Has anyone tried to find this location? Seems easy to me, he bragged. Buildings on the left don't match the current view, which helps to date it.

It's Park Avenue, right? It has to be. When I was looking for the spot, I spied this on Google Street  View:



"When the building was completed, Architectural Record said that "the detailing is a further step in the direction of simplification and clarity of statement" compared to previous designs by SOM.  The Fifth Avenue Association called the Union Carbide Building the best edifice constructed on Park Avenue between 1960 and 1961."


I'm not sure there was a lot of competition.

You may or may not like this building. You may regard it as just another boring Bunshaft block. I like the International Style buildings, but not when that's all there is. I'm ambivalent about what they did to Park Avenue. The building seems to evoke Mad Men nostalgia:

Justin Davidson of New York magazine characterized the structure as "appear[ing] gracious and vibrant, the incarnation of white-collar America. Alexandra Lange of Curbed wrote that 270 Park Avenue had been "a superlative example of what Ada Louise Huxtable named 'The Park Avenue School of Architecture' in 1957: sleek, shiny buildings that to her seemed like the city shaking off masonry, somnolence, the past, and marching up Park into the future."

You'll note the past tense.

How the hell did they pull that thing down? A floor at a time. The tallest building in the world to be "deconstructed."

The Wikipedia entry also notes:

The journalist Roberta Gratz wrote: "The planned destruction of 270 Park exemplifies how a vital aspect of the urbanism on which this city has evolved and excelled over decades is now being dangerously eroded."

The same argument was made when the street was transformed by the corporate boxes.

I'm almost hesitant to see what's replacing it . . . oh. Someone was impressed by the John Hancock in Chicago, it seems.


First, the new. The Thrivent Apartment complex still has the pox.


It's a big block.

Now, let's head back.

Another MHS shot found by Reddit used Lasocs. This one made me sigh with regret.


We can't mourn its architectural merit. It's the small stores with the useful purposes:

I'll bet Radin was proud of that sign. And he wished his neighbor would improve his front a bit. Tighten up that awuning and neaten the window.

  The sign on the side intrigued me.

Bowling! Quite the sign, with a marquee. You wonder: was this a movie theater once?

No. But yes. It was the site of the old Lyceum / Lyric. They name moved across the street to a new theater, the old unfashionable one was destroyed, and this big entertainent complex was built in its stead.


The reason I thought it had been a rehabbed theater: looks like a stage house, doesn't it?


I found an article about the building's construction. It said they tore down the theater . . . but saved, and reused, the walls.

Or, they could be singing! You know, harmonizing!

Yes, every honeymooning couple wants to sit down and drink with the belhop.

Solution is here.



Remember last week's mention of "The Amazing Mr. Malone"? No? Doesn't matter. It was a show about a lawyer who solved crimes. He had a rough edge, but he was brilliant. Why, he was amazing! They loved that word. I don't know why. It never fits. Anyway, of course he jousts with a police inspector. Which leads us to this exchange:


The cliches were just that obvious, and sometimes the wroters had to do something to maintain their own self-respect.

This year we're counting down the top hits . . . of 1922. Why not? We'll get back to thift store records some other time, but why not use Fridays to educate ourselves on the pop music of a hundred years ago?

The Peerless Quartet:


Marion Harris (born Mary Ellen Harrison; April 4, 1896 – April 23, 1944) was an American popular singer who was most successful in the late 1910s and the 1920s. She was the first widely known white singer to sing jazz and blues songs.

Later years:

In 1936, she married Leonard Urry, an English theatrical agent.[7] Their house was destroyed in a German rocket attack in 1941, and in 1944 she travelled to New York to seek treatment for a neurological disorder. She was discharged two months later.

She died on April 23, 1944, at Le Marquise Hotel from a fire that started when she fell asleep while smoking in bed.

No stories about it in the papers at the time.


From the middle of the Seventies, a reminder of the days when these guys loomed large over the retail landscape.

I can't remember the last time I heard anyone advertise clothes on the radio.


No, I take that back. I've heard podcast ads. But it's not the same. Sending away isn't the same as going to the store and trying it on.



Thanks for your visits! See you Monday.



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