This controversial Union Square flagpole was created to honor America’s 150th birthday in 1926

June 29, 2026

The 1876 Centennial was an all-out party in Gotham—fireworks, military parades, musical performances, and thousands of American flags and bunting draped over the windows of city buildings, houses, and hotels.

A tall flagpole with an American flag flying, surrounded by lush green trees in a park under a clear blue sky.

But the Sesquicentennial, or America’s 150th birthday? By comparison, it was much more low-key.

The big national celebration took place at Philadelphia’s Sesquicentennial International Exposition. In New York City, smaller events focused on patriotic education and the creation of historical markers.

Yet the 1926 celebration did bring a new addition to Union Square: the Independence Flagstaff, one of the tallest flagpoles in New York state, according to NYCParks. You’ll find this towering monument in the center of the park.

Close-up view of a monument featuring intricate bronze reliefs depicting historical figures and scenes, surrounded by greenery and colorful flower beds.

“The intricate bas-reliefs and plaques were completed in 1926 by sculptor Anthony De Francisci, and feature a procession of allegorical figures representing democracy and tyranny, the text of the Declaration of Independence, and emblems from the original 13 colonies,” states NYC Parks.

The problem was that the flagstaff was gifted to the city by the Tammany Society. This infamous political machine long associated with corruption and scandal had their headquarters near the park on East 14th Street.

The flagstaff was supposed to be dedicated to Charles Murphy, a recently deceased Tammany president. But controversy arose, as the dedication was considered an insult to America’s founding fathers.

“Public sentiment prevented honoring a symbol of Tammany corruption in a manner commensurate with Lincoln and Washington at Union Square Park, and by the time the Murphy Flagpole was dedicated on July 4, 1930, to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, it was referred to as the Independence Flagstaff.”

That quote in the second photo chiseled into the base comes from Thomas Jefferson: “How little do my countrymen know what precious blessings they are in possession of and which no other people on earth enjoy.” 

[Top image: Alamy; second image: NYCParks; third image: Angelo Rizzuto (1940s)]

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Posted in Politics, Union Square | 3 Comments »

There really used to be a family’s house underneath a notorious Coney Island roller coaster

June 29, 2026

I always thought it was a gag helped along by trick camera work. In 1977’s Annie Hall, Woody Allen’s character, Alvy Singer, attributes his nervous personality to having grown up in a house “underneath the roller coaster in the Coney Island section of Brooklyn.”

A vintage black and white photograph of an old amusement park roller coaster structure surrounded by overgrown grass and urban buildings in the background under a cloudy sky.

Turns out there really was such a house—not under the Cyclone but beneath a similar wooden coaster called the Thunderbolt. Built in 1925, it predated the Cyclone by two years.

And while Allen didn’t live in the house, (his childhood territory was Midwood), it was occupied throughout the 20th century by George Moran, the man who commissioned the Thunderbolt, and his family descendants.

The Thunderbolt house story begins in the Coney Island heyday of the 1890s. “The house was originally the Kensington Hotel, built in 1895, one of many boardwalk inns at the beach resort,” wrote Tim Donnelly in a 2013 New York Post article.

Vintage postcard featuring the Thunderbolt roller coaster at Coney Island, New York, showcasing its distinctive wooden structure and bright colors against a blue sky.

“In 1925, George Moran bought the hotel and carried out a seemingly bizarre plan: constructing a ride directly on top of the hotel on a narrow strip of land at Bowery Street and West 15th Street, across from what is now MCU [Maimonides] Park.”

Moran and his wife lopped off the top floor and made the former hotel their family home, with one of the coaster’s hairpin turns only yards above the house and steel stanchions running through the house, added Donnelly.

An abandoned roller coaster stands overgrown and neglected, with a rusty structure partially obscured by weeds and debris, and a chain-link fence enclosing the area.

They must have adjusted to the constant rattling and shaking. Though not as popular as the Cyclone, the Thunderbolt thrilled riders because of its “unusually steep drops and rises,” per a 1925 Brooklyn Daily Times article, which reported that a woman was killed on the coaster after being thrown against her seat so forcefully, her skull broke.

