the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Tag: Queens (Page 4 of 4)

The Slummification of Kissena Boulevard

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This is where I grew up and where my mother still lives. It may not look like much, but it is one of the nicer apartment buildings in my Queens neighborhood. My grandmother lived a few blocks away, in a lower-income apartment. When I was in elementary school and my mother went back to work, I went to my grandparents after school. My grandmother made an excellent tuna fish sandwich, with chopped celery and dill.

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My father was a physical therapist at a city hospital and my mother still works in publishing, so they never made that much money. They worked hard to put me through two very expensive private colleges, just so I could obtain two completely useless degrees — a B.A. in English and an M.F.A. in Film. I was totally spoiled by them.

I had an excellent childhood growing up in the Flushing/Kew Garden Hills area of Queens. The public school was good, the public library was two blocks away, and the neighborhood was incredibly diverse — blacks, Jews, Puerto Ricans, Indians, Chinese. I’m still good friends with guys from the neighborhood who I’ve known all my life. They’re the first people I see every time I fly into New York.

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I am so diverse — here I am with my Jewish childhood friend Barry at the Blue Bay Diner in Bayside last week, which looks exactly the same inside as it did when I was in high school.

When I was a child, Queens felt isolated from the excitement of Manhattan, but it was close enough to travel to by subway. (…ok, first you take a bus to get to the subway) My parents took me to museums and concerts all the time, so I was able to participate in the “high culture” of the city. We also lived near Queens College, which had a symphony orchestra. I spent many weekends in the audience with my parents, falling asleep to Schubert.

Although the stores in my neighborhood weren’t very fancy (still no Starbucks!), you could get everything you needed just by walking down the block. There were grocers, a bakery, a Radio Shack, a cleaners, a pharmacy etc. This was perfect for my parents, who didn’t drive a car. It also created entertainment for me. After school, my friend, Rob, and I could pass several hours just stopping in the Kissena Boulevard shops, or reading the comic books in the stationary store.

I only felt embarrassed about “Queens” once I went to Columbia, and met rich kids from the Upper East Side, Beverly Hills, Boston, etc. They had actually gone skiing in Aspen and visited museums in Florence. All of a sudden, Kissena Boulevard was very small time. I began to feel ashamed of my background, like a Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, moving from the steelmill to the hoity-toity ballet studio. It felt as if the entire borough of Manhattan looked down on Queens. The only reason to visit Queens was to go to the airports or see a sporting event. There was even talk about building a new stadium in Manhattan, so there would even be less reason to travel to Queens. Queens was the home of misfits, from Archie Bunker to Ugly Betty. During snowstorms, Manhattan was quickly shoveled by the plows since it is the center of the business and tourism worlds. Queens was always plowed last. Queens had her big moment in 1963-64 when the World’s Fair was in Flushing Meadows Park, but then most of the fair buildings was just left behind to decay.

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“Sorry, we don’t have enough money in the budget to fix the NYS Pavilion.” – Mayor Michael Bloomberg

Eventually, I learned to embrace my Queens neighborhood. There was a cool mix of people on the street, and it felt more “New York authentic” than many of the streets of Manhattan. Today, “Sesame Street” reminds me of Queens, not Manhattan. Big Bird could never afford Manhattan. Sadly, whenever Sophia comes with me to visit my mother, I’m always disappointed that she can’t see the area in the same positive way I do.

“It looks like a slum,” she said recently, as we walked down Kissena Boulevard. This hurt my feelings, especially because, in my heart, despite my romantic view of the neighborhood, I believed the same. At one time, the street was lively, with all sorts of shops and ethnic food. Gene Simmons, who grew up nearby, even named his group KISS, after Kissena Boulevard. Now, the neighborhood has deteriorated almost beyond recognition.

Half of the stores on the block are gated and closed — some stores have been empty for five years! Can’t the management company find any tenants? What happened to the bakery, the pharmacy, the seafood store, the stationery store, the women’s clothing store? Surely some business can make a profit here? People are afraid to walk outside at night because everything looks so abandoned. Why has this happened?

