I just saw the modern West Side Story (recreated and reconsidered under the direction of the estimable Steven Spielberg). Sure, I saw the Broadway production of the show at the Winter Garden Theater, on Broadway between 50th and 51st Street. (I also saw the Music Man in that same location.) I also saw the movie version (several times) at the Syosset Theater (Long Island, NY)- one of the premier movie theaters in the USA at the time.

Spielberg adjusted the script to better reflect the conceptual changes to the original concept of Jerome Robbins, Leonard Bernstein, and Stephen Sondheim. Believe it or not, West Side Story was conceived to be about the Lower East Side; the drama that obtained between Jews and Catholics.  But,  it quickly settled into a story about rival gangs in the Barrio, which was being razed to become the Lincoln Center district ( 57th to 66th Street, 8th to West End Avenue). This new version highlights the Barrio more carefully than the original version.

Which led to an episode of nostalgia.  A series of memories of my life in the New York Metropolitan Area. Sure, I left the area more than 5 decades ago, but I still recall my meanderings there as a child.

Being too cheap (ok, the more PC expression is frugal)- and reacting to the unprecedented price hike imposed by the city, raising the cost of the subway from a dime to two bits, I refused to use the subway. So, I routinely walked around Brooklyn and from Brooklyn to Manhattan.

Crossing my beloved Brooklyn Bridge, I would alit in the Two Bridges section of Manhattan. Now, this neighborhood name was absolutely simple to discern- it was the strand of the (Manhattan) island that existed between the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges, from the East River to St. James’ Place (aka Third Avenue).

Should I turn left, I would have entered the city’s Financial District (aka, Wall Street, almost still thriving today). Turning right would bring me to the Lower East Side (Houston or Bowery to the Manhattan Bridge, from the East River to 3rd Avenue.) How I miss that district. Occasionally to Ratner’s (the famous kosher dairy restaurant), but way more often to Sammy’s Roumanian Steak House (on Chrystie Street, with some kosher food, and a kitschy violin player), I loved to catch a bite at those restaurants. (I even took my staff there, while on business trips to New York City to reward them for their outstanding efforts on our projects.)

I often kept walking towards the Hudson River, meandering through Greenwich Village, where I would listen to music or catch a few cutting edge theater productions. Or even get involved in a (near shouting match) discussion of politics among the lefties that populated the district.

But, my ultimate goal on those meanderings was to visit the Fur District and the Garment District [aka, the Rag Business Section], where I had spent many a day as a child. (Keep in mind that I was all of 16 or maybe 18 at the time.) My father, after he left the rabbinate, managed one of the premier fur matching outfits in Manhattan.

And, back between 1910 and 1986 (I was long gone by then), 90% of the fur matching and 80% of fur coat manufacturing in the USA obtained in this small slice of Manhattan. (The boundaries of the Fur District were 6th Avenue to 8th Avenue, from 26th to 30th Street.) By the time their Xerox contract (Harry Ackerman Fur Matching Company supplied all the rabbit fur that cleaned the platens of those venerated copy machines until an alternative was found) ended, the fur district was becoming known as Camera Center of Manhattan.

As a child, I also remember occasionally walking from my dad and uncle’s shop down to Tin Pan Alley. This small stretch of West 28th Street (between 5th and 6th Avenue) obtained its moniker back in 1903 (certainly by 16 January, when the New York Morning Telegraph detailed how William Morris, a Vaudeville Agent had rented space on Tin Pan Alley). So named for the tinny sounds that emanated from the cheap pianos used by the composers (George Gershwin, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, among others- who preferred the name Melody Lane to Tin Pan Alley) for the sheet music publishing houses. But, by my childhood, this was fast becoming a distant memory.

So, I would more often travel in the opposite direction to 5th Avenue, finding myself dead center in the Garment District (34th Street to 42nd Street, from 6th to 9th Avenue.) Where it was not atypical to see big canvas carts hauling 30 stone of garments from shop to shop. Where the wonderful Fashion Institute of Technology was situated. (I recall, with fondness, that’s where I took my statewide New York Regents Exam so I could enter college early, about two years after I took my SAT’s in that same auditorium.)

But, then I’d move uptown. Sometime to revel in the Diamond District (45th to 52nd Street from Madison to 6th Avenue, with a sliver continuing up both sides of 5th Avenue to Central Park), where all that glitters wasn’t gold, but gems. Populated by all sorts of Orthodox Chasidic Jews, with the occasional Modern Orthodox mixed in. Where deals were made via handshake- where one’s word was worth more than any bank bond or lawyer’s contract. (I bought my wife’s diamond ring on a 3 day approval [should she either refuse my offer of matrimony or dislike the ring choice I made with a handshake between me and the seller. She said yes and I showed up early Monday morning with $ 1100 in cash back in 1972. Because my word is/was my bond, too.)

But, to be totally honest, most of my Wednesday and Saturday nights were spent yet a few more blocks uptown in the Theater District (42nd to 52nd Street, from Broadway to 9th Avenue). An occasional musical production, but mostly serious drama. Back then, students were offered a fantastic deal- plays could be seen for about $ 3 a pop, maybe not with the best seats, but at that price- who cared?

Kind of full circle from my memories of West Side Story.

(Along the lines of the “redevelopment” of the Barrio [read: minority removal], let us not think this was the first time it’s been done.  After all, Central Park really came into being by eradicating Seneca Village, a home for some 200 Black families. Obviously, this happened long before my lifetime, so it’s not part of my personal recall.)

Yes, I still miss Manhattan. Which is why I routinely pig out on theater for my birthday week (9 September) and near the Christmas holiday season.

 

Oh, yes- in 11 days, you can start filing your 2021 income taxes.  Did you get your copy of my book to help you pay the lowest amount of taxes required by law?