A year later, 12 riders of this “scenic railway” were injured when the cars on the Thunderbolt “telescoped” and crashed into each other.

Neither accident kept the ride from operating. “In its nearly sixty-year run, the Thunderbolt had carried hundreds of thousands of screaming riders on its thrilling joy ride,” stated a 2001 story on nyfolklore.org.

Abandoned wooden roller coaster with overgrown vegetation and a dilapidated building nearby, under a cloudy sky.

George Moran died in 1965 and his wife passed in 1978, “leaving their son Fred to run the ride and live in the home with his longtime girlfriend, Mae Timpano. But when Fred died in 1982, Timpano decided to sell the property to Kansas Fried Chicken mogul Horace Bullard,” wrote Donnelly.

The Thunderbolt itself closed in 1983. “Battered and pockmarked like much of Coney Island, which only now is beginning to emerge from years of neglect, the Thunderbolt towers over this sand-swept peninsula like some great dinosaur from a bygone epoch,” states a 1987 Christian Science Monitor article. (Third photo, from 1986)

It would never operate again. A fire destroyed much of the house in 1991, and the remains of this converted hotel and the relic that once sent chills down the spines of its riders were demolished in 2000—a demolition a court later deemed illegal, stated Donnelly.

A wooden roller coaster looms behind a gray building, with cloudy skies overhead.

These days, the coaster is just a memory, and a second roller coaster named the Thunderbolt thrills riders in the recently revived Luna Park amusement area on the boardwalk.

But a house beneath its steel rails? There’s no place for that kind of weirdness in contemporary Coney Island.

[Top photo: By Anita Chernowski, 1987 via Brooklyn Museum; second image: Bowery Boys Podcast; third image: Wikipedia; fourth image: Aaron Jackson/Associated Press via LA Times; fifth image: screenshot from clip of Annie Hall via YouTube]

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Posted in Brooklyn, Uncategorized | 5 Comments »

Why these quirky Gothic houses built in 1855 in Brooklyn Heights were nicknamed “honeymoon row”

June 29, 2026

First there were five houses. Completed in 1855, this unbroken row of Gothic-style loveliness stood out like an idiosyncratic interruption in a Brooklyn Heights neighborhood of refined Greek Revival brownstones.

Historic row of ornate brownstone houses with decorative window features and iron railings, captured in a sepia-toned photograph.

The striking three-story houses, with their arched roofs, tall windows, and cast-iron lintels, were also distinctive because of their slender measurements.

They were built by William Evans, a tailor with a shop on Atlantic Avenue who also traded in real estate. In 1854, Evans bought four lots on Clinton Street from landowner and developer Henry Evelyn Pierrepont with the idea that they would be used to create four 25-foot attached houses, according to oldbrooklynheights.com.

Evans chose to maximize his investment by putting up five smaller 20-foot houses instead.

Historic street view featuring early 20th-century buildings, including a church with a steeple, positioned on a corner with horse-drawn carriages and people walking on the street.

Why Evans built the row, and why he chose the unusual Gothic style, isn’t known. But because of their narrow width and lack of a garden level or fourth floor, each house might have been the 19th century equivalent of a starter home.

The starter home idea could explain how the houses became known in the 19th century as Honeymoon Row. They would have been affordable dwellings for newlyweds who could upgrade to their dream home once their earning power rose and their family needs expanded.

Another explanation for the nickname has to do with St. Ann’s Church across the street and St. Charles Borromeo parish around the corner. The occupants of the Gothic houses would have seen scores of brides and grooms emerging from these churches, ready to embark on their honeymoons (or at least the honeymoon phase of marriage).

Historic building with a sign for Jacob A. Freedman, County Judge, and a laundry service. Horse-drawn wagons in front and vintage cars on the street.

Whatever the origin, Honeymoon Row became home to some renowned Brooklynites. One was Albert E. Sumner, a physician who tended to the wounded on the front lines of the Civil War and later became medical director of Brooklyn Homeopathic Hospital on Cumberland Street.

Sumner resided on the Row as early as the 1870s. In later decades his house was occupied by another doctor, Thomas R. French, per a 1927 New York Times article.

