tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71096870748079082032024-03-13T01:31:19.286-07:00New York and StuffM.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.comBlogger170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-59388825947939586712021-12-31T10:34:00.003-08:002021-12-31T10:34:00.220-08:00Were WolfM.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-10780189337427686522021-07-05T07:19:00.005-07:002021-07-05T07:46:24.337-07:00Floating Church Of Our Savior - Foot of Pike Street - NYC 1905<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihHv0zui2p6lvCOHp3gDjNHtU30kNIMRRW6VEdgkBviIrJiWEAnQYyz8ZaGviNNK_JXV-ujofyBxYM-NovxcNg0IxKVI8xbF_ti-YaZ-8UGR61S5JG-Ln4sFtgXRkF3bOmEs8j75BX6BY/s2048/floating+church.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1421" data-original-width="2048" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihHv0zui2p6lvCOHp3gDjNHtU30kNIMRRW6VEdgkBviIrJiWEAnQYyz8ZaGviNNK_JXV-ujofyBxYM-NovxcNg0IxKVI8xbF_ti-YaZ-8UGR61S5JG-Ln4sFtgXRkF3bOmEs8j75BX6BY/w640-h444/floating+church.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">Protestant Episcopal Church Missionary Society For Seamen<br /><br />In the City and Port of New York.Annual report. v. 48-61 (1891/92 - 1904/05).</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQ71iuRiLje_gMLelpIuxDJFzqAjhp09QSD3V7jzw7rb0MM5JBW8_SE1ktNsabqbMlkO2MvnmaIWbiGZDJ0czBbQ5iIDKpZLXdTCmdEvpW8-uJ_UtwYEEBsjO6Dhzc-pr7WnJ8AedSjg/s1391/floating+church.-.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="681" data-original-width="1391" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKQ71iuRiLje_gMLelpIuxDJFzqAjhp09QSD3V7jzw7rb0MM5JBW8_SE1ktNsabqbMlkO2MvnmaIWbiGZDJ0czBbQ5iIDKpZLXdTCmdEvpW8-uJ_UtwYEEBsjO6Dhzc-pr7WnJ8AedSjg/w640-h314/floating+church.-.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OP1s2R3zMECl8rn5uEeQUjKZjVbxFBFRTBsZ_9Cz2CLNNd9WcrY-DFY_rTV9vsmb4EokDydyl0DoeNTi5g18i0Z2lS0t5IYkS-yri0wtw-vDzAZseTAdAlZECxm8O3w7tJCXHq2sRtg/s1585/floating+church.-.--.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1001" data-original-width="1585" height="404" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3OP1s2R3zMECl8rn5uEeQUjKZjVbxFBFRTBsZ_9Cz2CLNNd9WcrY-DFY_rTV9vsmb4EokDydyl0DoeNTi5g18i0Z2lS0t5IYkS-yri0wtw-vDzAZseTAdAlZECxm8O3w7tJCXHq2sRtg/w640-h404/floating+church.-.--.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div>M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-62946342720727663152020-12-10T18:50:00.004-08:002020-12-11T11:51:02.710-08:00Young Diana - by Edward McCartan - Inquirer 18 March 1925<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGqejHd-2GjCUvi7jJas41w0KjMaWBiFyMQFEEkQR50UVHRrbMZ0llWL2Igj9HUimYfIqfxd6j8bBR7IQRznMrTXkFqQ1FGL-GXKiP8qofBEXfYjGStcZfezK4vpRaH8lfLg8_acNEAQ/s1189/Inquirer+18+March+1925.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1189" data-original-width="673" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGqejHd-2GjCUvi7jJas41w0KjMaWBiFyMQFEEkQR50UVHRrbMZ0llWL2Igj9HUimYfIqfxd6j8bBR7IQRznMrTXkFqQ1FGL-GXKiP8qofBEXfYjGStcZfezK4vpRaH8lfLg8_acNEAQ/s16000/Inquirer+18+March+1925.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-80561472411289539452020-11-24T04:42:00.001-08:002020-11-24T04:42:49.753-08:00David Dinkins dead at 93<p><span style="font-size: large;">David Dinkins, first "black" mayor of NYC dead at 93. I voted for him twice before moving out west in the nineties. I voted against a seemingly corrupt Ed Koch running for a fourth term as mayor in the Democratic primary and voted for Dinkins, a known factor as Borough President of Manhattan. I then voted in the general election against the rather cold and green to politics, Republican Rudy Giuliani, a federal prosecutor for southern New York state. Fellow republicans in the office, peers, ate up all his coded "Conservative" rhetoric. As it turned out the two work peers who praised Rudy so much did not bother to vote on election day which is one reason Dinkins won and Rudy lost. As it turned out from day one, Dinkins was the Black Mayor of Manhattan it seemed to me and not the Mayor of NYC. He was out of his depth IMO and could not break out of either the Black or the Manhattan tags of his politics - get his head out of the premier borough and into the other four boroughs that make up New York City. I was turned off after I voted for Dinkins almost immediately when he won, I was turned off when someone like Jesse Jackson was on stage when Dinkins won that election night - and turned off by Jackson's "We Won" announcement. Who was "we" mister self appointed pol from Chi-Town? So, it was not surprising that I heard that Rudy won as mayor four years later as an alternate choice of the "We Won - First Black Mayor of Manhattan David Dinkins". An aside story of Rudy in the campaign in 1989 below. </span></p><p><a href="https://newyorkandstuff.blogspot.com/2019/02/rudolph-giuliani-republican-mannequin.html"><span style="font-size: large;">https://newyorkandstuff.blogspot.com/2019/02/rudolph-giuliani-republican-mannequin.html</span></a><br /></p><p><br /></p>M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-11543573853322603422020-08-27T13:00:00.001-07:002020-08-27T13:00:31.556-07:00Mao Tai Bar & Restaurant, 1 Bankers Trust Plaza NYC - Small Business Loan 1975<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-42563975343639534582020-03-09T08:27:00.001-07:002020-03-09T08:28:00.555-07:00Duet for One - Dec 17, 1981 - Jan 02, 1982 Royale Theatre, New York, NY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-87004745700181538902020-02-01T23:54:00.000-08:002020-02-16T15:50:12.383-08:00Nuestra Senora de Pimeria Alta - Our Lady of Tucson<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">While living in Tucson, I often remarked to people how southern Arizona seemed a special place, a land bought by the United States from Mexico through treaty, the Gadsden Purchase. In other words, it was not seized in war and blood had not been shed in the receiving of the land into the territories of the United States. Just a silly thought perhaps. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">That leads me to say that Tucson and that area of Arizona have a long clean line into its past in terms of politics and war.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">While I am writing this, I can remember over 20 years ago my cars, all cars on the northern highway, from Nogales being directed to an off ramp of the highway for a visual check and talk to a border patrol police officer through the winder in order to continue on my way north in this land of the "free". That I and my family passed the look and language checks at this checkpoint Charlie because of race and education etc. So much for needing paperwork back then beyond your state issued driver's license etc. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I cannot but feel great anguish in which I as an American have become aware of the inhumane way in to which would be immigrants from the south, Mexico and Central America, are being treated in a bully kind of response to an Immigration non-policy that a bunch of lazy crony pols in Washington of both major parties have not been able to settle for the past several decades. That we are a land of immigrants and my heart goes out to children separated from parents in this current impromptu and cruel handing of the situation on the border by the U.S. Government. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">That the image of Mary, the mother of Jesus, seems to be to be present in outline on a mountain overlooking that city near the border. I think it appropriate if you are inclined to a higher power and or the saints of the dominant religion, to ask for intercession through prayer or positive energy for the restoration of harmony, peace and justice in that region to be reestablished along the border regions of the two nations involved in this present tug of war over the popular populist politics of strangers wanting a chance to grasp and contribute to the American dream and democracy, the same opportunity my ancestors sought and achieved 170 years ago before the Civil War.</span><br />
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-43215257018239123832020-01-05T10:00:00.000-08:002020-01-05T10:00:09.912-08:00Losing Our Democracy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">While the GOP sold the Gubmint to the Corps for cash and rubles, the Dems gave it away by default while sipping PC caffeine free Tumeric Ginger iced teas at sidewalk cafes on the upper west sides of Manhattan, Berkley, etc. </span></span><br />
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-6434188468421956312020-01-01T19:35:00.003-08:002020-01-01T19:35:38.625-08:002020 - Not just another year?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-62034184728788364002019-11-15T05:25:00.000-08:002020-05-06T15:05:55.739-07:00Some of my Broadway Memories from an Audience POV<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The Gin Game - John Golden Theatre - 1978 - Tandy and Cronyn</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">A touch of the Poet - Helen Hayes Theatre - 1978 - Robards and Fitzgerald</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">A Duet for One - Royale Theatre - Dec. 1981 - Bancroft and Von Sydow</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">You Can't take it with You - Plymouth Theatre - 1983 - Robards</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The Ice Man Cometh - Lunt Fontaine Theatre - 1985 - Robards</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Les Miserables - Broadway Theatre - 1988</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Into the Woods - Martin Beck Theatre - 1988</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-large;">( In high school I can remember three productions that were outstanding in terms of Broadway Theatre quality works. One was Freshman year at my high school of "Finian's Rainbow". Don't remember the other performances except Junior year with a West Side Story that did not impress me and I left at intermission. Of the other performances, one at fraternal H.S. Father Judge of "Little Me". And last, the most impressive one of all them, that would rival anything on Broadway, was "The Music Man" performed at the girl's high school attached to Holy Name College up on Torresdale Ave. near the county line. )</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">[may 6, 2020 - also on broadway - "Da" with Bernard Hughes around 1979.]</span><br />
