scholarly journals City of New York: 104 pages in beautiful natural color

Author(s):  
Stephanie Power

My roots are showing: as a girl from out around the bay who “idolized New York all out of proportion” – to quote Woody Allen’s Isaac in Manhattan – a sense of aspiration informs this project. Growing up in Newfoundland, I had two tenuous connections to New York: my mother voraciously read the american society bible “Town and Country” and my father travelled to New York twice in the 1960’s to visit his sisters, Mary and Bride, who as young women moved to Brooklyn from Chapel Arm, Newfoundland in the 1940’s. As a child ever envious that my aunts had unlimited access to such a cosmopolitan place, I was drawn to the idealistic notion of New York as a “magic city.” I idolized Mary, a fierce woman who was my template for what I imagined was the archetypal New Yorker: brash, quick-witted, uncompromising. As a child, I witnessed her throw the “chin flick” and it thrilled me. It was such a brazenly profane gesture from an old school God-fearing Catholic. And it was so New York! She remained close to my father until he died from complications due to Alzheimers in 2000. Now 95, and also with Alzheimers, she lives in an old age home in the same Newfoundland town where I drifted through the pre-fab hallways of my high school and plotted my escape to the magic city. But I would never have the cojones to move to New York like Mary and Bride, even though opportunities presented themselves to me. To this day, I remain an outsider: roaming the city with a camera, often strolling by Robert Frank’s house on the slim chance I might find him sitting outside – I hear it’s a habit of his. Frank, Garry Winogrand, Diane Arbus, Helen Levitt and Saul Leiter: I worship them in the same way I worshipped Aunt Mary. Their traces remain on the streets I walk: ghosts that whisper sweetly while I look forward and backward through my lens, caught in a temporal loop, searching for a city that I’m not sure exists, except in my head. New York looms large in the collective imagination and we all have our versions of it. This is mine.

2021 ◽  
Author(s):  
Stephanie Power

My roots are showing: as a girl from out around the bay who “idolized New York all out of proportion” – to quote Woody Allen’s Isaac in Manhattan – a sense of aspiration informs this project. Growing up in Newfoundland, I had two tenuous connections to New York: my mother voraciously read the american society bible “Town and Country” and my father travelled to New York twice in the 1960’s to visit his sisters, Mary and Bride, who as young women moved to Brooklyn from Chapel Arm, Newfoundland in the 1940’s. As a child ever envious that my aunts had unlimited access to such a cosmopolitan place, I was drawn to the idealistic notion of New York as a “magic city.” I idolized Mary, a fierce woman who was my template for what I imagined was the archetypal New Yorker: brash, quick-witted, uncompromising. As a child, I witnessed her throw the “chin flick” and it thrilled me. It was such a brazenly profane gesture from an old school God-fearing Catholic. And it was so New York! She remained close to my father until he died from complications due to Alzheimers in 2000. Now 95, and also with Alzheimers, she lives in an old age home in the same Newfoundland town where I drifted through the pre-fab hallways of my high school and plotted my escape to the magic city. But I would never have the cojones to move to New York like Mary and Bride, even though opportunities presented themselves to me. To this day, I remain an outsider: roaming the city with a camera, often strolling by Robert Frank’s house on the slim chance I might find him sitting outside – I hear it’s a habit of his. Frank, Garry Winogrand, Diane Arbus, Helen Levitt and Saul Leiter: I worship them in the same way I worshipped Aunt Mary. Their traces remain on the streets I walk: ghosts that whisper sweetly while I look forward and backward through my lens, caught in a temporal loop, searching for a city that I’m not sure exists, except in my head. New York looms large in the collective imagination and we all have our versions of it. This is mine.