Number 140, in the middle of the row, housed newspaper royalty. “Since around 1912, the house was first rented and then later owned by members of the Greeley family, descendants of famous newspaper editor Horace Greeley,” states oldbrooklynheights.org.

Historic street view of a corner building featuring the shops 'Daniel Reeves' and 'Tailors', with a church steeple in the background and pedestrians walking by.

Following Dr. French’s departure, a tall office building replaced his home and another that was long owned by a couple with a family. These owners got “three times what they had paid for it” from the building’s developer, states the Times article.

By the 1930s, the ground floors of two of the Honeymoon Row houses were transformed into commercial spaces. The third and fourth photos show the Row in 1927 and 1934. I tried to find out if Jacob A. Freedman won his race for county judge, but came up empty.

A historic white building with decorative black trim, located next to a modern gray structure. Two cars parked on the street and a woman walking past on the sidewalk, surrounded by trees.

At some point in the middle of the century, the original house at the corner, Number 146, was remodeled. The box-like renovated building served various functions, including the Brooklyn headquarters for the 1968 presidential campaign of Eugene McCarthy and also as a small synagogue.

Through the next eight decades, Honeymoon Row, reduced to two original houses, has soldiered on. The remaining houses, dwarfed by the office building, appear almost identical to what they looked like in pre-Civil War Brooklyn.

Both have landmark status, as does the Art Moderne box on the corner and a host of neighboring 19th century residential gems.

All the homes in this corner of Brooklyn Heights are impressive and elegant. But I’d personally be most delighted to live in one of the two quirky houses that continue to make up Honeymoon Row.

[Top image: NYPL Digital Collections; second image: NYPL Digital Collections; third and fourth images: NYPL Digital Collections]

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Posted in Brooklyn | 6 Comments »

What’s inside these fake row houses that blend into the New York City streetscape?

June 22, 2026

You’re forgiven if you assumed 58 Joralemon Street was just another beautifully restored Greek Revival row house in Brooklyn Heights.

A row of three historical brownstone buildings in a residential area, featuring large black-framed windows and varying wall colors, with one building in a light red hue. Stairs lead up to the entrances, and greenery is present at the base.

Built in 1847, it resembles many of the elegant single-family houses on the block, with its red brick facade, long windows, and brownstone trim around the entryway.

But take a closer look, and you’ll notice some oddities. For starters, the windows are black, and no curtains or blinds hang behind them.

No personal effects sit in the windows or on the stoop, like a planter or a mat for muddy shoes. And the garden level is blocked off by an industrial-style cover with a red FDNY-labeled pipe by the sidewalk.

So what’s with this impersonal, almost creepily empty house—which looks similarly empty in this 1940 photo?

A black and white image of a multi-story brick building with multiple windows and a front entrance featuring stairs. A sign with the numbers '260 - 25 BK' is visible in the foreground, alongside a snow-covered sidewalk.

It’s not a house at all but a deftly designed subway ventilation shaft. And it’s one of several fake row houses hiding in New York’s residential streetscape, tasked with a secret purpose.

The story of 58 Joralemon’s conversion from dwelling to decoy begins in 1908, when IRT trains were extended from Bowling Green in Manhattan to the new Brooklyn Borough Hall stop, according to Atlas Obscura.

IRT engineers needed to ventilate the new subway tunnel, and they decided 58 Joralemon Street would be the optimal place for a vent. By this time, the house was already a multi-resident building. IRT officials purchased it and gutted the interior.

“Beyond the front doors are walls covered with electric panels and switches, and a huge series of catwalks and stairs that lead nine stories below to the subway tracks,” wrote Suzanne Spellen at Brownstoner.

Facade of a two-tone brick building with large windows, featuring a mix of red and tan brickwork, accompanied by construction equipment in the foreground.

“In addition to being ventilation, the house is an emergency exit from the tunnel that leaves Brooklyn and travels under the river to the Bowling Green station,” continued Spellen.

I don’t know how many fake row houses exist in New York; this isn’t the kind of information that’s easy to find. But up in the Bronx, there’s an entire faux development holding a secret behind its gates.

This row house community lines Bruckner Boulevard between East 142nd and East 144th Streets in the Mott Haven neighborhood.

