Last Sunday's New York Times real estate section covered a story about the new building on upper Broadway at 99th street. These abominations masquerading as buildings will add to the already intense density of the neighborhood and the subway platform at 96th street. It's an OUTRAGE! (Hence the lead in: Mudge Report, since I have the unfortunate nickname among some in my office as Mudge — a semi-affectionate recognition of my sometime curmudgeonly nature)
One of these buildings is on the site of what was formerly a grocery store, though before that, until the early 80s, it was the northernmost branch and bread bakery of Cake Masters, where I toiled as a Cake Slave during my college years along with my old boyfriend Gilbert. In fact, the property that belonged to the main branch of this bakery, where the cakes were baked, on 72nd Street is also the site of current
construction, leading me to think that the Buck/Jarmel family saw Manhattan real estate at its insane height and have sold to builder who will build at insane heights to make back their investment.
In the meantime, businesses in the neighborhood that have been here upwards of 80 years are disappearing. Morris Brothers on 84th Street (60 Years). Embassy Florist on 90th Street(87 Years). The entire row of stores on Amsterdam Avenue between 92nd and 93rd have had to move — and since the building owner is trying to build another 8 stories on top of the 6 that are already there, I am sure those businesses would have suffered during the next few years. Certainly everyone else in the nabe will, along with those who live in the building now.
When I first moved to the Upper West Side in 1973 it was highly cosmopolitan (if rather dangerous). It's true that I was held up at gunpoint more than once working at Cake Masters or walking home. I can't say I miss that at all. But I do miss shopping with neighborhood merchants like Riverside Hardware who were committed to hiring young people who lived here. And I'm going to miss sky (though the reflection of the sun from the hideous glass walls of the Ariels — or more accurately Calibans — streams into my living room like a laser death ray or solar eclipse set to blind anyone who dares look in that direction.
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