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abandoned places

Manhattan

This tag is associated with 2 posts

Ghosts of the West Side Highway

Busted windows and graffiti mar the streamline of the Kullman car

An abandoned 1950s diner on the West Side Highway.

New York City isn’t known for its roadside attractions or its motor inns, but along the West Side Highway, you can still find shades of the open road.  What could be more emblematic of the highway state of mind than the diner, whose very contours suggest forward motion, gleaming like hubcaps across the American landscape?  Abandoned between auto repair shops and a gentlemen’s club, the diner at 357 West Street fully commits to the mystery and isolation only hinted at in Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, (which was based on a nearby diner in Greenwich Village.)  Today, the only travelers this diner entertains are pedestrians who can’t resist taking a peek inside…

The lost diner interior was recently gutted, the result of vandalism.

The wrecked interior of the “Lost Diner”

The entrance

Garbage piled up near the front entrance.

The restaurant closed in 2006 after 50 years of operation, having gone through a steady succession of owners and names, including the Terminal Diner, the Lunchbox Diner, Rib, and perhaps most fittingly, the Lost Diner.  Constructed by the New Jersey-based Kullman Diner Car Company, the structure is typical of the Art-Deco diner cars manufactured in the 40s and 50s, which have since become an iconic fixture of cities across America.  Most of Manhattan’s once numerous diners have been demolished or moved in recent years; you can still visit Soho’s famous Moondance Diner—in Wyoming.  The steep decline in the condition of the Lost Diner limits its chance of being relocated.

Someone had recently been living here.

The walls have been stripped of valuable scrap metal by vandals.

A bathroom

“Employees Must Wash Hands”

An old pantry

An empty pantry at the back of the diner car.

Once part of the kitchen, stripped of all appliances.

A kitchen hallway stripped of appliances.

Throughout the space, a steady rush of traffic fills the air in the absence of clinking silverware.  Sunlight bounced from a passing windshield momentarily dazzles an aluminum ceiling.  In the dining room, shattered glass joins a host of reflective surfaces, causing the room to glimmer with points of light in the evening.  In the past year, the windows of the diner have been knocked out and the interior has been ravaged.  Old mattresses, fresh garbage, and a homemade toilet point to a recent, if not ongoing habitation.  Stacks of rotting food cartons fill an overturned refrigerator, covered with the husks of long-dead pests.  In the former kitchen, a dry erase board lists celery seed, walnut oil, and Windex for a shopping trip that was doomed to be this diner’s last.

the keller hotel sign

The Keller’s noteworthy “HOTEL”  sign.

Down the road, the abandoned Keller Hotel makes a perfect counterpart to the Lost Diner, another vacant holdout in a neighborhood that’s quickly being overcome by luxury developments.  The six story hotel was completed in 1898 as a lodging for travelers arriving from nearby ferries and cruise ships.  By the 1930s, the area had become one of the most active sections of the port of New York, and the building became a flophouse for sailors.  Later, the club downstairs catered to New York’s gay community as the oldest “leather bar” in the West Village.  The Keller Hotel was landmarked in 2007, but has stood unoccupied for decades.  When and if the building is renovated, here’s hoping the slightly sinister “HOTEL” sign will be saved.

the south entrance

The south entrance, marked unsafe to enter.

the keller hotel

The abandoned Keller Hotel.


 

But wait… There’s more! (Please excuse this brief sales pitch.)

 

Abandoned NYC, the book, is available for pre-order!

 

Abandoned NYC is packed with 150 full-color photographs of sixteen of New York’s most beautiful and mysterious abandoned spaces, including several you haven’t seen on the blog, along with new images and updated essays from many of your favorites. I’ve kept this quiet up until now and I’m so excited to share it with all of you!  Stay tuned for signings and events in February. :)

 

 

Free Print when you order through this link!

 


Inside Harlem’s P.S. 186

Dawn breaks in a crumbling classroom.

School’s out forever; at least at P.S. 186.  This aging beauty has loomed over West Harlem’s 145th Street for 111 years—but it’s been vacant exactly a third of that time.  The Italian Renaissance structure was considered dilapidated when it shuttered 37 years ago, and today its interiors feel more sepulchral than scholastic.

Nature reclaims the school’s top floor.

Windows gape on four of its five stories, exposing classrooms to a barrage of elements.  Spongy wood flooring, wafer-thin in spots, supports a profusion of weeds.  Adolescent saplings reach upward through skylights and arch through windows.  They’re stripped of their foliage on this unseasonably warm February morning, lending an atmosphere of melancholy to an already gloomy interior.  Infused with an odor not unlike an antiquarian book collection, upper floors harbor a population of hundreds of mummified pigeon carcasses—the overall effect is grim.  You’d never guess this building had an owner, but sure enough…

The site was purchased in 1986 by the nonprofit Boys and Girls Club of Harlem for $215,000 under the condition that new development would be completed within three years.  After several decades of inactivity, the group introduced a redevelopment plan that called for the demolition of P.S. 186 and the construction of a 200,000 sq. ft. mixed-use facility with affordable housing, commercial and community space, and a new public school…

News of the school’s demolition mobilized area residents to save the structure.  A series of local petitions and letter-writing campaigns championed the preservation of P.S. 186, and gained the support of the New York Landmarks Conservancy, though a landmark bid was blocked at a 2010 community board meeting.  At the time, owners insisted that rehabilitating the decrepit building was a financial impossibility.