The homes don’t seem very New York; they’re more like townhouse condos in an upscale southern suburb. They do have architectural details like pediments over windows and entryways, perhaps an attempt to blend into the South Bronx cityscape.

A brick building featuring a mix of architectural styles, with large windows and decorative trim. The lower level has a red brick facade, while the upper levels display a lighter color. Surrounding the building is a black fence with light fixtures.

Too bad they’re nothing more than facades masking a Con Ed substation. Officially known as the Mott Haven substation, it was built in 2007. Presumably the fake houses went up at that time as well.

Why such an elaborate cover for a necessary public utility that creates the electricity allowing New Yorkers to run their air conditioners and digital devices? According to a 2008 New York Times article about the substation, Con Ed is just trying to be a good neighbor.

“Years ago, few would have mistaken a substation for an impressive apartment building, especially in a neighborhood like Mott Haven, filled with warehouses and factories,” wrote the Times‘ Ken Belson.

“But the substation there, with its red and tan brick exterior, faux windows and canopied entrance, certainly does not look like a hub for 345-kilovolt cables, multimillion-dollar transformers, and circuit breakers.”

Exterior view of a multi-story building featuring a combination of beige and red brick, decorative architectural elements, and green doors.

“The building’s urban camouflage is typical of the lengths that Con Edison must go to these days to appease neighbors when constructing substations, where high-voltage electricity is reduced to lower voltages and distributed locally,” reported Belson, who added that locals have mistakenly asked Con Ed “when the condominiums inside were going on sale.”

[Second photo: NYC Department of Records & Information Services]

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Posted in Bronx and City Island, Brooklyn | 6 Comments »

How the anchorages under the Brooklyn Bridge became hidden 19th century wine vaults

June 22, 2026

The Brooklyn Bridge most New Yorkers know is a slender wonder of steel wires, stone towers, and sweeping views.

Exterior of an old brick building featuring arched windows and doors with a stone facade, set in a courtyard with benches and greenery.

But there’s a less visible part of the bridge at ground level. These are the anchorages—the masonry structures on both the Manhattan and Brooklyn sides that secure the cables supporting the bridge while also carrying approach roads.

Completed seven years before the bridge opened in May 1883, the anchorages are as stunning as the span itself, with their romanesque arches and rusticated walls of granite with limestone trim.

A dimly lit underground tunnel featuring arched brick walls and stone foundations.

The interior, however, was said to resemble a cavern. The enormous spaces inside both anchorages were described as pitch dark, with barrel-vaulted ceilings rising up 50 feet and a consistent temperature hovering at about 60 degrees.

What could the engineers who were moving on to the next phase of bridge work—building the cables and deck—do with these empty caves?

A historical illustration of a man sitting by a window, gazing towards the Brooklyn Bridge in the background.

Turn them into massive wine vaults, of course. Think of it as chief engineer Washington Roebling’s (third image) canny solution for two pressing problems that arose during the construction of the bridge.

The first issue was to address two liquor companies whose warehouses were in the path of the bridge and had to be demolished.

“”On the Brooklyn shore of the East River, Rackey’s Wine Company was doing steady business, and on the Manhattan side, Luyties & Co. sold its liquor to thirsty New Yorkers,” states a 2017 NPR article by Nicole Jankowski.

Renting two of the cavernous chambers to these businesses as wine cellars wasn’t just a convenient compromise.

It would help take care of the second problem Roebling faced: the $15 million debt incurred during the construction of what was then known as the East River Bridge.

A stone archway structure along a roadway, with a modern building in the background and construction equipment visible in the foreground under a partly cloudy sky.

“The design of the bridge would allow for two wine cellars, one on each shore, along with several other vaulted chambers, to be incorporated into construction,” states the NPR article. “The chambers would be rented out to local businesses, which used them mostly for storage, to help pay off the city’s debt.”

Along with the liquor companies, a variety of businesses rented space in the chambers, storing machinery, radiators, leather, lamps, grocers’ supplies, iron, and ship chandlery, wrote Philip Lopate in his 2008 book, Waterfront, per a Department of Buildings rent roll from 1898.