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-39492776324908362212019-10-25T08:15:00.000-07:002019-10-25T08:17:04.688-07:00Actor's Fund Fair - Madison Square Garden NYC - May 1892<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-38465010973601848472019-10-20T07:11:00.000-07:002019-10-20T08:03:32.050-07:00Muddy Construction Site - World Financial Center NYC - 1980s<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">200 Vesey Street, called American Express Tower when built in mid 1980s, part of world financial center, across west street from World Trade Center, the old one, built by construction company Olympia and York, out of Montreal, now defunct. Also built Canada Plaza, Canary Wharf London. Similar exterior, only 42 feet difference in heights, 739 and 771 respectively. Worked in a complex of trailers, accounts payable, for Amex Building, in a muddy, muddy lot at Vesey and West Streets, now site of Goldman Sacks HQ, for about six months in 1985. O&Y owned then by Orthodox Jews. No work on Saturday allowed on site. Had to work Sunday if I had to work weekends. 16 hour days and an experimental PC that lost and scrambled its exterior "grasshopper" brand main drive every time a cement truck passed by drove me up the wall. Company, a sub construction shell co of Amex. trying to invent and copyright new accounting software for PCs in construction etc. Overtime for clericals like me straight time even if I worked 80 hours a week or "sundays" on "weekends". Screw that. Quit. </span><br />
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-71841992463241901712019-09-29T04:41:00.000-07:002019-09-29T04:57:32.297-07:00Mission of Our Lady of the Rosary - Way Station for Irish Immigrant Girls - 7 State Street NYC - Illustrations by Miss G.A. Davis - Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper - 8 Aug 1895<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="745" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10uTXDpG7n95URNferbNIgCz2m8q_hCvB5x2XCh8Q0rpBRyndx8JnWUR0HJZYGawIdfaC1UtfIxK5dHq6LhlNsnULqgHJ04sv8PFL09QL0jQgEOk3AL4pj_3S98zpxu0eBv0e425cxDY/s640/MissionofourLadyof+the+Rosary.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"># 7 State Street - Mission of Our Lady of the Rosary - (image date, late nineteenth century)</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Across the street from various ferry docks, "South Ferry" Manhattan, first stop in America passing first through Ellis Island, in view of New York Bay/Harbor, next to the Statue of Liberty Island, three charitable organizations, way stations to find work, safe clean housing, set up to cater to individual immigrant groups, newly arrived, and some alone, like Irish girls, making their way to America alone or hoping to join, connect to relatives already here in the promised land at the height of immigration to America at the end of the 19th century.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Mission of Our Lady of the Rosary at # 7 State Street (below), the middle building of the three structures on an irregular lot at the turn/bend of the street - two full facades but more like 1-1/2 houses in terms of space with irregular shaped rooms within. At one time these structures were right on the docks since pushed back by landfill.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Building on left (below), Number 8 State Street, site of at one time the home of Elizabeth Seton around 1800, born in Staten Island in 1774 in her family's summer home. That lot, Number 8 New York structure from when she was a married woman and mother and Episcopalian, before she was widowed and converted to Roman Catholicism and founded the Sisters of Charity religious organization.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"># 8 State Street - Lutheran's Pilgrim House</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"># 7 State Street - Mission of Our Lady of the Rosary</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"># 6 Leo House - for German Catholic immigrants</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">King's Handbook of New York, 1893</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A Party (of immigrant girls) for Father Callahan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">About the Artist - NY Daily Graphic - 25 Apr 1876.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Artist exhibited at the Women's Pavilion, Centennial Exposition, Philadelphia, 1876.</span><br />
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-15478121886325371292019-09-27T15:37:00.000-07:002019-09-27T15:37:42.580-07:00Jumbo the Elephant Killed by Train At St. Thomas, Canada - Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, 26 Sept 1885<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-68021310148658110152019-09-23T12:41:00.001-07:002019-09-23T12:44:24.806-07:00Ada Brown Talbot - "The Mine of the Silver Moon" - Author, Editor, Lecturer, Suffragette<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>THE MINE OF THE SILVER MOON</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>by Ada Brown Talbot</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">A wedding in Mexico: And, the golden sunlight pouring its blessing over the
nuptials like a benediction—as only In
Mexico the sun shines! I stood with Don
Fernando opposite the - Cathedral and
watched the brilliant ensemble—the elite
of Zacatecas—as they emerged from the
grand old edifice. The bride, a beautiful
Mexican girl of the aristocratic class, high
bred and haughty, was of a pure Castlillian type, and the tulle veil and orange
blossoms gave her the face of a Madonna. The carriages were decorated according to the custom of Mexico, with orange blossoms and tulle on the outside of the doors, and interior daintily draped and the harness resplendent with the same filmy white.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">And Zacatecas! How can I describe the