Perhaps the answer can be found on the website of the management company, Pelcorp. On the site, they advertise the entire block, not as available individual stores catering to a community, but only as a 240,000 sq. ft. shopping center. There had been rumors that the landlord isn’t renting out the stores because it’s interested in selling the entire block to a big-box entity like Kmart. This might explain why no stores never seem to be rented, despite having “For Rent” signs plastered on the gates of shuttered stores. Is the management company waiting for the opportunity to unload the entire property at once?

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A view of Kissena Boulevard at noon, a far cry from what this busy street used to look like.

The management company has every right to sell the entire complex if they want to, but should they be allowed to thrust the entire neighborhood into a downward spiral? Who wants to live in an area where more than half the stores have been closed for years?

It is pretty sad state of affairs. I remember how The Garden Bakery made the best onion rolls I’ve ever tasted. There was “Sweet Donut,” a little coffee shop/donut store. Dr. Sakow, the friendly optometrist, fitted me with my first pair of dorky eyeglasses in the third grade. All of these stores are now gone, with no replacements.

Even if the management company does want to sell the entire property, shouldn’t they at least be responsible for its upkeep? What about all the garbage and graffiti everywhere? Why should I be embarrassed to show my wife the “old neighborhood?” Why should my mother have to walk past the junk in the parking lot? People still LIVE in the neighborhood.

At one time, the landlord/management company was a local one, headed by a New York builder. He was always seen around the area because he also created middle-income housing across the street. After his passing, his son took over the real estate property, and it didn’t surprise me at all that his management company is based in Palm Beach, Florida! Out of sight, out of mind.

From their website:

Our President, Prescott Lester, is the fourth generation of Builder Developers. He is responsible for building and developing nearly 3,000 residential units in Palm Beach County, Florida. Projects included Lakes of Laguna in West Palm Beach with 2,204 residential units and Cascade Lakes in Boynton Beach having 556 dwelling units.

Mr. Lester’s Greatgrandfather began building in Brooklyn, New York around the turn of the century. He was followed by his son David Minkin who became one of New York City’s Master Builders. Mr. Lester assisted and succeeds his great uncle, David Minkin, in running the family’s building, management and brokerage operations.

Here is a promotional photo of the late David Minkin, Prescott Lester, and former NY Mets (yeah, Queens!) pitching great Tom Seaver, who has apparently sold his New York baby boomer appeal for some hard cash.

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Despite a history of New York building, the fourth generation of builders now “specializes in the marketing and sale of luxury properties in Palm Beach County. This includes waterfront, country club, and other estate properties.”

The Kissena Boulevard holdings, one of their four retail holdings still in New York, must be their least attractive holding, compared to their shiny new malls in Florida. No wonder they seem so disinterested in the upkeep of Kissena Boulevard!

I talked to a few people in my mother’s building and they are very unhappy with the way Kissena Boulevard looks. Some say they would even move away, if they could afford it. The shopping area is pretty disgraceful, and much of the blame must go to the management company. They have played a major role in making the area look like a slum. Of course, since Pelcorp is in Palm Beach, and the executives don’t get to come to Queens very often, I’ve included some photographs of Kissena Boulevard for Prescott Lester and his partners to see.

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The Pharmacy, now closed, the letters falling from the sign

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The Laudromat, closed

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The shoe store, closed

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The graffiti along the “Wholesale Liquidators” wall

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The garbage along the wall, opposite the closed shoe store

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The kosher deli, closed

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The Rainbow Women’s Clothing Store, closed

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The pharmacy, closed, is now a haven for pigeons

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The Bakery, closed for years

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The fish market, closed

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Ugly graffiti and disrepair along the property walls

Race and Ethnicity

I grew up in Queens, New York, which just happens to be the most diverse place in the country. When we talked about each other as kids, we were always very race and ethnic conscious. I don’t mean racist, but aware of people having ethnic identities. I don’t even see this as a negative thing. Who wants everyone the same? A person’s race and identity was just an identifier, like their height or weight. I might say, “Remember Bob, the tall black guy from the party,” just like I would say, “Remember Ellen, the pretty red-head from the party.” We would even go further than just race. He could be the Puerto Rican-guy or the Italian Guy. We would separate Jews as being religious “frum” or not, or Israeli, or Persian.

