Posts Tagged ‘Long Island City’
perils exhorted
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It has been discussed so often here that it is depressing to actually bring it up again, but your humble narrator absolutely detests this time of the year. Miserable vulnerabilities to cold wreak havoc upon an already weakened constitution, and the diminished availability of light emanating from the burning thermonuclear eye of god itself during these months cause me nothing but misery and consternation. In short, I hate the winter, and it sort of figures that the world will cease to be on precisely the date when the winter solstice occurs and the days begin to grow longer.
Mayan Apocalypse Countdown: just 10 days left until the 13th b’ak’tun ends, initiating the Mayan Apocalypse on December 21st. Tick, tock.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Wandering about in the wastelands surrounding the Newtown Creek and its tributaries normally bring me a sort of solace, but of late, not so much. It is painful to know so much about a subject that you actually have no one to chat with about it. More and more, I think about my friend Bernie Ente, and his loss grows ever more profound. He is dearly missed.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The good news is that the excess time I am cursed with is being put to some use. A schedule of 2013 tours and events is being hammered out and negotiated as you read this, and there are quite a few interesting things on the horizon. There will be two completely new Newtown Creek walking tours, as well as an updated “Magic Lantern” lecture and slideshow. Additionally, discussions about new opportunities out on the harbor are starting as well. Just have to make it through to the spring in one piece…
madness born
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It might be a bit of an oxymoron to say this, but there has been a lot of oil floating in the Dutch Kills tributary of the Newtown Creek since Hurricane Sandy. Realize who this statement is coming from, of course, and the unhealthy familiarity with this waterway which I enjoy. Dutch Kills is one of the forgotten parts of the creek, mainly because it is in Queens.
Mayan Apocalypse Countdown: just 11 days left until the 13th b’ak’tun ends, initiating the Mayan Apocalypse on December 21st. Tick, tock.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One is often faced with a quandary regarding the Newtown Creek’s northern bank. The Brooklyn, or southern side is well monitored by an army of concerned observers, whereas it often seems that the Queens side only has me. Relying on one such as myself is a terrible idea, given my onerous personality and irksome inability to fulfill even simple responsibilities like doing the laundry.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Photographic records which I have been building for several years of this canal also reveal that the water has never been observed with this particular coloration before, which is obsidian. Something has changed here, possibly of a chemical nature. Perhaps the Bowery Bay sewer plant, whose out falls are found along this stretch, was impacted deeply by the storm? I have no answers to offer.
I guess it doesn’t matter, who cares about Queens anyway?
mold stained facades
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Only 14 days left until the 13th b’ak’tun ends, initiating the Mayan Apocalypse on December 21st. Seeking to visit those places special to me- one last time- before the sun blinks, the heavens crash, and the earth splits- your humble narrator journeyed to the Empty Corridor in Long Island City. Empty Corridor, incidentally, is a term of my own invention- the rest of you know it as 50th avenue.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The feature rich terrain which surrounds the Newtown Creek and its industrial districts is often difficult to categorize without some sort of assigned nomenclature. The Creek itself…long time readers of this, your Newtown Pentacle, have grown accustomed to the appellations DUKBO (Down Under the Kosciuszko Bridge Onramp), DUPBO (Pulaski), DUGABO (Greenpoint Avenue), even DUMABO (Metropolitan Avenue) to describe various sections using bridge crossings for reference. I’ve called a certain route through Greenpoint “The Poison Cauldron” and another that leads from Bushwick to Maspeth “The Insalubrious Valley”. There is a reason for this, beyond my personal amusement.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Simply put, the historic place names for these spots have fallen out of common memory. If I said, meet me in Arnheim or at Whites Dock near the Plank Road, how many would be able to reach these spots? In my educated estimation, knowing the various players and personalities of the local historical enthusiasts and area wags, approximately eleven people would have any idea what I was taking about. For a time, the nickname of DULIE (Down Under the Long Island Expressway) was considered for this spot, but that fits the eastward section of Borden Avenue a bit better, so “Empty Corridor” was assigned to it.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