2020 ◽  
pp. 260-282
Author(s):  
Barbara Bennett Woodhouse

Chapter twelve calls for a renewal of the “small is beautiful” movement and explores how the benefits of growing up in a village can be recreated in urban settings. The author presents E. F. Schumacher’s 1973 book Small is Beautiful: Economics as if People Mattered, and its relationship to contemporary concepts, such as sustainability and the circular economy. that focus on sustaining human-scaled communities rather than on growing the GDP. The author describes and compares two initiatives that mobilize the strength of collaborative community to benefit at risk children and youth. The first is set in the city of Naples, in southern Italy, where a parish priest named Antonio Loffredo tapped the energy and aspirations of young people to build a collaborative community cooperative in an inner city neighbourhood called La Sanita’, as an alternative to the lure of organized crime. The second is the Harlem Children’s Zone (HCZ), founded in the historically black neighbourhood of New York City by Geoffrey Canada, to prove that black children, given a fair start, could achieve the American dream. While similar in many ways, each initiative was shaped by and reflects the macrosystemic values of the surrounding culture.


Humanities ◽  
2019 ◽  
Vol 8 (2) ◽  
pp. 81
Author(s):  
Eleonora Rao

In Crossing Ocean Parkway (1994), scholar and literary critic Marianna De Marco Torgovnick—now Professor of English at Duke University—traces her story as an Italian-American girl growing up in a working-class Italian neighborhood of New York City that could not satisfy her desire for learning and for upward mobility. De Marco’s personal experiences of cultural border crossings finds here specific spatial reference especially through Ocean Parkway, “a wide, tree-lined street in Brooklyn, a symbol of upward mobility, and a powerful state of mind” (p. vii). Border crossing or trespassing inform this text. De Marco moved from an Italian immigrant milieu to a sophisticated Jewish community, via her marriage, and from a minority group to a successful career in academia. There are also crossings between being a professional, a wife, a mother, and a daughter; between being an insider and an outsider; between longing to be free and the desire to belong; between safety and danger, joy and mourning, nostalgia and contempt. In representing her younger self as “outsider” to her received community, she provides a sharp analysis of the tensions within American society.


1903 ◽  
Vol 11 (6) ◽  
pp. 456-485
Author(s):  
G. W. Wharton

Author(s):  
Erkin Özay

This chapter begins with a background on the demolition of Frank Lloyd Wright's Larkin building in 1950 which proved ominous for Buffalo. It sketches Buffalo's impending socioeconomic decline by citing several landmark events from the decade, such as the relocation of the prominent Technical High School from the black East Side to the white West Side in 1954. It also follows five decades of decline that halved Buffalo's population and hastened its transformation into a rust belt cornerstone. The chapter focuses on Buffalo in the present time, which looks to refugee resettlement as a means to rejuvenate its distressed neighborhoods, starting with 11,000 refugees who have resettled in Buffalo since 2008. It stresses how Buffalo continues to receive the highest number of refugees in New York State, which afforded the city with a much-needed urban stimulus and jolted its lethargic public systems reeling from decades of regression.


Author(s):  
Jeannette Brown

Dr. Marie Maynard Daly was the first African American woman chemist to receive a PhD in chemistry. In addition, she was part of a research team that was working on the precursors to DNA . Marie was born Marie Maynard Daly on April 16, 1921, to Ivan C. Daly and Helen Page, the first of three children. Her father, who had emigrated from the West Indies, received a scholarship from Cornell University to study chemistry; however, he had to drop out because he could not pay his room and board, and he became a postal worker. Daly’s interest in science came from her father’s encouragement and the desire to live his dream.” He later encouraged his daughter to pursue his dream, even though she was a woman and had brothers who were twins. In the 1920s, as a result of the women’s suffrage movement, some women began to aspire to achievement in areas outside the domestic sphere. Marie’s mother encouraged reading and spent many hours reading to her and her brothers. Marie’s maternal grandfather had an extensive library, including books about scientists, such as The Microbe Hunters by Paul De Kruff; she read that book and many others like it. Growing up in Queens, one of the boroughs of New York City, she attended the local public school, where she excelled. She was able to attend Hunter College High School, an all girls’ school affiliated with Hunter College for women. Since this was a laboratory school for Hunter College, the faculty encouraged the girls to excel in their studies. Since Marie had an aptitude for science, the teachers there encouraged her to study college-level chemistry while still in high school. One of the many advantages of living in New York City during that time was that students who had good grades could enter one of the tuition-free colleges run by the City of New York. As a result, Daly enrolled in Queens College, then one of the newest institutions in the City College system, in Flushing, New York.