Things changed in college, when I became aware that this type of identification seemed blue-collar in tone. Even when people still identified as Asian or Black, it seemed wrong to identify someone as such, at least in public. In private, between friends, one could be as racist as the next guy, but everyone feared being seen as a blue collar type from Queens.

College Friend: “Did you meet Dan yesterday?”

Neil: “Which was Dan?”

College Friend: “The history major. He was wearing the green sweater. From Maryland. With glasses. Bald.”

Neil: “Oh, you mean the black guy?”

College Friend: “Ugh, don’t say that!”

I found this attitude a little odd, as if acknowledging his color was akin to acknowledging some sort of weakness in his personality. What was the big deal? On the other hand, I guess I can understand the sensitivity. At Columbia, Dan might be the only black guy at the party, and I’m sure he would hate always being known as the “black guy” throughout college. The rules change when the amount of diversity changes.

I’ve never truly resolved this issue for myself. I’m pretty open to all types of folk here on Citizen of the Month, even though I’ve gotten in trouble a few times for some gay joke or stating that Portland only had one black resident. I don’t think of you as black or white, Jewish or gentile, although I have to admit that it is exciting to me when a reader is different in some unique way. The blogosphere can be so bland, that it is cool to interact with someone a little different. I’ve written about this several times already. I’m still waiting for my first Native American blogger friend! The question is — can someone be identified as different, and still thought of as the same as everyone else? Am I Neilochka the blogger or Neilochka the Jewish blogger? Or can I be both? I’ve already spoken to a few of you that took a while before coming out as “black” or “ethnic” because you felt that other bloggers would perceive you differently.

I think about these ethnicity issues while I’m writing. Recently, I was writing a post while sitting in Starbucks about this guy sitting next to me, a brainy-looking grad student, who kept on trying to read my monitor. He was Asian (another loaded issue — I sometimes find it difficult to tell if someone is Chinese, Korean, or Japanese) and when I was writing the story, I started to describe him as “this Asian guy.” Then I censored myself. I thought to myself, “People will wonder why I him making him “the Asian guy.”” Am I trying to make a statement about Asians? Is there some other meaning for making him Asian? In truth, the only reality was that — he was Asian! Still, did it add anything to the story that was unintended? If you read something you wrote where a “Jewish guy” was looking over your shoulder, wouldn’t I have the same concerns?

On of my new blog friends from Los Angeles, Los Angelista, also writes on a cool website called Anti-Racist Parent — for parents committed to raising children with an anti-racist outlook. It brings up some important issues for parents. The site was “my muse” for this post. You should also check out Los Angelista’s terrific blog, too.

Neilochka from the Block

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Neil’s Mother:  Why are you taking your camera with you just to walk down the block?

Neil:  Maybe I’ll take photos of Valentino’s.

Neil’s Mother:  Who wants to see photos of Valentino’s?

Neil:  You’d be surprised at what crazy stuff people find interesting.  Besides, it’s my blog.  I can do what I want.

Neil’s Mother:  Wouldn’t you rather wait and take photos at the museum tomorrow?

Neil:  The museum?!  Boring!  EVERYBODY takes photos at the museum!
 

1)  Here is Valentino’s, the best pizza in Queens —

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2)  Sophia likes to make fun of Flushing as a big nothing, but look at this — 

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— the crappy little local liquor store next to Valentino’s has Le Beaulolais Nouveau 2006!  Hah, Sophia!  I don’t see that sign in REDONDO BEACH, home of the ubiquitous fish taco.

3)  At the famous “National Wholesale Liquidators” —  

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— I saw this perfect Christmas toy for a neighborhood where 3/4 of the residents speak another language.