Stashing manufacturing equipment and gear seems ordinary; stashing wine sounds romantic. At some point in the late 19th or early 20th century, unknown revelers turned the vaults into a festive scene.

Historic black and white photograph of a large stone bridge under construction, featuring scaffolding and workers positioning large metal frameworks.

“The winding maze of caverns was transformed into a painted ‘labyrinth,’ with the names of French streets—Avenue Les Deux Oefs, Avenue Des Chateux Haut Brion—stenciled overhead,” according to the NPR article.

“Over time, the cellar walls were festooned with illustrations of provincial Europe; designs of sinewy leaves and purple grapes trailed along the stucco in subdued hues.”

The party didn’t last. As Prohibition approached, the wine was removed—replaced by newspapers from the Evening World and then city equipment.

In 1934, the vaults were reopened, and a few hundred lucky New Yorkers were led through passageways to celebrate the restocking of the chambers with wine from liquor dealer Anthony Oechs & Company.

Historical illustration of the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge's anchorage piers in 1877, showing workers and buildings in the surrounding area.

“Visitors crowded the tap room this afternoon, musicians played Viennese waltzes, champagne corks popped and nobody remembered that above the trolleys and the elevators, the automobiles and the rushing pedestrians still hurried back and forth across Brooklyn Bridge,” wrote a 1934 newspaper.

These days, the former wine vaults are home to city maintenance equipment—though people have occasionally inquired about moving in, according to a 1999 New York Times FYI column.

The space beside the anchorage on the Manhattan side is a new city park, Gotham Park.

Historical brick and stone archway structure with windows, situated alongside a paved walkway.

The anchorage spaces might not be empty for long. Earlier this spring, the City Council proposed unsealing the vaults and using rents to generate revenue. If the proposal becomes law, it’s only fitting that a wine bar be the first occupant.

[Second image: Stanley Greenberg, 1992, via Brooklyn Museum; fifth image: kidsdiscover.com; sixth image: NYPL Digital Collections]

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Posted in Brooklyn | 8 Comments »

New York’s longest “step street” is this dramatic three-block concrete staircase in the Bronx

June 15, 2026

Getting around the western Bronx by foot means encountering hilly streets, lots of hilly streets.

The pitched terrain comes from ridges of bedrock formed millions of years ago extending into Northern Manhattan.

Back in the early 1900s when the Bronx was undergoing urbanization, all these hills posed a challenge to transit engineers, since some roads would be too steep for vehicular traffic.

The solution? Build a “step street,” basically an open-air masonry staircase not accessible to cars but that pedestrians could use to get up and down regular streets at different elevations.

If you’ve ever seen Joker, then you likely remember the step street scene.

It was filmed on what’s now known as the Joker Stairs on West 167th Street and Shakespeare Avenue in the Bronx, turning this grimy step street into a popular hashtag and tourist mecca.

More than 100 step streets exist in New York City. But if you’re looking for the longest (and the one that might leave you seriously huffing and puffing), head to 230th Street between Netherland and Riverdale Avenues in the Spuyten Duyvil neighborhood.

These step stairs are actually three staircases, with a landing on each of the four streets it connects.

On a recent visit I rarely encountered another stair walker in either direction, and the surprisingly rustic backyards on either side of the step street made me feel like I was hiking a trail.

If you’re walking up, you’ll begin your step street journey at Riverdale Avenue. The steps cross Johnson Avenue, then Edgehill Avenue, and finally Netherland Avenue—a quiet stretch of lovely suburbia in the Bronx.

The borough has other step streets; one connecting Broadway to Naples Terrace is this colorful shorter staircase (fourth photo).

Another step street is blocks south on 215th Street in Inwood just past Spuyten Duyvil Creek (fifth photo). Built in 1911 to connect Broadway to Park Terrace East, the stairs and their cast-iron lampposts were recently renovated.

These days, motivational quotes from famous figures are carved into some of the 110 steps, which connect a bustling commercial and transit stretch of Broadway to the quiet residential streets above.

The Bronx and Upper Manhattan have more step streets; even Brooklyn and Staten Island have them.