There used to be lots of interesting things here, before Robert Moses rammed the steel viaduct and the midtown tunnel which feeds it through in 1939. There were warehouses that were fed by the freight lines of the Long Island Railroad, as well as a thriving manufacturing community. Nowadays, there are nothing but truck based businesses- UPS is the biggest of them. And cats. Lots of cats.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One thing you will notice as universal in these industrial backwaters is that ferals are everywhere. Cats, that is. These days, you don’t see packs of dogs roaming about. When your humble narrator was a boy, living in the hinterlands of flatlands and canarsie, it was not uncommon to see 10-20 dogs of dissimilar breeds roaming around. Some were escaped or abandoned pets, but most were the product of miscegenation and rough in appearance and demeanor. These days, Cats seem to be the dominant feral animal.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Another thing you’ll notice is that laborers in the neighborhood look after these creatures, creating shelters out of plastic crates and depositing large quantities of food. This, of course, provides fuel to the fire, and an unsustainable birth rate. There are only so many birds and rats that can be caught under normal circumstances, and without their tenders, life can get pretty grim for these kitties here in the Empty Corridor.
poor substitute
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
December 6th, a date which will live in infamy, as it is the anniversary of the birth of British Occultist Dion Fortune as well as the day that a man modernity knows as Santa Claus died.
The Mayan Apocalypse is only 15 days away now, so it might be a good idea to focus in on something a bit less weighty than the end of the universe. Accordingly, on a day that reminded one of nothing more than the Stephen King short story called “The Mist”, your humble narrator headed down to Queens Plaza to check out and ride the MTA Holiday Nostalgia Trains.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
These holiday nostalgia trains are a yearly event offered by the MTA, and run on the M line between Queens Plaza and the 2nd avenue stop in Manhattan. Legacy equipment, the trains are a hodge lodge of different eras in subway history, and are maintained with the historical advertising one would have observed “back in the day”. The trains are running on Sundays, with the first train leaving the city at ten and arriving in Queens Plaza for the return trip at 10:44 am. Check out this page at the MTA website for more info on train models and schedule.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Train people, rail fans as they would call themselves, are a breed apart. It is extremely easy to mock their enthusiasm and detailed knowledge of the industrial ephemera which surrounds rolling stock, and there are several nicknames for them. These denigrating nomens infuriate their insular community, in the same way that Star Trek or Comic Book people detest outsiders labeling them as nerds or geeks. This is their hobby, and its actually a fairly wholesome one at that.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It’s funny, how little attention or notice the actual hardware of the subways receives. Personally, the only time I truly pay attention to the cars themselves is when I find myself on a line which is using a completely different model than one of the trains which I normally travel on. The R versus the 1 for instance, use entirely different models, although I couldn’t tell you much more than surface differences, nor why the choice was made to use one of the other. The rail fan will be able to point to the exposed screw in a random light fixture and tell you an involved tale about it, usually involving long dead commissioners and obscure MTA operatives you’ve never heard of before.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
You’ve still got two more Sundays to get out and experience these vintage cars, lined with goofy advertising from the past- admonishments to “hire a veteran”, “Smoke Viceroy”, and reminders that “real men wear a hat”. Be prepared though, for camera flash and dozens of photographers roaming the trains as they hurtle along. One interesting existential observation is how “bouncy” these trains are in comparison to the modern units, they are also quite a bit louder.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
As mentioned, the holiday trains are moving along the M tracks, and performing regular duty for the day. An enjoyable activity is to watch the City people blindly get on board, texting and futzing about with their phones, and then suddenly cast their gaze around, noticing their surroundings and the hordes of photographers and rail fans around them. There are some photographers and “creepy camera club guys” who hire models to dress in period garb for the day, and pretty ladies and gentlemen can be observed wearing the fashions of earlier times.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One finds that you have to hold on to something when these trains are moving, lest you be tossed about. One of my many annoying habits, this one exhibited while riding the subway, is to stand on the balls of my feet with my arms at my side and “surf” as the subway moves between stations. I enjoy this, and it would be suicide to try it on the vintage trains, which demand two on the floor and one on the pole or hanging strap. The MTA, you’ve come a long way, baby.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The general protocol which your humble narrator follows for this event is to ride the train in a full circuit, from Queens Plaza to second and back to QP where I leave the train, satisfied with the experience. My rail fan friends engage in a Bataan death march of a day, riding back and forth in some kafkaesque loop, and will pack a lunch. Such devotion is remarkable, and beyond my attention span.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
My personal predilection, after entering the subway system, is usually to get out of it as quickly as possible. I don’t like it down there, in that dripping stygia of rat infested tunnels. I don’t like knowing that the trains form pneumatic dams within the tunnels which push a swirling cloud of rodent droppings and desiccated decay before them and into the station. Mephitic, these dust blasts paint every surface- including me- with fecund horrors whose byzantine complexity is beyond the capacity of even a madman to conceive.
