Irving Place between 17th and 18th Streets

The Snail and the Hummingbird
O. Henry slept here. Washington Irving didn’t.
By David Crohn

Time is the most relative of all things.

There’s infinite time, which is less a neverending story than it is a concept separate from time itself.

When we jump from the abstract to the real, we encounter what the puny human brain perceives as the pokiest: cosmic time, in which stars many millions of years old are considered newborns, and anything deemed venerable can recall the dawn of existence itself.

Back on the earth-rock, our slowest mode is geologic time, the speed at which glaciers commute and mountains dissolve.

When living things are considered, we often look to the hummingbird and the snail as the two extremes of moving and not moving—the one that can’t get anywhere fast enough and the other just splendid exactly….where…it…is.

Where the hummingbird lies down with the snail is in the always strange, always mercurial world of Manhattan real estate.

Things here can mutate blindingly fast, sometimes dishearteningly so. Like when you step out of a cab returning home from a three-day weekend jaunt to find your favorite Chinese joint shuttered, the boards over the windows already collecting dust.

Thus, the architectural and visual patchwork of then and now that is downtown Manhattan.

In low-density, mixed-use neighborhoods like Gramercy, if you trust your eyes and your memory, it’s easy to distinguish the old from the new, the handiwork of the hummingbird and the slog of the snail.

Newer buildings are big and boxy; they wear muted colors like white, off-white, light gray. Older structures, built when the City didn’t have to accommodate as many residents, are small and rectangular; they often have rich, earthy hues like reds and browns.

It’s a simple formula, really. Or at least it is on Irving Place, between 17th and 18th Streets, where old and new cohabitate and the seams of the patchwork are conspicuous.

Gramercy Plaza, pallid, imposing, 16 stories high, inhabits a quarter of this block, and looms over its ruddy little neighbor, the townhouse at 56 Irving Place. The former was built in 1963; the latter dates back to the 1840s. That’s a fleck in Geologic Time, and a trifling fleck in Cosmic Time. But for Manhattan real estate, an epoch of formidable proportions.

What Happened Here
One of the great, yet-to-be-written graduate theses is the story of how so many private clubs and intellectual societies ended up on Irving Place and in Gramercy Park overall. The National Arts Club, “The Dial,” a onetime Transcendentalist literary magazine edited by Margaret Fuller and then Emerson, the New York branch of the Rosicrucian Order, Helena Blavsky’s Theosophical Society—all were headquartered, at one time or another, within blocks of each other in this neighborhood.

This block had the Ingersoll Club, at number 54. Dedicated to the life and work of Robert G. Ingersoll, a famous 19th century orator and agnostic, the club met here “for some years,” according to historian Andrew Dolkart. The building was converted into the Cooperative Cafeteria in 1921, “one of several cooperative organizations founded shortly after World War I that sought to provide working people with quality services,” Dolkart wrote in a report published by Gramercy Neighborhood Associates.

In 1904, O. Henry returned home from Pete’s Tavern (at 18th and Irving) to 55 Irving Place. He sat down and, in three hours, wrote his most famous story, “The Gift of the Magi.”

Buying
Gramercy Plaza is just the kind of place—and I don’t mean this pejoratively—where you might want to set up your grandma in her later years. It’s centrally located, there’s an elevator and full-time doorman, and a built-in garage. And chances are Bubbe won’t mind the no-frills, decidedly unhip exterior (just as the co-op board won’t frown on your Bubbe’s). One-bedrooms start at $895,000, and are offered by CityRealty.com.

Renting
Renting on Irving Place isn’t cheap, but it’s not way above what you’d pay anywhere Downtown. Adina Azarian, CEO of Adina Equities, told me her company lists a $2,000, 400-square-foot studio at 53 Irving Place. The entrance is right around the corner, behind an iron gate that is characteristic of Gramercy Park. “People come here because it’s charming,” Azarian said.