2013 ◽  
Vol 2 (4) ◽  
Author(s):  
Debbie Feisst

McNamara, Amy. Lovely, Dark and Deep. New York: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2012. Print. Lovely, Dark and Deep is Brooklyn-based poet and photographer Amy McNamara’s debut novel.  The title, well-chosen and from the last stanza of Robert Frost’s poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening – The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. captures the main character’s mindset perfectly as she distances herself, both physically and emotionally, from her friends and family after a tragic car accident. Wren Wells, whom her mom still calls by her original name, Mamie, has moved in with her sculptor father, to an isolated house by the sea in rural Maine.  Dealing with immense guilt and grief after surviving the crash that claimed the life of her high school boyfriend Patrick, Wren spends her days yearning to be left alone.  Her father, a famous artist out of touch with his daughter’s life, is at a loss for how to help, and her well-meaning and understandably worried mother asks frequently about when Wren will go to college.  Wren’s friends from her seemingly previous life struggle to understand the changes she is going through and in the process feel alienated. To pass the never-ending days, Wren runs - a lot. She runs to get away and be alone with her thoughts. And during this time, Wren meets Cal, who is hiding away from his own troubles. The chemistry between them, and the glimpses of joy she feels while with Cal is unnerving to Wren, who believes that she should feel guilty forever about Patrick, who was not given a second chance. Wren needs to make a choice – move on and try again or be lost forever. The character of Wren is not endearing to the reader; she is self-absorbed and manic, and selfish to the point of frustration. Her actions and of those around her often seem unauthentic. The plot line is slow, yet McNamara’s beautiful prose makes it bearable. Wren is, however, a young, depressed girl coping with deep grief and the story may resonate with young women who have experienced similar situations. Recommended with reservations: 2 stars out of 4 Reviewer: Debbie FeisstDebbie is a Public Services Librarian at the H.T. Coutts Education Library at the University of Alberta.  When not renovating, she enjoys travel, fitness and young adult fiction.


Author(s):  
Sharon Zukin

You’re waiting to meet the Japanese college students at 10 A.M. on the corner of Broadway and Astor Place. It’s a cool and drizzly day in June, passersby are buttoned up against the chill, and at this early hour downtown doesn’t have its usual buzz. When the students show up, you’re surprised to see they’re all young women, led by a middle-aged male professor who has some contacts in the city. They’re excited to be in New York, especially in Greenwich Village, and they whip out their digital cameras when you show them the colored tiles that Jim Power, the otherwise unemployed “Mosaic Man,” has spent the past twenty years gluing onto lampposts in a single-handed effort to beautify the neighborhood. They giggle in soft, high voices when you point out the Japanese pastry shop around the corner. “Beard Papa’s,” you hear them say to each other. They know the name of this chain from home. But they don’t know about local institutions such as Astor Place Hair Stylists, which occupies a basement in the building behind you, with its multiethnic team of eighty barbers who use their old-school expertise with the clippers to style the most eye-catching, gravity-defying Mohawks of the Lower Manhattan punk scene. In the 1980s young men used to make the pilgrimage to Astor’s barbers in the East Village from the suburbs and overseas, walking in with a shaggy mane and walking out with a towering crest, sprayed and lacquered and often dyed an unnatural black or red or green that went much better with their black leather jacket and metal studs. Opened in 1945 by an Italian American barber, the salon is still family owned and run. Now it shares the block with a branch of Cold Stone Creamery, the ice cream chain, Arche, the French shoe store chain, and a big Barnes & Noble bookstore. Neither do the Japanese students know that the Walgreen’s drugstore on the corner was until recently Astor Wines.


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