Accordingly, me and the Forgotten-NY guy went out for coffee in LIC after getting off the train at the 23 Ely stop.
Tales of Calvary 13- The Callahan monument
“follow” me on Twitter at @newtownpentacle
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It’s the fifth of December, a date which the pagans once called Faunalia. In 1945, Flight 19 disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle, and we only have to wait 16 more days for the Mayan Apocalypse to occur.
Why not spend the day in Section 6?
Cornelius Callahan and his family are represented by an enigmatic monument at Calvary Cemetery, here in western Queens, which is remarkable not just for sheer size but for workmanship and design as well. Callahan was chairman of the building committee for the Catholic Archdiocese, and was credited with being instrumental to the building of the orphan asylums in Kingsbridge by Archbishop Farley himself. He died on June 8, 1911.
You can read his obituary at the nytimes, click through and scroll down to the bottom left of the page.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
It should be mentioned that this monument is the sculptural capstone of a family crypt. In addition to Cornelius, his wife(s), sister, daughter and apparently a pet named Emma are buried beneath this block of carved stone. Daughter Katie M. Callahan was meant to inherit the paternal fortune, provided she bear offspring, but unfortunately she left this mortal coil before her father. The story of the execution of the will has survived the passage of 101 years.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
The will Cornelius left behind stipulated that his properties be sold off and the proceeds divided amongst several individuals but the primary beneficiary was the Archdiocese itself. Records of a lawsuit persist in the historic record which state that the Church and other heirs would have preferred the deed to the midtown Manhattan properties rather than the cash, but a judge ruled in favor of Cornelius’s estate and Mr. Callahan’s stated wishes. Even 101 years ago, retaining Manhattan Real Estate was seen as a better investment than selling it, I guess.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A good amount of looking around revealed little else about the Callahans, although they were obviously people of high station and attainment. Cornelius, as stated above, was the chair of the Building Committee for the Archdiocese of New York during a historical period when it was at its nadir- politically and financially speaking. This was an era of church building, parochial campus expansion, and an age when the Irish (in particular) ruled over the City. Mr. Callahan would have overseen a small army of construction workers, suppliers, and itinerant laborers in his professional capacity.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
You never know who you might run across at Calvary Cemetery. The Original Gangster, a King of Ireland, the Abbot, or even the Newsboy Governor. This is where Tammany Hall lies, dreaming but not dead, alongside those huddled masses who legendarily yearned to breathe free. Wandering its emerald devastations, one can barely hope to comprehend the transmogrification accomplished by those interred here. They found a city of two and three story wooden buildings, and within a generation or two, altered it into the heroic shape of modern day New York City.
Have a happy Faunalia, lords and ladies, and embrace your loved ones, for the Mayan Apocalypse draws nigh.
The Newtown Pentacle 