historic old city, in the heart of the oldest
mining section of Mexico, perched high
among the mountains at the dizzy altitude
of 8,000 feet! Picturesque, clean, beautiful, delightful! That is the epitome of dear, quaint old Zacatecas.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Don Fernando was my particular friend
among my Mexican acquaintances, the
more so because, although I spoke his native tongue, he was good enough to
realize that his English was at least clear,
and I am sure it was picturesque. His
friendship meant much to me in those first
lonely months in Mexico, and now that
mutual tastes had welded intimate friendship and camaraderie, we were seldom
separated.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">At our backs, as we watched the wedding party disperse, swung the little screen
doors of the bar, the most conspicuous feature of the hotel which was temporarily
my home, and, In fact, of most hotels in Mexico. Strangely enough mine host was
German, but in that country most bonifaces are foreigners. The cuisine is generally Spanish, but at Herr Mueller's I
think the menu was a somewhat "improved" Spanish, for a Teutonic dish—the
familiar Wiener wurst and sauerkraut—
which frequently made its appearance accentuated this impression.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Turning to Don Fernando. I was surprised to discover on his usually cheery
face a serious expression foreign to the joyous scene we had just witnessed. He
seemed lost in reverie as he nervously
smoked his cigar and stared in the direction of the vanishing bridal party. At
my suggestion we adjourned to the hotel
patio—the typical garden or the Mexican
home—where we could quietly smoke and
sip our cognac. Still Don Fernando saw,
far off. something that I could not see,
something that gripped his heart, and that
I was determined to know— unless it was
for his heart alone.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Don Fernando." I said gently. "let's have the story."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">He looked at me quizzically for a moment and then smiled upon me that smile
of good comradeship I so much loved.
"How do you know there is a story."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, I know; you have related so many. I knew when I looked in your face, when the wedding party was leaving the church." that there was one you had not told me. Does it concern the bride?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Not directly-that is. It was of her father. Oh, Senor, what strange tricks the fates play, and, sometimes, how cruel they are!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Don Fernando smoked on in silence, as if in deep thought, and then, in his quaint English, resumed his story.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Senor, the money that bought Senorita Gertrudis Gamboa her fine wedding, that </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">has made the whole family rich-so very rich—came from the old La Luna Plata mine, "The Silver Moon", a poetic name for a mine. But so it is, the moon gives forth her light forever, and, Senior, maybe La Luna Plata will always give up her silver, for there is not a richer mine in all this region. But. poor Dios! what a price to poor Rafael! That, Senior, was her father, Rafael Gamboa. a distant relative of mine.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Rafael was always digging, digging,
from his boyhood, expecting some day to
find somewhere up in the mountains a
richer mine than any one else had discovered. He had queer notions always. Senor,
and he loved to wander off alone. People
laughed at him at first, particularly his
relatives. But one day be found it! It
was an 'outcropping.' as you say in English; and, Senor, he had discovered a vein
of the richest silver. Rafael had found his
mine at last! Friends aided him with the
necessary money and for several years
he mined his ore. But after a while things
went badly with Rafael, and finally the vein ceased to run good ore, and then the
end came. No more ore was in sight.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"But Rafael was not the kind to give up
easily. No. Senor, he knew the vein he
had followed, and he knew it was inexhaustible. He would find it again. He
struggled desperately to win back that
which had cost him so much labor and patient waiting. But what could he do? His money was almost gone; he had borrowed until his friends no longer were
willing to risk more. At length he had
nothing with, which to pay his miners,
and it was only with the hope held out to
them of a fortunate find at any moment,
as he had imploringly urged them to believe, that they consented to remain with
him and work on day after day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Rafael had been reduced to a mere
skeleton—he scarcely ate or slept—and his family, too, were nearing the point of
starvation. The storekeepers had refused
further credit either for food for his family or for supplies for the mine. They had
heard the same old story from day to day
—"trust me with one more day's supplies and to-night maybe I will find the vein
again, and then" - Fortune was what
he meant, but he did not need to finish.