Designed for function, they’ve become iconic parts of those late-to-development neighborhoods that didn’t have their hills flattened and graded by developers. And one of the best things about them is going back down.

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Posted in Bronx and City Island | 13 Comments »

What a 19th century painter of the natural world saw from her Carroll Gardens front yard and rooftop

June 15, 2026

When Fidelia Bridges moved to 93 First Place in Brooklyn in 1854, her neighborhood was an enclave of recently built brownstones set back from the street with roomy front gardens.

Years later, in 1867, something compelled her to paint that front garden. Perhaps it was the contrast between the delicate yellow buds on bushes, the still-bare trees, and the fortress of stone houses across First Place.

That same year, she also captured the early evening view from her top-floor window, centering a crescent moon against the muted skies over sparsely developed Brooklyn.

Both are unusual paintings, as streetscapes didn’t become popularized until the Ashcan artists arrived at the end of the 19th century, according to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. But in Civil War-era Brooklyn, Bridges was an unusual person.

Born in Salem, Massachusetts in 1834, Bridges was orphaned at 15. Traumatized by her parents’ deaths, she spent time in the country, staying in bed and drawing, as “her artistic talents became apparent,” according to a 2024 New York Times story.

She soon came back to Salem to teach, take art classes, and become a governess in the household of William August Brown, a well-to-do shipowner.

When the Browns relocated to Brooklyn in 1854, Bridges came with them. Her drawing must have impressed the family; in 1860, they funded her enrollment at the Philadelphia Academy of Fine Art.

Three years later, she returned to Brooklyn, taking a top-floor studio in the Brown family brownstone and launching her career as a noted and celebrated painter.

Bridges almost exclusively painted watercolors of natural images. Her delicate, exquisite works of botanicals and birds brought her acclaim, especially after the Civil War, when nature scenes had broad appeal.

“A close observer of nature and an admirer of Asian art and design, she turned scenes of local flora, birds and butterflies into graceful, affecting compositions,” stated the New York Times.

Dedicated to her art, Bridges worked 10-hour days, per the New York Times. Opting out of a life that included marriage and children, she exhibited her paintings and becoming the second woman to be elected into membership in the National Academy of Design.

Her career spanned 50 years, and she passed away in her home in Canaan, Connecticut in 1923.

Her sensitive depictions of the natural world—and the two paintings done from her top-floor studio—are part of the collections of major museums.

But like so many talented artists, Bridges has mostly been forgotten. 93 First Place, however, still stands in today’s Carroll Gardens.

[Top image: Metropolitan Museum of Art; second image: Metropolitan Museum of Art; third image: “Calla Lily,” 1875, Brooklyn Museum via Wikipedia; fourth image: The New York Times]

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Posted in art, Brooklyn | 6 Comments »

Vibrant color photos of 1960s Coney Island in transition, taken by a man who lived in obscurity

June 15, 2026

Otto C. Dreschmeyer lived what appears to be a small, provincial kind of life.

Born in New York in 1896 to German immigrant parents, he attended P.S. 81 on Cypress Avenue near the Brooklyn-Queens border. His father served as president of the Cigar Makers Union, and the family resided at 20-14 Stanhope Street in today’s Ridgewood.

What little is known about Dreschmeyer comes mostly from a handful of newspaper articles. His name appeared in his father’s 1935 obituary, and he served as executor of his $9000 estate.

While working as a timekeeper a year later, Dreschmeyer was identified as the driver who plowed into a man on a Glendale street corner, killing him. (He was acquitted of criminal negligence in 1938).

And in 1958, when he served as a manager at Krug’s Baking Company in Jamaica, three robbers broke into his office, held him up, and made off with the $3000 collected by the day’s delivery drivers.

A blog post from the Brooklyn Public Library fills in some blanks about his personal life. Dreschmeyer never married, and after his parents passed away he remained on Stanhope Street possibly for the rest of his days, sharing his childhood home with his widowed sister.

On the surface, he seems to be an ordinary, unremarkable man. But in the mid-1960s, something compelled Dreschmeyer to pick up a camera—likely a Hasselblad, per the Brooklyn Public Library—and capture more than one hundred images of a fading Coney Island.

