Entries tagged with “Chabon” from Patell and Waterman's History of New York
The Bowery Boys have a terrific post up today commemorating the 70th anniversary of the opening of the 1939 World's Fair. It's packed, as their posts always are, with terrific images, including this one from Life magazine:
The Perisphere, as this structure was known, happens to be the setting for one of my favorite scenes from Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. Chabon's hero, Sam Clay, is taken to the abandoned fairgrounds somewhat against his will by his new boyfriend, Tracy Bacon. Chabon describes their entry into the Perisphere this way:
The Perisphere was supported by a kind of tee, a ring of evenly spaced pillars joined to it at its antarctic circle, so to speak, all the way around. The idea had been for the great bone-white orb, its skin rippled with fine veins like a cigar wrapper, to look as if it were floating there, in the middle of the pool of water. Now that there was no water, you could see the pillars, and you could see Tracy Bacon, too, standing in the middle of them, directly under the Perisphere's south pole.After they hoist themselves up through a trap door and explore the interior for a while, lighting their way with cigarette lighters and occasionally stepping on buildings from model towns, we get this end to the chapter:
"Hey," Sammy said, rushing to the wall and leaning across its top. "What are you doing? That whole thing could come right down on top of you!"
Bacon looked at him, eyes wide, incredulous, and Sammy blushed; it was exactly what his mother would have said.
"Ow!" Sammy said, dropping his lighter. "Ouch!"It's the kind of scene Chabon writes best.
Bacon let his own flame go out. "You have to kind of pad it with your necktie, dopey," he said. He grabbed Sammy's hand. "This the one?"
"Yeah," Sammy said. "The first two fingers. Oh. Okay."
They lay there for a few seconds, in the dark, in the future, with Sammy's sore fingertips in Tracy Bacon's mouth, listening to the fabulous clockwork of their hearts and lungs, and loving each other.
The other New York anniversary for today, the BBs also inform us, is Washington's inauguration: April 30, 1789. Two hundred twenty years ago today, America got its first president. The events at Federal Hall on Wall St. were described by William Maclay, Senator from Pennsylvania and inveterate if cranky diarist, this way:
"The President advanced between the Senate and Representatives, bowing to each. He was placed in the chair by the Vice-President; the Senate with their president on the right, the Speaker and the Representatives on his left. The Vice-President rose and addressed a short sentence to him. The import of it was that he should now take the oath of office as President. He seemed to have forgot half what he was to say, for he made a dead pause and stood for some time, to appearance, in a vacant mood. He finished with a formal bow, and the President was conducted out of the middle window into the gallery, and theoath was administered by the Chancellor. Notice that the business done was communicated to the crowd by proclamation, etc., who gave three cheers, and repeated it on the President bowing to them.
Washington takes the oath As the company returned into the Senate chamber, the President took the, chair and the Senators and Representatives, their seats. He rose, and all arose also, and addressed them. This great man was agitated and embarrassed more than ever he was by the leveled cannon or pointed musket. He trembled, and several times could scarce make out to read, though it must be supposed he had often read it before.
He put part of the fingers of his left hand into the side of what I think the tailors call the faIl of the breeches (corresponding to the modern side-pocket), changing the paper into his left (right) hand. After some time he then did the same with some of the fingers of his right hand.
When he came to the words all the world, he made a flourish with his right hand, which left rather an ungainly impression. I sincerely, for my part, wished all set ceremony in the hands of the dancing-masters, and that this first of men had read off his address in the plainest manner, without ever taking his eyes from the paper, for I felt hurt that he was not first in everything.
He was dressed in deep brown, with metal buttons, with an eagle on them, white stockings, a bag, and sword."
More on the day's events here, which is where I found the Maclay account. You can also find some good stuff here, including images of the 1939 medallion that commemorated both the President and the Fair:
Once the oath of office and speeches were through, Washington and company paraded to St. Paul's, a few blocks to the north, and once the requisite prayers had been offered, the President headed home, down Broadway, all the way to the bottom, where the Smithsonian Museum of the Native American now stands.
The email also served as a reminder that I'd promised here, last fall, to keep tabs on Strausbaugh's series of neighborhood notes and walking tours. So I should mention that, since I last mentioned these installments, Strausbaugh has also published entries on the Upper East Side and what he calls "P.T. Barnum's New York," meaning lower Manhattan in the 19th century.
I've also noticed that the Times is maintaining an interactive map with convenient links to each piece in the series, allowing you to get more details on specific sites Strausbaugh mentions along the way. As always, each installment is accompanied by a downloadable walking tour, though I have yet to give one of these a go. I'd love to hear from someone who's tried out one or more of them.
Also in the realm of virtual NY, I've been meaning to say something about the Virtual LES articles that popped up in the paper a while back. You can visit the virtual LES at vles.com. I have more I want to say about that -- including some gossip about the site's treatment of rock and roll venues -- but that will have to wait for another time.
On the general subject of the LES -- cleaned up, virtual, or otherwise -- I've been keen on getting Richard Price's new novel, Lush Life, set in the neighborhood in the 90s. Friends have recommended that I listen to his interview on NPR's Fresh Air. I haven't yet, but you can beat me to it by clicking here.
(Price, incidentally, will be speaking at the Tenement Museum on Tuesday, April 15, at 6:30 pm.)
One reason they've been on me about Price is that I've been obsessing, over on The Great Whatsit, about nostalgic and antinostalgic strains in New York writing. I haven't had the time or space to work out everything I'm thinking on the topic, but for initial noodling around -- with fugitive comments on Edith Wharton, Michael Chabon, Adam Gopnik, Theodore Dreiser and others -- you can begin here.
[update, later that night: if Lush Life is half as entertaining as Sam Anderson's review of it in New York magazine, I think I'll dig it. Sam, by the way, among other things is an advanced PhD student in our department; he just won the NBCC's Balakian Award for his reviewing. Go, Sam!]