This is the local police precinct — 

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— the 107th Precinct of the NYPD, which moved to this location when I was younger. 

I remember there being a big uproar over the structure on the roof, because local residents thought it was a huge satellite antenna.  Residents stormed a community council meeting because some crackpots thought the police were spying on them or the government was doing some top-secret experiment in Flushing.  Others worried about getting cancer from the high voltage of the electricity. 

Eventually, it turned out that the structure was none of the above — but an incredibly ugly SCULPTURE foisted on the precinct because the City had begun forcing new municipal buildings to include shitty pieces of art by out-of-work New York artists.  After it was learned that this was just an awful piece of modern art, there were protests to get rid of the eyesore, but like the old adage goes — you can’t fight City Hall. 

Today, most current residents take a weird pride in the monstrosity, like it is their Eiffel Tower.

A Tour of my Childhood Bedroom in Queens

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I know the photo is awful.  Give me a break.  I just got off a plane from LA. 

This is the room I grew up in.  I lived here until college.  Behind me, is where my old, comfy bed used to be.  Now it is a “convertible bed” that my father put in several years ago  to make my room “more adult.”  You can actually feel the metal coils sticking into your back.

The clock in the background has not worked in twenty years, but no one has ever thought about taking it down.

The poster at the top right has changed throughout the years, from that of the New York Mets to long-forgotten rock groups.  The current poster is of Sophia acting in a children’s play she directed in Israel. 

My pants belonged to my father, but I don’t think he ever wore them.  My t-shirt is from a Target in Los Angeles.  I’m using an old digital camera that works so-so.

After taking the photos, my mother made me a turkey sandwich and we watched “What Not to Wear,” which is pretty much the same thing I would have done if I was sitting on the couch with Sophia.  

Those Were the Days

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EXT.  QUEENS NEIGHBORHOOD – DAY

A typical middle-class Queens neighborhood.   We hear a piano playing and two voices singing an old song:

“Boy the way Glen Miller played
Songs that made the hit parade.
Guys like us we had it made,
Those were the days.”

INT.  QUEENS LIVING ROOM – DAY

Neil and his Penis are singing together at the piano.

“And you knew who you were then,
Girls were girls and men were men,
Mister we could use a man
Like Herbert Hoover again.

Didn’t need no welfare state,
Everybody pulled his weight.
Gee our old LaSalle ran great.
Those were the days.”

After they finish singing, Neil sighs wistfully.

Neil:  “Being back in New York certainly makes me nostalgic for the old days.  Handball in Flushing Meadows Park, flipping baseball cards, playing the game of “Life” in my room with my friend Rob.

Penis:  “Being here makes me nostalgic, too.”

Neil:  “Really?  I didn’t figure you as a sentimental type.”

Penis:  “Sure.  I had youthful dreams like everyone else.”

Neil:  “Like what?”

Penis:  “Well, like you actually f***ing someone before you turned ** years of age?”

Neil:  “I’m sorry about that.  I was shy.”

Penis:  So, I had to suffer?   You should have let me do all the talking.”

Neil:  Penis, I really don’t want to get into this conversation again.” 

Penis:  “I’m still upset about Debbie Rosenzweig.” 

Neil:  “Not Debbie again.”

Penis:  Clearly she wanted to f***k you after that concert — what was that band’s name?  They were my favorite — ”

Neil:  “The Talking Heads.”

Penis:  “Right…  she practically had her hand down your pants.”

Neil:  “Debbie was my friend.”

Penis:  “Exactly!  And she wanted to get more friendly!”

Neil:  “I didn’t want to ruin things with us.”

Penis:  “Jeez, they should revoke your license to be a man.”

Neil:  “Aw, c’mon, Penis.  we’ve had some good times together.   I’ve probably spent more time playing with you than all of my friends combined.”

Penis:  “I guess we have had some good times.  And It’s nice being back in the old stomping ground of Flushing, New York.”

Neil:  “But the neighborhood looks so different.  The Greek deli — gone.  The Garden Bakery, with those amazing onion rolls — out of business.  All my friends — moved away.  I guess time really does march on. ”

Penis:  “I miss the old days myself.”