This isn’t the dynamic Coney Island of the early 20th century. By the 1960s, population shifts put this legendary seaside escape in decline.

Dreschmeyer’s photos show beachgoers strolling the boardwalk and swimming in the water. But this Coney is a less visited, almost dreary place with its golden days behind it.

“The closing of Steeplechase Amusement Park in 1965 was a symbolic moment that illustrated the fall into economic decline by both the amusement parks and the neighborhood,” states the Brooklyn Public Library.

“Under urban renewal plans, middle class family homes were demolished by the city while high-rise, low-income public housing buildings were being constructed,” continued the Library blog post.

“Coney Island of the 1960s and 1970s became known for its crime and poverty, partially due to the city’s neglect.”

You wouldn’t necessarily realize this decline by viewing Dreschmeyer’s photos. He focused on beachgoers in colorful swimsuits, and the Wonder Wheel and parachute under blue skies.

In some images, fireworks illuminate the night, amusement rides await customers, and a kaleidoscopic of colorful lights give the impression of motion and magic.

Dreschmeyer brought his camera with him to other parts of the city. He took photos of Brooklyn’s Memorial Day parade, a trip on the Staten Island ferry, boats at Sheepshead Bay, and movingly, a memorial to John F. Kennedy at Grand Army Plaza, unveiled in 1965.

None of Dreschmeyer’s photos, available to view via the Brooklyn Public Library’s Center for Brooklyn History website, are closeups. People in his images are either part of crowds or caught unaware. There’s no known self portraits, either.

This distance between himself and human subjects might be a clue to the kind of man he was—perhaps introverted and uncomfortable approaching others.

Dreschmeyer passed away in 1983, and he took his reasons for chronicling Coney Island by camera to the grave. Yet it’s hard not to wonder about him and what his motives were.

Coney Island may have been a happy place for him as a child in the 1900s, and now in his 70s he hoped to recapture those memories. Maybe taking pictures was his way of sharing joyful emotions in a communal environment, yet still shielded and set apart by a camera.

Decades after his death, he’s still obscure and enigmatic.

“Whether intentional or accidental, Dreschmeyer took quieter, everyday images of this neighborhood in transition that captures the Coney Island sightseers, new construction sites, the old rides and attractions, the boardwalk strollers, and the evening sunsets,” notes the Brooklyn Public Library.

[All photos: Center for Brooklyn History/Brooklyn Public Library]

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Posted in art, Brooklyn, Queens, Random signage | 10 Comments »

The story of the 19th century factory building hidden within modern Bronx high-rise towers

June 8, 2026

You can see it peeking out from the Harlem River Drive or through the chain-link fence of the Third Avenue Bridge: a five-story red brick building almost buried behind glass and steel apartment towers.

A view of urban buildings, featuring a mix of modern glass architecture and an older brick structure, surrounded by greenery near a waterfront.

The towers are newish luxury rental residences built on the Bronx side of the Harlem River. Shiny and modern, they bring Manhattan-style living spaces to a section of the borough that some canny real estate people have tried to rebrand as “SoBro.”

But the red brick building, which is longer than it appears and has faded letters painted on its Manhattan-facing side, is a curiosity. It’s not just shielded by the apartment towers; it looks stuck, wedged between their outer walls.

How did it avoid the wrecking ball when the apartment buildings were under development, and what is its backstory?

View of a brick building with glass block windows, flanked by modern structures in an urban environment.

Turns out this timeworn survivor played a role in two crucial businesses that practically defined the industrial South Bronx since the middle of the 19th century.

First, the ironworks business. Constructed in 1882, the building originally housed the offices of the J.L. Mott Ironworks firm, according to a 2020 report in the New York Times.

Mott Ironworks was established on the Harlem River waterfront by Jordan Lawrence Mott in 1841. The company grew, attracting German and Irish immigrant workers to the new Mott Haven neighborhood. With success under its belt, Mott expanded its product line and produced “a whole range of household goods such as tubs and sinks, as well as decorative work like fountains and fences,” states the Historic Districts Council.

Vintage storefront featuring large, decorative iron gates with the text 'Beethoven Pianos' and details about rebuilding and refinishing pianos, set against a brick wall.

