Yorkville Melodies Turn Into Satin"

“Barbara, Kronks!” I said turning to mom's youngest sister working the stroller and me down the long York Avenue stoop. It was June 1958, Barbara was 19, I was four. Barbara loved me better than a sandwich loaded with mayo, but she had a second reason for taking us gallivanting: Teen boys loved teen girls pushing carriages. I was bait. To get Barbara’s attention the guys had to go through me, and these were rough nice guys on the corner of 87th Street and York Avenue. In Kronk’s Soda Fountain shop, I’d get pretzels and egg creams on the cuff while the boys tried to impress Barbara. “Please don’t tell your mother, Tommy,” Barbara begged on the way home. Later, Mom asked, “Why aren’t you eating your hamburger? It’s your favorite!” “I don’t know,” I lied, not wanting to drop a dime on Barbara. Mom looked at my bloated belly and called her parents. “Mom, put Barbara on the phone... a moment later… What the hell did I tell you about loading him up with crap right before dinner?”

But it didn’t matter; Mom let Barbara walk me over to Kronk’s anytime she liked. Mom needed the break. My younger brother, Rory and I were unified on only one thing, torturing adults. No relative would babysit the two of us together in their own house. Anytime, Mom needed to go out and she couldn’t find a willing babysitter to come to us, she had to work the phone to get two separate relatives to take us in.

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86th Street's Droopy Stoop ~ Now & Then

On the southeast corner of 86th Street and York Avenue is a stoop that caught my interest as a kid. 500 East 86th Street. It was the highest one on the block. I’d wait on top for my father to get off the crosstown bus. Sitting there, I noticed the railing on both sides looked like a really fat elephant sat on it and made it droop. Never knew why. Last month, I had a conversation with my friend, Bill Chefalas, and he told me a story.

Our Stoop – 500 East 86th Street

During the period 1955 to 1958, I, along with other neighborhood friends, used to meet almost daily, and sit at the very top of the stairs, where we could see out over the cars and people on to York Avenue. We would alternate between the stoop and the popular Kronk’s ice cream parlor, a block away on 87th Street--the stoop was more private. On any given day, there were at least 20 to 30 of us who would congregate at these places. Some came from as far as the Bronx to meet there. (I walked every day from 81st Street and 1st). For these were some of the most popular places for us to meet girls and arrange dates. A few of us had cars, but I didn’t. And the ones that did, used to take us on rides to Coney Island and Freedom Land in the Bronx, and long rides around the Belt Parkway.

Our “stoop,” had a very large decorative stone lintel about six feet wide, located at the top of the stairs high above the door, and one day, probably around 1957, the lintel came crashing down on the two railings. If you look today, you can still see the two parallel bends on the railings that were caused by the crashing stone. Luckily, we weren't sitting there at the time. Every time I pass by that building, I look over at the stoop to see if the bent railings are still there, and they still are. Seeing those bends, bring back the memories of those days, and I can still picture me and my friends sitting there.

By Bill Chefalas