Neil:  “Yeah?  In what way?”

Penis:  “For one thing, being a Penis used to be a lot more prestigious.  I remember when a girl would go crazy when I would make my appearance in the bedroom — proud and strong, like a U.S. Marine.  Now every woman has some sort of exotic vibrator at home with more controls than a Tivo.  How can I ever compete?” 

Neil:  “C’mon, women will always have a place for a Penis.”

Penis:  “Are you so sure about that?  I hear there’s a new vibrator coming out with a docking station for the woman’s iPod.”

Neil:  “Wow, I didn’t realize you were as insecure as I am.”

Penis:  “Sometimes I worry that my Glory Days are gone.   I remember when the C**k was King.     Now it’s all about cunnilingus.  It’s the fault of that damn ‘Sex and the City’!  Now, every woman wants the tongue.  What are we — men or puppy dogs?  It’s like the c**k has become a second class citizen.  Soon they won’t even call you “Citizen of the Month” anymore.”

Neil:  “I guess we both need to adjust to the times.”

Penis:  “Adust?  Me?  No, I’m gonna keep on f***ing MY WAY until I’m ninety years old.  I’m even hoping to get a little action here during this NY trip. 

Neil:  “You do realize that Sophia’s here.”

Penis:  “I know.  And I applaud you for renting that romantic lake-side cabin in the Berkshires next week.  Finally, you’re doing something smart.”

Neil:  “Uh, maybe I forgot to tell you… but my mother to going with us.”

Penis:  “Please.  Shoot me now.”

Flushing, Queens

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(the Unisphere in Flushing Meadows Park)

Have you ever been in some unfamiliar city or town and you meet someone from your hometown and you’re all excited?

“Hey, do you know Susie Weintraub?  How about Joel Ledger?   Did you used to eat at the Rusty Crab-ery on Pleasant Drive?”

I haven’t lived in Flushing, Queens for years, but I still feel guilty rooting for the Dodgers when the Mets have their home in Flushing Meadows Park.   And God Forbid someone from Flushing roots for the Yankees!

I was even excited when Billy Graham spoke last weekend in Flushing Meadows Park.  I don’t know what he said and I don’t really care, but Billy Graham was in Flushing!

On Kissena Blvd, near the apartment building where I grew up in, is Valentino’s Pizza.  They have great pizza there, worth the long trip from Manhattan.  OK, maybe not… but if you’re ever in the area, stop by.

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(via Albert’s World)

Valentino’s was also a favorite of The Nanny’s Fran Drescher, who attended my junior high, Parsons Junior High, in the early 1970’s.

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Simon and Garfunkle also attended Parsons Junior High in the 1950’s.

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(via foresthillshigh56.com)

All these kids must have moved somewhere else because when I went to Parsons, the school had mostly black students.   It was still a great school, except for the time they showed “Roots” in class and my friend Barry and I had to run home from school.

“My grandparents lived in South Russia, not South Carolina!” Barry yelled as we ran across Parsons Blvd, away from big Jake, this thug from our gym class, who was accusing our families of being slave owners.

I think a lot of the students from my generation left town also, because now the area is Chinese and Pakistani.

A few days ago, I was reading through the blog of some woman here in Los Angeles, when I noticed that in her post she wrote about being from Flushing.  All of a sudden, I got all happy.  I started talking to the monitor, as if the former Flushing Girl was in the room with me.

“Hey, me too!  Where did you live?  Where did you go to school?”  I said to the Samsung 19 inch SyncMaster.

I quickly typed out a rambling comment to her blog, telling her all about myself.  I felt we were bonding immediately, even though I was doing all of the writing.

So far, she hasn’t written back.  Either she thought I was a crackpot looking for a date or she really hated living in Flushing.

Or maybe it was what Flushing’s own Simon and Garfunkel were referring to when they wrote “The Sound of Silence.”

UPDATE:  Marissa, the Flushing girl, wrote back.  (see comments)

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