Days of Beer and Daisies (Meltzer Remembers Nick Tosches)

Richard Meltzer’s comrade-in-words (and bars) Nick Tosches died last Sunday. What follows is a chapter from Meltzer’s novel, The Night (Alone), which is, per the author, “a spot-on take on my life with Nick in New York (1970-75).” Meltzer told your editor he tried to “‘fictionalize’ it as much as possible, so the Allman Brothers are called ‘British band Grudge.’” And he went on: “You could also throw in that Nick was THE ONLY BROTHER (AND TRUEST COLLEAGUE) I’VE EVER HAD.”

Read more

Our Developer President: A Dialogue Between Samuel Stein and Rachel Weber on Real Estate, Cities, and Trumpery

There’s a certain kind of person who sees real estate everywhere they look — someone who walks around a city and thinks not just, “who lives here?” but “who owns this, who’d they buy it from, and where’d they get the money?” Some think this way because they’re in the property racket, or hope one day to be. Others with this mentality are just perpetually pissed off at the ways land and housing have been hyper-commoditized, turning cities into luxury products. We are definitely in the latter camp, and as such have quite a bit to obsess over these days. The following dialogue, between two urban planners and property scholars (one in New York City and one in Chicago), ruminates on the meaning of the Trump presidency and the relationship between property development and governance.

Read more

The Red Impala

Nunez, Calderon, and Luis (that’s me), we found an old Chevy Impala, a real big one from the Fifties.  It was in the sandbox in front of the kids’ playground next to the project in which we lived.  Calderon is very smart.  He got a job selling bets at OTB, and we really trusted his judgment.  “Nunez, Luis,” he said, “the car has no plates on it.  The radio and battery are gone.  It is safe to assume that it is abandoned.”

Read more

Pimpology

True story # 1: It’s a late spring Thursday in New York City in the late ‘70s and I’m a kid in high school. For reason I can’t recall, the entire student body was dismissed at noon. A half­a­day!

Free! What to do? What to do? My pal Joel has an idea. He opens his copy of the New York Post–yes, we read newspapers back then–to the movie section and points to a small ad. It’s the final day of Pam Grier film festival at the RKO Warner in Times Square. Yes, indeedy, five, count ‘em, five of her finest efforts–Coffy, Foxy Brown, Bucktown, Sheba Baby and Friday Foster–for the price of one three dollar ticket.

Read more

Edwin Denby

George Schneeman, Edwin Denby, 1977, fresco on cinder block. Private Collection, New York

Once when we were having lunch at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station, I complained to Edwin about hearing myself on a tape of some recent poetry reading. “Yes,” Edwin said matter-of-factly in his customarily soft, slightly gravelly voice, “that resentment tone.” Thinking back on it over the years, I may not have understood the intriguingly commiserating aspect of Edwin’s remark.

Read more

Roots Moves

“Loss of the past, whether it be collectively or individually, is the supreme human tragedy, and we have thrown ours away just like a child picking off the petals of a rose… We owe our respect to a collectivity, of whatever kind—country, family or any other—not for itself, but because it is food for a certain number of human souls.”—Simone Weil, “The Need for Roots”

Simone Weil once lived in a building around the corner from Tiemann Place in West Harlem where we held our 29th annual “Anti-Gentrification Street Fair” in October. 

Read more