The ironworks company packed up and left the Bronx for Trenton in 1902, but not before another industry—piano manufacturing—began dominating the waterfront.

The South Bronx piano business got its start in the 1880s, when it became something of a cultural requirement for a middle-class family to have a piano in its parlor. Thanks to this trend, several manufacturing concerns sprang up to supply pianos.

“By the early 20th century, the Bronx had (by one count) 63 piano factories—43 of them in Mott Haven—producing more than 100,000 instruments a year,” states the Historic Districts Council.

A brick building with glass block windows, located between modern structures in an urban setting.

The red brick factory building eventually transitioned into the Beethoven Piano Company, with the name appearing on the windows facing the Third Avenue Bridge (third photo).

The piano business declined as the 20th century progressed, decimated in part by record players and radio. Most of the Bronx piano makers closed their doors, leaving behind gorgeous industrial buildings that have found new life as residences—like the Clock Tower, formerly home to the Estey Piano Company, on nearby Bruckner Boulevard.

Today, the holdout factory building is occupied by a charter school. A sign for the school obscures the J.L. Mott Ironworks insignia, which remains on the Manhattan-facing facade (fourth photo).

View of modern buildings alongside a waterfront park, framed by a fence, with greenery in the foreground.

The factory building has also been designated by the Historic Districts Council as worthy of being landmarked. That’s a good decision, and it might be the reason the apartment developers didn’t reduce it to rubble.

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Posted in Bronx and City Island, Random signage | 6 Comments »

The teak wood carvings on a Manhattan townhouse’s front door tell an ancient epic story

June 8, 2026

At the foot of East 58th Street is Sutton Square—a jewel box of a cul-de-sac overlooking the East River and flanked by luxurious townhouses.

An ornate door with intricate wood detailing, framed by a semi-circular window above, situated behind a black wrought-iron fence in front of a brick wall.

All of the townhouses—they share a private garden with another group of homes on Sutton Place, one of which is the official residence of the secretary-general of the United Nations—are architectural gems.

Most were 19th century middle-class brownstones redeveloped and fancied up in the 1920s for elite New Yorkers with last names like Vanderbilt, Morgan, and Havemeyer.

Intricate wooden carving depicting traditional figures among floral patterns, showcasing ornate craftsmanship.

But 6 Sutton Square, on the south side, has something special. Behind an iron fence and framed by a Georgian-Neoclassical entryway is an elaborately carved door made of solid teak.

The carvings, done by an Indonesian craftsman, according to a sales document written by the current owner—set a scene. There’s a regal-looking man and woman, peacocks, pigs, and mythological creatures—all set against a backdrop of swirling flower stems, petals, and rosettes.

Intricate wooden carving featuring two birds amidst floral patterns.

What story is the door telling?

These carvings come from a legendary Sanskrit epic called Ramayana, a story about an exiled king, Rama. In the story, Rama must save his wife, Sita, who was kidnapped by a demon.

After 14 years, Rama and Sita return to their kingdom, though like many ancient epics the legend ends differently depending on where its told, according to the Asia Society, which has a more detailed story synopsis.

Intricate wooden door with detailed carvings of flowers and birds, framed by white columns.

The man and the woman on the door must be Rama and Sita; the other figures and animals I’m not sure. The Ramayana contains 22,000 verses, and the choice of what to carve and why might only be answered by the craftsman.

The information about the door comes from the owner of 6 Sutton Square, who wrote about the backstory of the house and many of its details as part of an effort to sell the house—which is apparently on the market for $20 million.

Facade of a brick building with a mix of large windows, greenery in the foreground, and a decorative entryway.

The document is a love letter of sorts, and the owner points out that above the story of Rama and Sita “are two barongs which are supposed to protect the house.”

A barong is a mythological panther-like creature in Indonesian culture, per Wikipedia. See if you can spot these two faces above the peacocks in the fourth photo.

There’s not a lot of teak in New York City, as this wood is native to South Asia. But if the gorgeous teak carvings on 6 Sutton Place looks familiar, you might be thinking of this townhouse at 7 East 10th Street, owned by a decorator who hired Indian artisans to decorate his facade in teak.

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