'New Yorker Talk of the Town' column of February 11, 1956. The previous blog entry made reference to this column, spurred on by what can only be described as "Updike in the air," since a biography has been just released and is being vetted in book reviews by New York's cognoscenti.
Alas and alack, the attempt didn't work, but what was attained from this alert reader was a reprint of the February 5, 2009 'New Yorker' piece that chronicles, with splendid color photos, the retracing of Updike's steps 53 years later. Mr. Updike had just passed away in January 2009, so an odd-year anniversary seemed in order. You're not a fabled periodical without having a few quirks.
A trip to a library and their proprietary access to 'The New Yorker' is going to sort this out once and for all, but nevertheless, a good deal has come through the ether.
The second paragraph of the 2009 piece quotes Updike's 1956 words: "the odors of cheap candy, cashews, cosmetics, and cookies at Woolworth's on Forty-second Street..." The singer/songwriter Nanci Griffith has a delightful lead-in to her song 'Love at the Five and Dime'.
She introduces the song with a great narrative that comes out of her visit to a Woolworth's in London. "Woolworth stores are the same everywhere," she tells us in her sweet Texas accent. "They smell of popcorn and chewing gum wrapped around the sole a brown leather shoe." Ms. Griffith further captures the spirit of even going into a Woolworth's store..."so I can go in and fill up on unnecessary plastic objects." Yes, you never knew when the aisle would be blocked by someone considering if the ceramic dog they were now inspecting for hairline cracks was really the right gift to give someone.
Truly, John and Nancy have captured the smell of Woolworth's.
To this, I would like to add the sound and sights of the IRT 14th Street station in the 1960s. Anyone who has been to this subway stop and stood waiting for a 4,5,or 6 train will know there are parts of the platform that move. On purpose.
There are heavy steel sliding portions that come out to meet an incoming train to order to decrease the size of the gap. Anyone who has watched a train either come in or disappear from this station will know that they do so at nearly a right angle. Why this is is not known. Somewhere in the original plans there must have been a very immovable object that could not be budged when they were digging for the subway. They did this line "open trench" so it must have been something mighty. Like several buildings.
Regardless, the platform grates move to meet, then retract when the train doors are closed again. There is still an announcement, I believe, but I will forever hear the one (over and over) from the 1960s in that auditioned male baritone: "Please stand clear of the moving platform as the train enters and leaves the station."
More sounds? How about the Puerto Rican music that blared, (and I mean loud enough to scare a trapped General Noriega) seemingly day and night from a record store that only sold Spanish music on a mezzanine level of the station? Right next to the guy with large wire baskets of oranges who would freshly squeeze several for you, for a price. At least he did until they got after him because he was soaking the oranges in water before setting them out, having the oranges absorb water and weight before squeezing them and filling up the size you selected. Thus, wonder of wonders you didn't get "100% pure orange juice." This guy did this before Tropicana.
To this day I go through that section of the station and am looking for pale orange spheres and expecting a headache.
Back to 'The New Yorker's' 2009 retracing of Updike's steps. Mr. Updike prefaced his 1956 journey as one someone might want to make if "they were too frail or shy for good-natured hurly-burly." God, he was from out-of-town, wasn't he? Needless to say, we now have buses that kneel, right? And of course we still have cabs, And most of them are still yellow.
The 2009 journey has to admit to the places that are no longer there. So, in order to make the journey in Updike's footsteps, there is some sleight-of-foot. It's almost a 'Spy Game' in training in how to get your way without causing a ruckus. The two reporters appear to be successful, especially when they talk their way through the office building that was Orbach's, enlist assistance from the man from Bangladesh at the clothing store in a scene from 'The Man from U.N.C.L.E. as well as get past a NO ACCESS TO 40th STREET THROUGH THE LOT sign at a parking garage.
But like the gaps at the start of Updike's 1956 tracing, the 2009 journey begs some clarifications. Like, after walking through Bryant Park and coming to 42nd Street, how do they pop out at 25 West 43rd Street, to continue to 44th Street?
25 West 43rd Street is on the north side of 43rd Street, so how did they make it through the block from 42nd Street? Not described. My guess is there might be access through 11 West 42nd Street, where we once had offices.
Unless something has been left out, the piece and its narrative goes from 44th Street to 46th Street. Maybe they threw doubles.
We're going to get to the bottom of this.
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