They knew; they had heard it so often.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"One night the few miners who had been
willing to work on huddled near the entrance of the mine. They scowled at
Rafael as he greeted them when he went
to work with them on the night 'shift.' The
foreman, Antonio, declared they would
work no longer without money. Rafael implored them to try once more—one more
night—and then if there was no luck—well,
then they would all quit. He did not tell
them that he, too, would be forced to quit
the mine forever, for he had that night
induced the last storekeeper in Zacatecas who would listen to his pitiful tale to let
him have candles for one more night's
work—the last he would ask! Buoyed up by a little flicker of hope, and with his
precious candles. In his arms, Rafael appealed to the hearts of his men for the last time, and, as you know, Senor, our peons have tender hearts. These simple
fellows had always been treated kindly
by Rafael, and in their humble way they
loved him and wished him success.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Well. Senor, the little band descended into the mine with lighter hearts than
when they had quit their work the night before, for this was to be the last night. In the black hole where hopeless, disappointing toll had been the only reward for
so many weary months. Rafael left them,
after distributing the candles, and went to
a distant gallery where for days he had
been digging alone. Hours passed and no sound came from him, not even the familiar crunch of his pick, that had often
cheered them in the lonely watches of the night.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"When midnight came the men sat down;
to eat their cold tortillas. But they did;
not linger over their meal. Sometimes the very atmosphere made them apprehensive and eager to resume their work. Antonio has often told me how be was trying to interest the men with idle gossip. Just to cheer their hearts, you know,
Senor. when suddenly a wail, so faint, so strange, came floating to them through, the
darkness. The men looked at each other with frightened eyes, and one of them
cried: — </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large; vertical-align: inherit;">"A cat, where is the cat?" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"But Antonio pretended, to he disgusted
at the folly or such a suggestion.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"'A cat, indeed! And in the bottom of
the mine! Stupid! Next you will say it is the devil singing!"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"At this the men crossed themselves devoutly and Antonio saw that he had made
matters worse by his intended joke. Again the strange wild sound came, this time louder and more prolonged. It was indeed
like the cry of some animal in distress, but
these men knew that no animal had found its way into the mine. Antonio was first
to determine what to do.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Come," he said sternly to the men; "we
must go through the gallery and see for
ourselves. We must find the poor Senor
Rafael! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"That was enough. They had forgotten
their master, but now they were ready to
face any terrors for him behind Antonio's
broad back. And so they resolutely followed on, huddled together like frightened
children. Yon could not blame them,
senor, for it would take stouter hearts
than theirs to face the dangers of such blackness. Suddenly a gust of wind blew out the flames of the few candles they
were carrying, as well as of the torch Antonio held. They stopped, appalled, not
venturing to move, for mines are full of
pitfalls, as you know, senor, and to their
terror was added the plaintive cries of
that invisible something. They stood motionless for a time, and, as their eyes became accustomed to the darkness there
came to them from afar, down the long dark cavern ahead, the faint gleam of a candle's flame. As one man they started
forward toward the welcome light, heedless of possible pitfalls, of the boulders in
their path, and heedless of the fact that
the voice came from the source of the light. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Well, senor, at last they found him - poor Rafael: He was kneeling at the farthest end of the gallery, digging frantically at the wall of the rock with his poor, bleeding hands. His candle, stuck in a crevice of the rock, had almost burned out, but in its rays the ore as it fell with each clutch of Rafael's fingers, where he had loosened it with his pick, sparkled like jewels. Rafael looked up when he heard the sound of their footsteps, but the face they saw was not like the face of the Rafael they had known. It was the face of a maniac; and again that awful cry rose on the still air, chilling the blood in their veins. Yes, it was Rafael, but reason had fled, and this was but the shadow of their Rafael whom they had loved as their master. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<t 1="" ami.="" e="" f="" i="" l="" mllin="" nn="" out.="" t="" v=""><span style="font-size: x-large;"> "He was muttering to himself between his terrible screams and with his bleeding hands was examining feverishly the sparkling lumps of ore. Silver! Yes, great masses of native silver, senor, held together by silver wires. But Rafael was gone? His joy at again finding the precious vein had been too great. His sanity and strength had turned to the edge, sputtered and gone out; and the candle-his last-flickered a moment and died, as Rafael fell forward unconscious amidst this his treasure. </span></t><br />
<t 1="" ami.="" e="" f="" i="" l="" mllin="" nn="" out.="" t="" v=""><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></t>
<t 1="" ami.="" e="" f="" i="" l="" mllin="" nn="" out.="" t="" v=""><span style="font-size: x-large;"> "Antonio picked him up in his strong arms and carried him like a child to the
mouth of the mine. But not even the
sweet night air revived him, and to they
look him to his home near by. Only once did the flicker of reason return before he
died, and in that moment he gasped, 'Plata, Plata: Viva la Luna Plata.'</span></t><br />
<t 1="" ami.="" e="" f="" i="" l="" mllin="" nn="" out.="" t="" v=""><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></t>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><t 1="" ami.="" e="" f="" i="" l="" mllin="" nn="" out.="" t="" v=""> "Senor, that mine has proved, as you know, so rich that not one of us can tell </t>its worth, and Rafael's family have enjoyed their wealth. Ten years ago his eldest daughter was married from the Cathedral. She was his pet and the most beautiful of them all—Maria Josefa Gamboa, that was her name, senor-and-when she walked from her carriage to the church door, it was on a pavement of silver bricks, senor, solid silver from her father's mine, and placed there for the occasion. It was her mother's idea, and
the last tribute to the poor dead father, to his work and the glory of 'La Luna Plata.'"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-82966095407441960522019-09-23T12:41:00.000-07:002019-09-23T12:45:41.433-07:00Ada Brown Talbot - "The Mine of the Silver Moon" - NY Evening Telegram 26 March 1910<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Heredity Tells in Winning of
Story Contest by Mrs. Talbot</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Father of the Author of "The Mine
of the Silver Moon" Was Himself a Writer. </span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Mrs. Ada Brown Talbot, of No. 601 West 136th street, is the winner of the EVENING TELEGRAM'S Prize Story contest this week. Her winning story is entitled "The Mine
of the Silver Moon." It was published
yesterday. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">When seen by a reporter for the EVENING TELEGRAM, Mrs. Talbot was greatly
elated over her success in winning the
prize, as it was the first time she had ever
tried for a prize in any competition, although she admitted that she bad written
several stories for magazines.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Literary ability is a matter of heredity
with Mrs. Talbot. Her father, Joseph G.
