My Grandfather's View On Nassau Street In 1916

My grandfather, Thomas E. Pryor, was committed to a Staten Island orphanage for 8 years.  He was 8 when he entered in 1909 (his parents died of pneumonia) and a day shy of 16 when he was discharged to his Aunt, Mary Pryor, who lived at 300 E. 42^nd Street in 1916.  

Below is a picture of my grandfather at the orphanage, his birth certificate, his intake/outtake card from Father Drumgoole’s Orphanage and his 1935 Hack license.

A few years ago, doing birth certificate business for my daughter downtown in the Courts area, I walked along Nassau Street and saw the vacant lot where the first New York Times office opened in 1851.  Through the lot I had a cool view of the Woolworth Building.

As I strolled about I thought about the day my grandfather was released from the orphanage in 1916.

The next day was his birthday. I imagined he walked downtown enjoying his new freedom, past the Brooklyn Bridge along Nassau Street turning into Broad Street at Wall Street.  When possible I looked up at buildings I knew were built before 1916 and mostly served the publishing industry at the turn of the century. I made believe it was my first time.

I saw what my grandfather saw as a young man. New York City busting the sky even on the side streets off Park Row and Broadway.  This blew me away. Below are some pictures from my walk and link to several others.

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I Can't Go!

Four years ago today, I left my affordable housing job to write full-time. In 1992, I had to pass a medical exam in the Woolworth Building for the old  job. It wasn't easy.

"Jeez, I hope he hurries." The doctor said to his nurse. "I don't want to miss my train."
"Me, too. I've got to get my kid by 5:30pm." Her answer tinged with aggravation.

Hearing this exchange through the bathroom door, my bladder shut down. I was on the 60th floor of the Woolworth Building, the world's tallest building from 1914 to 1930. My medical exam for the New York City Housing Authority hiring process was concluding with the traditional urine sample.

"Everything OK in there?"

He didn't care if everything was OK, he was telling me to get out of there, asap, so he could escape his eerie dark office. I stuck my head under the sink's spout and began drinking lots of water. Flushed the bowl a few times, and took off my shirt and pants for good luck.

"I hope he's not pee shy," came loud and clear through the door.

I couldn't believe she said it. The pressure already peaking, I drank more water and opened the small window, high over the sink to let in fresh air, and started pacing the tiny bathroom in my bare feet on the checkered marble floor. The socks followed my pants.

"For Christ's sake, it's been twenty minutes, did he die in there?" She said, then one of them fell dramatically into a chair based on the sound I heard of a sizable ass hitting a seat.

I couldn't possibly drink more water, and I couldn't go. My last recourse was sticking my head directly out the window over the sink. I figured I'd rock my bare belly on the ledge, while the rarefied air hit me in the face. Climbing on the sink, I got most of my upper body through the petite opening. Once I got my arms through, I leaned on my elbows and looked left and saw the beautiful Hudson River all the way up to the Bridge. Then I looked right, and screamed like a girl, "Aaaaaahhhhh!"

Face to face with a stone gargoyle, not a funny gargoyle, a hideous gargoyle that comes to you in a nightmare after eating Mexican food way too late. My scream made me lose my footing and I fell forward. The snug window and my chubby stomach kept me from falling all the way out. The cars below looked like toys. I thought about the Post's headline, "Boxer Shorts Suicide Dives Off Woolworth Building."

Hyperventilating, stuck in the window, I heard, "Hey, what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing, nothing..." I lied, pulled myself out of the window, got off the sink, went over to the toilet and peed like a horse. I got dressed and came out of the bathroom with the specimen cup, refused to make eye contact with my medical providers, somehow found one of their hands to pass it off, and ran out the door and down twenty flights of fire stairs before I felt the urge to pee again. Took the elevator to the lobby with my legs crossed.

Previously published in Mr. Beller's Neighborhood

Hello, "Bethesda Angel" here, you think you're sick of snow? How would you like to be out here 24 hours a day in this crap? I've had it, but I will be doing a road trip this coming Sunday, February 23rd to hear Tommy Pryor tell a long one along with his fellow students at their FREE show concluding Adam Wade's Level 2 Storytelling class. That's 3:30pm, Sunday, Feb 23rd at THE Magnet Theater TRAINING CENTER - 259 W. 30th St (2nd floor)

 

Say Goodbye to the Woolworth Building's Westside

Construction of "another light-blocking tower we don't need" on Church Street between Park Place and Barclay Street will eliminate the west view of NYC's finest building. The gorgeous Dun and Bradstreet building was demolished to make way for this Silverstein crap. 

See 2008 NYTimes article on the site.

It was knucklehead luck that I ended up in City Hall Park this morning when it was 5 degrees without my gloves or a hat.

Our next "City Stories: Stoops to Nuts," show is Tuesday, January 14th @ 6pm @ Cornelia Street Cafe. Our talented artists are Melissa Caminneci, Annette Estevez, Natasha Gural and Maggie Nuttall, with your host, Thomas Pryor.  $8 admission includes a free drink.

Time Out Magazine says, "Stoops to Nuts," is a positive experience not to be missed. No they didn't, but they do say it's a cool thing to do.

"Giving Thanks to Mom" a new one published in Mr. Beller's Neighborhood.