Streets Tell Stories

The streets of a neighborhood tell stories. These stories, big and small, are embedded in the sidewalks, buildings, shop windows, streets signs — and the memories — of the people who live and work here. 

Indeed, a walk up Seventh Avenue is an urban narrative filled with the public life — both past and present — of this place and its people.

Walking home from the Grand Army Plaza subway station, as I do many times a week, I walk on Lincoln Place between Eighth and Seventh avenues passing the three small shops just east of Seventh. I used to stop in at Paper Love (now closed) to browse its artful collection of letterpress greeting cards and stationery. I’d also drop into Maxine DeGoutte’s Stitch Therapy, which has since moved to Fifth Avenue, to enjoy the splendor of her multi-colored wools.

For years I would see (but rarely talk to) Warren Fox, the owner of the red brick apartment building that houses those shops. A tall, stocky white haired man, he always puffed on his pipe and was a constant presence, hovering over the shops, often making wood planters with customized wood embellishments for each shop. Fox was an artist with wood, a neighborhood fixture, a landlord, who tinkered with his building — painting this, fixing that. In February I noticed an old photo of him smoking his signature pipe taped to the front window of the empty Paper Love storefront. In magic marker someone wrote: Warren Fox: May 1939-February 2011.

He had died just days before and the sidewalk felt empty.

Walking near Sterling Place, it’s hard not to remember and mourn the horrific 1960 crash, the deadliest US commercial aviation disaster up to that time — 127 passengers and crew on both planes died. And who can ever forget Stephen Baltz, the little boy who survived the crash for 26 hours but died at Methodist Hospital. Seven people on the ground died and 10 brownstone apartment buildings, the Pillar of Fire Church, the McCaddin Funeral Home, a Chinese laundry and a delicatessen burned.

Continuing up Seventh Avenue, my eyes survey the windows of Leaf and Bean, a coffee and kitchen emporium just shy of Union Street, has been in business for more that 30 years. Their front window, a treasure trove of pottery, chocolates, colorful objects d’art, sometimes displays figurines and models of Coney Island and other urban monuments.

Above Union Street, I often stop to see what’s on the busy bulletin board in front of Park Slope Copy to read the every changing array of flyers about local events, lectures, classes and services. 

The three mannequins in the Kiwi window change their outfits frequently, showcasing the colorful fashions designed by the dress shop’s co-owner/designer, Christine Alcalay, 

A few shops away, Lisa Polansky’ s window is an eclectic mix of Park Slope boho-style (long skirts, print dresses) and shoes for girls and women.

There’s often a crowd on the steps of Old First Dutch Reformed Church, which is like Park Slope’s town square, with its mix of parents, kids, local characters and homeless people.

Who can forget what happened when three homeless men made the church steps their bedroom in 2007? Pastor Daniel Meeter was torn as to whether to let them stay or force them to find other accommodations.

Indeed, Meeter recognized the steps of the church as an important public space in Park Slope. But he also contemplated the ramifications of evicting the men.

 “It's a grief, and we're at our wits end. We have been unable to find any solution. In a strange way, the three of them are in control. Robert, Will, and Franklin. They have names. They have souls. They belong to our community. They tell us something about ourselves.”

Just past Old First, I often look up at the official street sign on the northwest corner of Carroll Street and Seventh Avenue that reads: Jackie Connor’s Corner. Connor, who died in 2005, was born and bred in Park Slope, and was often seen sitting on the steps of the church or pushing a shopping cart around. Even though she may have appeared homeless, she wasn't. Civic minded doesn't even begin to describe Connor, who cared deeply about the neighborhood. Everyone knew her and she knew everyone as she kept the police abreast of what was going on on Seventh Avenue by cell phone. And she had her pet peeves like flyers on lampposts, which she waged a one-woman campaign to remove.

At Shawn’s Wine Shop, I stop to acknowledge the thematic window display, the simple arrangement of items and wine bottles put together with flair. And always I walk past the Community Bookstore to peruse the books in the window—and to check for flyers about readings and other events. The store now has a list of the best selling books in the neighborhood (a feature I love).

I think back to the days and weeks after September 11, 2001 when the Community Bookstore’s window filled with lists of what was needed at Ground Zero, notes, poems, reflections and articles about that terrible time. The shop itself was a supply station for Ground Zero.

At D’Vine Taste, the Middle Eastern gourmet shop, that carries a huge selection of specialty food items from around the world, there is always a mountain of challah bread in the window.

Up next, the Clay Pot changes its window at least once a month and it’s always a work of art, a stylish combination of jewelry and home design items presented with graphic flair and sophistication.

Next to Starbucks, there’s a coin-operated horse that has captured the imagination of Park Slope children for decades.

That stretch of Seventh is a crowded stroller highway where parents push their children in Maclarens, Bugaboos or the latest infant transport contraption, and stop to talk to one another or give their children a ride on that musical horse.  

These children, like their parents, will someday recall these fun-filled rides. They too will share the history they’ve experienced and what they’ve been told about this place they call home.