Brown, is well known in the newspaper
profession In the West, having been associated with papers in Denver for many
years. While doing active newspaper
work he collaborated with Eugene Fields
and "Bill Nye" in many ot their literary
creations. Mr. Brown now devotes his
time exclusively to writing for magazines. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The story which was submitted by Mrs.
Talbot is centered around Mexico, where
she has lived many years. It is based
solely on fact. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Born in Denver, Mrs. Talbot has seen
much of the miner's life and, coupled with
the experience she has had in Colorado, is
well equipped to picture vividly the sad
scenes that she saw in both the American
and Mexican mining camps. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Mrs. Talbot's husband. Mr. E. H. Brown (typo, s/b - Mr. E. H. Talbot),
is also a literary man. He has been editor of a number of publications, and has
also been the founder of many of them.
Mrs. Talbot some years ago established
the Club Woman's Magazine. It was
while developing this periodical that she
overworked herself and was forced to go
to Mexico. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Let me be quoted as saying one thing.'
said Mrs. Talbot. "I want to commend
the EVENING TELEGRAM for the opportunity
it gives its readers to bring out whatever
originality they may have in the literary
line. The Short Story Contest has created
intense interest in literary circles." </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Women's Who's Who in America - 1914</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://newyorkandstuff.blogspot.com/2019/09/ada-brown-talbot-mine-of-silver-moon.html">THE MINE OF THE SILVER MOON</a></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Phila. Inquirer 9 June 1899</span></div>
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-2821941787892057082019-09-22T19:12:00.001-07:002019-09-22T21:31:15.856-07:00Town House - NE Corner 75th St. and West End Avenue - Architect, Charles T. Mott, Owner, Elisha H. Talbott 1839-1923<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwby5XTaRGXMwdjiGvDG63iUQGdZxVRFtyCS1RuX700ayTjIIaM1ZUshZ6Zn6WW3-WCV7hM57yHvn4_kcg-P2gZR3am4ZkwoTL2XSWNh_U3cBpHyFxRWbq1J5Sjyw4STFWcH9u32y9cTg/s1600/mdp.39015084567927-seq_90.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="928" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwby5XTaRGXMwdjiGvDG63iUQGdZxVRFtyCS1RuX700ayTjIIaM1ZUshZ6Zn6WW3-WCV7hM57yHvn4_kcg-P2gZR3am4ZkwoTL2XSWNh_U3cBpHyFxRWbq1J5Sjyw4STFWcH9u32y9cTg/s640/mdp.39015084567927-seq_90.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">SOME TOWN HOUSES. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">On pages 44 and 45 will be found floor plans and
engravings of some townhouses, erected on West End
Avenue, New York City, N. Y. The corner house, of
which we give plans, was erected for E. H. Talbott, Esq.
The design is treated in the Romanesque style. The first
story is built of </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">brownstone with faces left rough as they
come from the quarry,with the exception of the door and
window openings. The upper stories are built of wash brick, with trimmings of similar stone. Above this, the
building is made impressive by a tower and a step
pitched roof, covered with Spanish tiles. The cornice
and dormer windows are of copper. Within the house,
the arrangement is excellent, and the first story contains
the first and second drawing-rooms, broad hall and
dining-room, which can be thrown together if desired.The
most striking feature of the interior is the hall and stair
case. This hall is trimmed with oak. The walls are
paneled the full height, and are finished with a carved
cornice. The ceiling is ribbed, forming panels,which are
filled in with rare bits of carving. The broad staircase is
built of oak, and it has a massive carved newel with
candelabrum of wrought iron and lantern of antique
design. The walls and ceiling of vestibule are paneled,
and the floor is laid in mosaic.The nook has a paneled
divan. The drawing rooms are treated with ivory white
and gold in a delicate manner. The trimmings are carved
exquisitely. The fireplace is furnished with white onyx </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">tiles, Mexican onyx facings, and an over mantel aid in
mosaic.Dining-room is trimmed with white mahogany.
