Livin’ The High Line

Today’s New York Times reports that our section of the High Line will open in Spring 2011, which sounds about right, given the rate of progress.  It’s exciting to see the plants in place — a number of large trees and shrubbery abounding. None of it has reach the spot outside my window between 22nd and 23rd, but it’s close. If I stand in the middle of 22nd Street and look up at the stretch of High Line that crosses the street I can see leaves poking above the metal sides. Meantime, it’s quiet; the High Line guys are north, I think, doing whatever it is they are doing.

No such luck with the condo. Car horns continue to blow, although the protesters seem to be running out of steam. Maybe it’s the heat. Looking out my window I count ten men amongst the rebar. They move slowly, carrying heavy loads in the oppressive humidity. It seems that it’s even too hot for The Rat, who appears to have gone elsewhere, maybe for a swim at Coney Island.

Every day I look out the window and try to imprint a memory of the scene below, because soon all I’ll see is construction, then some new building. We can only hope that it’s not one of those ultra-modern confections that looks like it’s made from paper clips and Reynold’s Wrap. I’m a bit rueful as I watch the taxis glide by. Already I’ve lost a lot of street view, and one more story of this building and most of it will be entirely gone. That’s what happens in the City. So we have to rely on our memories and photographs to retain the old images of the streets we’ve grown to love.

Earlier this week I photographed The Rat and noted that labor workers are protesting the construction company that’s building a condo on 10th Avenue between 22nd & 23rd, just to east (an arms-breadth is all…) of the High Line. Well, it seems that the builders have rather a thin skin: they have erected a wall around themselves from what looks like large sheets of wallboard so the protesters can’t see them. Out of sight, out of mind. Except they have to listen to all the whistling, horn blowing, and cries of “Scabs, go home!” that resound in our neighborhood all day long. All we need now is vuvuzelas and the game will really be on.

I haven’t written in awhile, and the reason is not that I’ve been launching websites (which I have) or traveling on the west coast (which I was) but something more prosaic: there hasn’t been any action at all on my section of the High Line.

But things are changing and we have three developments. First, The Rat.

This fella has nothing to do with the High Line; he’s protesting the management and workers of a new condominium that’s just beginning to rise from the concrete outside my window. What you can’t perceive is the cacophony of whistles and car horns that this creature inspires. So my work has a new soundtrack, and it’s not altogether pleasant.

But I’m happy that the Rat and his friends are able to exercise their right to free speech.

The building they are addressing is harder to like. It’ll ruin my view of 10th Avenue, and thereby my ability to grok whether or not it’ll be easy to get a taxi, or how much snow has actually accumulated, or whether people are using umbrellas or not. Luckily, it won’t block my view of the High Line.

So if you look past the under-construction-section of the High Line you’ll see the rebar and rough framing for the second floor of this new condominium. The only upside as far I can tell is that we will no longer have to look out at the bright blue, neon, Chase Bank logos that just got installed on the NE corner of 23rd and light up the neighborhood at night; this new building will block that too.

But back to the High Line. Here’s the exciting action on that front: today I discovered men unloading piles of earth for the plantings. The landscapers have arrived, and though it doesn’t look like our section is nearly ready for it, you can just imagine the trees, grasses and wildflowers that are on the way. That’s cause for celebration.

The long weeks with no (apparent) progress on my section of the High Line have caused my eye to wander, and lately I’ve been admiring the majestic water towers on the roof of the London Terrace Towers apartments across the street from my apartment. (That’s 23rd Street, just off 10th Avenue.) I’m reminded of how these buildings were completed in 1929, during another severe economic meltdown. A real estate broker once told me that the builder committed suicide before the complex had been finished, but I can’t verify that. I do love how the architect conceived the housing for his water towers. See those brick silos on the roof that enclose them as though they were bell towers.

Fans of Charles Kuralt will remember his fondness for the old water towers that grace so many of New York’s buildings. To him they were American heirlooms, and to give them their props he did a piece about Wallace Rosenwach, the master cooper whose family has been hand-crafting the barrels since 1896, when Rosenwach’s grandfather paid $55 to buy the business from the widow of the man he worked for.

Kuralt’s book American Moments explains that every building in Manhattan that’s seven stories or more must have a large water barrel on its roof, raised up on stilts, that will supply the sprinkler system with enough water during a fire “to dampen whatever is burning while the firefighters are still on their way.”  So pick a block, any block, and all you have to do is look up. There you will find “the hoops and staves of the Middle Ages” right there in the middle of our booming metropolis.

As Kuralt wrote: “In other places you have to dig down to find the past. In New York City to find the past you have to go up. New York City is an odd place.”

Needless to say Kuralt would have loved the High Line. I thought of him recently as I was walking north near what I call “the paper clip building” on 14th Street, just a bit west of the Apple Store; the steel beams of this rising tower are so skimpy they look they come out of a Staples carton. I happened to look up and noticed a bright, oak, barrel sitting on the roof of the half-finished building. To this day the City continues to rely on the power of gravity to buy a bit of extra time for the firefighters. I’ll grab a photo of that brand new water tower as soon as I can.

Meantime, here is Kuralt’s.

The long end of this wonderful machine looks exactly like an elephant’s trunk, and as it dangles and sways it even mimics the gate of the giant beast. But it’s a cement hose, and if you ever wondered how they got the cement up to the High Line, here’s the answer: the Cement Elephant.

I snapped this photo at the start of the day, then left for a meeting, so didn’t get to watch much of it. But several men guided the hose as fresh cement poured from it. Magically, the machine turned green.

On subsequent visits it turned orange…..

Down at street level the scene is a bit less romantic, unless you happen to love huge trucks.