Amenities
Few, but all are top notch. In the street-level storefront of the former Ingersoll Clubhouse sits Pure Food and Wine, a critically acclaimed organic-food eatery without a stove. That’s right—everything is raw. And it’s not just sushi and veggies, but lasagna and chocolate cake, which TimeOut New York describes as “confoundingly fudgy.” At the corner of 17th and Irving, Casa Mono (“Monkey House”), Spanish food from the corpulent-but-telegenic restaurateur Mario Batali.

dcrohn@gmail.com

21st between 2nd and 3rd Avenues

Gramercy’s Outskirts

By David Crohn

James Videll, an erudite and charismatic Columbia grad, lives on the East side of 21st St. I asked him if he lives downtown. It can be a perplexing question, especially since the east side has none of the bustle we associate with midtown, but lacks the ragged identity we associate with the city below 14th St.

“Hmmm…Most people say 14th, but when you live on 21st, 23rd is the cut-off,” he said, after scratching his head.

An honest, if vague, reply. But Videll also cites one of the city’s most trusted authorities, who knows Manhattan literally from the ground up: Triumph the Insult Dog.

“[Triumph] says everyone above 23rd is for him to poop on,” Videll said.
Videll, a freelance graphic designer, moved to 21st St. in 2000, after his mother bought the apartment. She had intended to stay there herself during her frequent jaunts to the city, but her plans changed, and James moved in instead. He pays the monthly maintenance fee and has agreed to put his mom up when she does visit.
The block’s most conspicuous tenant is the NYPD’s 13th Precinct, just a few doors down from Videll’s building. Right around the corner is a cop school, which is why it can be hard to get a table at one of the nearby diners during lunch hour. An occasional driver, James finds it’s always a hassle to find parking near his home, but when his girlfriend, a petite blonde, lived with him, he never had to worry for her safety.

In his six years there, he and his only roommate, a rotund cat named Jackson, have discovered a well-kept secret: Gray areas can be great places to live. James is a short walk from the heart of downtown, but just far enough away so that he doesn’t have to drink too close to home.

“I like where I am,” he said. “It’s close enough to the Village but you don’t actually have to live in it.” In the East Village, “you have the noise, the craziness, the puke on the street. I like the peace and quiet.”

Amenities
There are lots of Irish pubs on 3rd Ave. right below 23rd—Plug Ugly’s, Molly’s, just to name two—but, said James, “They all kind of suck. Too much of a frat scene.” Having almost gotten a black eye over a shuffleboard table at one of those bars not too long ago, we would have to concur.

What Happened Here
James moved here in 2000, bringing a dash of louche charm to this otherwise staid block. Gramercy Park, cleared for development around 1845, remains the only large private park in the city. It is, therefore, lovely but lifeless. (Buying an apartment on one of the surrounding lots gets you a key to the gates.) Like so many other Manhattan streets and locales, this neighborhood’s name has a Dutch ancestry. A little river that meandered from the East River to 18th St. was called Crommessie Brook, meaning “Crooked Little Knife.” Over time that word evolved into “Gramercy.”

Residents and Regulars
According to New York magazine (a good source for this type of thing), the area is loaded with A-listers. John Leguizamo, Julia Roberts and Winona Ryder all live within spitting distance of Gramercy Park. And, of course, James Videll.

Buying
James’ mom paid $300,000 for their large one-bedroom apartment—complete with a private courtyard—in 2000. A decent price, although James is saddled with a rather hefty maintenance fee of $1,200 per month. Three hundred thousand nowadays gets you a small but well-equipped studio apartment—and it costs only $450 in maintenance per month. The perfect “starter,” to use the agent argot.

Renting
Fuhgeddaboudit. A one-bedroom costs $1,849 a month, according to listings published by Preston, a real estate agency. If you can afford that, more power to you. But remember, the neighborhood’s titular park that your agent is quick to point out is only one block away is locked and closed to parvenus like yourself. Or, dye your hair and date James. His ex-girlfriend lived with him for about three years and paid only $600 a month. Hope you like cats though.

Perfect for
Freelance graphic designers. Cadets. The middle-upper class.