It has a paneled wainscoting ten feet high, and ceiling
beams.The fireplace is provided with a tiled hearth,
Mexican onyx facings, and a mantel with beveled plate
mirror,etc. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">These apartments have parquet floors and
are highly polished. The windows on this floor have
transoms glazed with delicate tinted glass, shedding a
pleasant light over the various apartments. The butler's
pantry has a counter shelf of Italian marble with bowl.
It also contains an ice box, dresser, china closets, dumb
waiter, and a private stairway from basement to fourth
story. The second floor contains four chambers and
bathroom, and the third floor contains three chambers
and bathroom. These apartments are trimmed with
sycamore. The fireplaces are fitted up complete.The
The bathrooms are wainscoted with Italian marble, and
are furnished in the best possible manner with exposed
plumbing, all nickel plated.The chambers have large
closets.The fourth story contains three servant bed
rooms and a billiard room. The basement contains
kitchen, pantries, laundry, furnace, and other necessary
apartments. Mr. CharlesT. Mott, architect, 137 Broadway, NewYork.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">(Scientific American, Building Edition, March 1896, page 35)</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">(Real Estate Record and Builder's Guide, March 2, 1895, page 335)</span></i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKVnmevsLxj9K85tdqp9TSXkeDfgmhPy2mb1y-ua5gjcaJGMsga_ycWaL-84Hbb3aVVHdFMi0hrXO_7yRSiMmw7c7r3xZpRwp3aF26i-hm9CI3k2egjQSrqfzYLCG2hefGjsGJB9bBOc/s1600/FrankLesliesIllustrated2Jun1883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBKVnmevsLxj9K85tdqp9TSXkeDfgmhPy2mb1y-ua5gjcaJGMsga_ycWaL-84Hbb3aVVHdFMi0hrXO_7yRSiMmw7c7r3xZpRwp3aF26i-hm9CI3k2egjQSrqfzYLCG2hefGjsGJB9bBOc/s1600/FrankLesliesIllustrated2Jun1883.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Elisha Hollingsworth Talbott - 1839-1923</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjSfkcohv-LvXicUjHWNK0PWHmAG-Up4tZLr80WNJIz-UX0Tk7XQEbUSqRgj-7YK-UFeQoZ0-pbB9UyNtVmpvesFe5xh0HQ8sgiD9ZRPUC7-AQYPRtjx4T3nIzJTd6DOqC95FZr80gDTk/s1600/ElishaHTalbott-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="1058" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjSfkcohv-LvXicUjHWNK0PWHmAG-Up4tZLr80WNJIz-UX0Tk7XQEbUSqRgj-7YK-UFeQoZ0-pbB9UyNtVmpvesFe5xh0HQ8sgiD9ZRPUC7-AQYPRtjx4T3nIzJTd6DOqC95FZr80gDTk/s640/ElishaHTalbott-.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Descendants of Richard and Elizabeth (Ewen) Talbott of Poplar Knowle, West River, Anne Arundel County, Maryland - 1927</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Co-founder of Railway Age Magazine and Iron Age among other publications. Organizer of the 1883 National Exposition of Railway Appliances, Opening May 24th, Chicago, Illinois. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, 2 June 1883</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">(Chicago History Magazine, Winter 2010, page 51)</span></div>
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-60539098324158072622019-08-25T06:46:00.003-07:002019-08-25T06:47:08.172-07:00The Terra Cotta Grill Room - McAlpin Hotel - The Brickbuilder March 1913<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-38703416074851413752019-08-17T15:40:00.001-07:002019-08-17T15:46:36.654-07:00Helen Frankenthaler - Steve Martin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was a temp at Abrams Books - art books - special sales department I spent some time over several days with telephone calls and faxes through one of Steve Martin's assistants trying to get his written permission to reprint one of his Helen Frankenthaler's in his</span></span><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> current possession, from one of our being published books for a new upcoming Lear Magazine. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By ownership apparently he had current copyright on the painting over and above copyright rights we had to publish it only in a current book on sale. Reprints in magazines had to go through us as the magazine wanted a photo of one of her works we were about to publish in a book etc. Free advertising so to speak, raising an interest in her works and in our related books. He was island hopping at that time in the Caribbean, being a reason for so much of my time being wasted etc. He was into modern art and big money investment as I understand it and read about later, investing that way in the late 80s. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: #f2f3f5; color: #1c1e21; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Met Helen Frankenthaler when she made a tour of our offices at 100 Fifth Ave reviewing I believe proofs of her upcoming book etc. A sweet lady.</span></span></span></span><br />
