And here we thought Harlem fell above Park Slope on the New York City cool spectrum.
“We want to be Park Slope with charming little stores and become a destination for people,” said Ruthann Richert, a 25-year resident who is treasurer of a local group, the Mount Morris Park Community Improvement Association. “A store like that is going to attract the people hanging out, drinking wine, so if you’re looking to buy a $30 bottle of wine, you’re not going to go in there.”
Laurent Delly, a Haitian-born engineer and real estate agent who is the association’s vice president, was especially unhappy with the sign.
“I wouldn’t use the word ghetto, but I would say it’s garish,” he said.
This passage comes from—where else?—a Times story about a new liquor store about to open in the Mount Morris Park section of south-central Harlem. It appears the store is dead in the
The affair raises and interesting question, though: Should the city preserve its “ghetto” fabric, the same way it fights for its prewar grandees and, increasingly, modernist masterpieces? After all, we have spent the past two decades unmaking the decline of the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s, but if it all disappears, if the city becomes one giant Disneyfied Times Square playground version of itself, have we erased an important part of our history? This is no landmark, of course, but if the unseemly liquor store has not place in New York anymore, neither do the people who used to frequent them.
Look at the Lower East Side, at Five Point, at, uh, Chumbo. Excepting the Tenement Museum and the over-priced pastrami at Katz’s, little of the history of European immigration there, of that storied old ghetto, remains. No bialys, no Gus’ pickles and, sure, no more muggings. Instead, we have the Little Italy of the Torrisi Brothers, faux pawn shops megaclubs and the bourgie Hester Street Fair.
This is not to say that a new, garish liquor store on the streets of reRenaissance Harlem is somehow a work of adaptive reuse, but it still begs the question of what, exactly, is “appropriate” in this neighborhood. The Observer is an avowed fan of preservation, but what are we losing by erasing this part of the city’s history?