In a surprising turn of events, the BGCH recently downsized the plan in favor of preservation.  The school will be renovated into 90 units of affordable housing and a new Boys and Girls Club.

It’s a rare victory for preservationists, and an unlikely one given the school’s history—when the building was last in use, community members wanted nothing more than to see the place razed.

From the New York Times Archives, NEGRO officials take over P.S. 186.

In addition to generally run-down conditions, safety became a major concern at P.S. 186 in its final years.  The H-shaped design allegedly had the potential to trap “hundreds of children and teachers” in the event of a fire.  Doors on the bottom floor were to remain open at all times to keep the outdated floor plan up to code, leaving the building completely vulnerable to neighborhood crime.

According to the school’s principal at the time, “parents have been robbed in here at knife point, and people…use this building as a through-way.”  In a 1972 incident, two youths, including the 17-year-old brother of a 5-year-old P.S. 186 student, broke into room 407 and raped a teacher’s aide at gunpoint.

Increasing community concern reached a boiling point earlier that year when 60 members of the African American empowerment group NEGRO (National Economic Growth and Reconstruction Organization) moved into the school to call for an evacuation of 600 students on the top three floors.

The stunt caught the attention of the Fire Department, who toured the school later that week.  A deputy chief “didn’t see any real hazardous problem,” but was forced to evacuate the remaining 900 students when he was unable to activate the fire alarm.  Inspectors discovered that wires leading out of the alarm system had been cut, although a school custodian claimed that the alarm system had worked during a routine test at 7:30 that morning.

By 1975, funding was at last approved for a replacement school, and much to the relief of parents, plans were put in place for the immediate demolition of the aging fire trap.  Who could predict that thirty-seven years later P.S. 186 would be getting a second chance?

Inside PS 186

The ground floor.

A few decades ago, this school was described as “antiquated,” “unsafe,” and “plain,” but today, it’s called “historic,” “magnificent,” and “beautifully designed.”  This reversal illustrates the complex relationship we New Yorkers have with our buildings, and begs the question: what might the the thousands of old structures we see torn down every year have meant to us in a century?

It’s been a few months since I’ve set foot in the building, and today the visit feels like a half-remembered dream.

To keep vagrants out, cinderblocks had been installed in almost every window and door of the bottom floor.  It looked too dark to shoot—but as my eyes started to adjust, I saw that light was finding its way in.  Through every masonry crack and plaster aperture, bands of color projected onto decaying classrooms, vibrant variations on a pinhole camera effect.  Past a vault inexplicably filled with tree limbs, a hall of camera obscuras each hosting an optical phenomenon more bewitching than the last.  P.S. 186 is largely considered an eyesore in its current state, but who could deny that its interior is a thing of beauty?

However photogenic, this decay does little good for its underserved community—it’s the sort of oddity this city doesn’t have room for.  Here’s a look inside, before we turn the page on what’s destined to be the most colorful chapter in the controversial, and continuing, history of this unofficial Harlem landmark.

-Will Ellis

Inside PS 186

Decaying seats in the auditorium.

Inside PS 186

The view from center stage.

Inside PS 186

Behind flaking slate chalkboards, pencilled measurements dating to their original installation in the early 1900s.

Inside PS 186

Buckling floors in this classroom were in relatively good condition.

Inside PS 186

…Some areas of the top floor nurtured a fledgling arboretum.

Inside PS 186

The damaging effects of water put on display in a weedy gymnasium.

Inside PS 186

An exit still clearly marked.

Inside PS 186

One of hundreds of pigeon carcasses found throughout the building.

Inside PS 186

From the entrance.

View of the east wing.

Inside PS 186

A ravaged classroom on the top floor..

Inside PS 186

…and an identical room 5 stories down.

Inside PS 186

Ominous light on the bottom floor of P.S. 186.

Inside PS 186

A certain slant of light gives this room the look of an unholy nativity.

Inside PS 186

Rubble collects on the ground floor.

Inside PS 186

Blue skies reflect three stories down onto a grand staircase littered with debris.

Inside PS 186

A Rainbow in Harlem.


 

But wait… There’s more! (Please excuse this brief sales pitch.)

 

See more of P.S. 186 in Abandoned NYC, the book!

 

Abandoned NYC is packed with 150 full-color photographs of sixteen of New York’s most beautiful and mysterious abandoned spaces, including several you haven’t seen on the blog, along with updated essays on the history of these forgotten sites. I’ve kept this quiet up until now and I’m so excited to share it with all of you!  Stay tuned for signings and events in February. :)

 

 

Free Print when you order through this link!

 


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