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-79666619896127814472019-08-02T15:09:00.000-07:002019-08-02T15:26:29.219-07:00Concerns with Garbage, Sewage in Bushwick Brooklyn and Rikers Island - Harper's Weekly 8 Sept 1894 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">This article in Harper's Weekly page 844, 8 Sept 1894 discusses garbage and sewage in Brooklyn before incorporation of NYC in 1898 and labeled "Scene Of The Great Garbage Dump At Red Hook, Brooklyn" - the article has nothing outwardly to do with Red Hook in the southern part of Brooklyn and not the northern part with geography and streets names (with typos) of Bushwick.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The one legitimate reference to Red Hook in the article regarding dumps, sewage and pollution, are the visuals, one photo labeled "The Dump, Columbia and Lorraine Streets" which is in Red Hook, the other images conform more to the written article.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">I can only guess that this one bleeding heart article about conditions of the poor and in Brooklyn was to a limited audience of a very tony magazine like Harper's Weekly. I can only imagine that some junior editor commuting from over the East River to Harper's offices in NYC, knew where Columbia and Lorraine was and the rest of the geography got lost on him and thus the title. That living on and off for decades in the Big Apple a lot of the neighborhoods in the Brooklyn, Queens and The Bronx are still a mystery to me as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">The article interested me in that what it said about bathhouses being parked in the summer at the mouth of waterways filled with sewage and pollution, reminded of Philadelphia's own similar manner of giving free bathing in floating houses and more than likely docked at the mouth of similarly polluted waterways flowing into the Delaware and Schuylkill Rivers in the late decades of the 19th century before permanent brick buildings were erected for the cleanliness and pleasure of the poor of the city, cities like New York and Philadelphia in the early decades of the twentieth century to replace these old obsolete, in terms of good health, floating bathhouses.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">An area of Standard Oil and its tanks at what I believe is Bushwick Inlet mentioned in the article and on a peninsula of sorts with Newtown Creek, only "some hundreds of yards or from Newtown Creek", a dividing boundary between King's County (Brooklyn) and Queens County.</span><br />
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<a href="https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/imgsrv/download/pdf?id=mdp.39015013724433;orient=0;size=100;seq=841;num=845;attachment=0"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Dealing with Garbage and Other issues in Brooklyn before Incorporation </span></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">That of note in images of print below is the typo of "Briggs" for "Driggs" avenue, an area described there as a current dumping site thirty to forty feet high and its geography matching closely that of McCarran Park pool within the greater McCarren Park label on Google maps and near Bushwick Inlet. That in the end, the poor and or the common citizen benefits in the repurposing of old industrial or waste sites. </span><br />
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-17251403568367546592019-08-01T06:58:00.003-07:002019-08-03T05:03:41.827-07:00Removing Garbage Fruit-Dealers' District - Illustration - Harper's Weekly 13 Oct 1894<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-10427537026626490352019-06-07T02:28:00.005-07:002019-06-07T02:28:45.013-07:00Before and After - Trinity Place South of Thames Street - 1923 / 2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-60103699159848426262019-06-06T22:28:00.003-07:002019-06-06T22:28:41.664-07:00Cathedral of St. John the Divine - Working on an Angel - Library of Congress - no date<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-9010552039468101312019-05-20T14:59:00.000-07:002019-05-20T14:59:09.277-07:004-Paw Jubilee Circus Year - Adam Forepaugh Jr - Illion Citizen 24 Aug 1888<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7109687074807908203.post-29363932054281646832019-05-09T10:56:00.002-07:002019-05-09T17:16:05.346-07:0052 Broadway - Exchange Court Building - B'way and Exchange Place - Architectural Record Vol.7 1897/1898<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Terra Cotta scraped off in early 1980s to its bare Iron Girders and new steel girders put in place to capture valuable Wall Street area floor space in the Court and or air shaft of ancient Skyscraper air and natural light needs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Originally built with Astor money in 1898.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Resheathed in plastic and glass. </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">There was some renovations after WWII where the 11 foot high sculptures of Stuyvesant, Hudson, Governor Clinton and General James Wolfe by sculptor John Massey Rhind were removed from their third floor level height on the Broadway facade as scrap, got rebought, the first three statues were donated to Ulster County NY where they sit in parks around Kingston NY and the statue of General Wolfe was sold to a museum in Calgary Canada where it too now resides in a park there. </span><br />
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M.McSheahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05809255693603458058noreply@blogger.com0