Shore Is Gone

For all their prominence as landmarks, old signs are frail and ephemeral things in the end.  Hurricane Sandy reminded us of this last week, the storm's long list of casualties including two of New York's best landmark signs.  

Lobster carnage at the City Island Lobster House, 691 Bridge Street in the Bronx.  (flickr.com/jaydensonbx) 

In the Bronx, Sandy reduced the big neon crustacean over the City Island Lobster House to a sad pile of twisted metal and broken glass.  Near as I could tell, the big lobster wasn't particularly old (it seems to have been added to an existing roof sign in the late 1990s).  Though not so much historic, the lobster endeared itself to many as one of New York's most iconic neon signs, and probably City Island's most recognized landmark, a true signature piece of this Bronx enclave community.  The Lobster House itself has fortunately survived the destruction and is up and running again.  Plans for a new neon lobster are in the works, I am told, though the new lobster will probably be somewhat scaled down from the old one, sadly.

The City Island Lobster House in better days. (Kirsten Hively / Project Neon)

Across the city, the art deco vertical sign of Coney Island's Shore Theatre was a Landmark legally as well as literally.  Post-storm photos of the carnage appeared Tuesday on Tricia Vita's Amusing The Zillion blog, showing the sign's mangled remains dangling over Surf Avenue from the historic theater's facade. 

Wreckage of the Shore Theatre's art deco vertical sign, installed c. 1939. (flickr.com/Timothy Krause) 

The sign was not quite as old as the theater, which opened as the Loew's Coney Island in 1925 with marquee and vertical signs lit by incandescent bulbs.  The original incandescent signs disappeared around 1939 to make way for a set of streamlined, neon-lit replacements, which included the just-destroyed vertical sign (the neon marquee was already gone).  These were likely produced by Artkraft Strauss, which did most of the work for New York-area Loews theaters by contract. 

The Shore Theatre sign was a Coney Island landmark.  (T. Rinaldi) 

Loew's seems to have employed a few standard designs for its theater signage over the years.  The Loew's Coney Island's vertical replacement sign had at least one identically styled sibling, over at the Loew's Oriental on 86th Street in Brooklyn.  The Oriental has lost its sign and marquee but still stands today (it's now a Marshall's).  The Loew's Coney Island meanwhile kept its sign, which was neatly re-lettered from LOEWS to SHORE when the theater changed hands and was re-named around 1964.  

The Loew's Oriental on 86th Street bore a twin replacement sign. (American Classic Images)

The sad irony is that this was one of very few neon signs in New York that enjoyed the protection of the city's Landmarks Commission (the theater was Landmarked in 2010).  Protected from man, but not from nature, it turns out.  Plans for the future of the long vacant theater are still formative, but here's hoping its Landmarked status will ensure at least a good facsimile, perhaps incorporating salvaged parts from the original.

All things considered, a few smashed up signs are the least of of the troubles still facing NYC's hard-hit low-lying areas, and the thousands still without power, heat and water more than a week after the storm.  Even some areas relatively unscathed are still without vital transit connections.  Here are some ways to help the many who are still in need:

• The Red Cross
• Volunteer Opportunities in Staten Island
• Occupy Sandy
• Lots of links at NYCService.org
• And more at WNYC

Maiman's Pharmacy

Last week came truly depressing news (by way of Project Neon and Brownstoner) on the disappearance of Maiman's Pharmacy and its splendid sign, which wrapped the corner of Franklin Avenue and  Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights, Brooklyn for six decades.  This is the seventh classic neon sign to go dark or disappear so far this year in New York (as far as I know), all of them vanished with old independent businesses that have bitten the dust.

Maiman's Pharmacy, formerly at 821 Franklin Avenue in Brooklyn. (T. Rinaldi)

Maiman's had what I considered to be one of the best old signs in all of New York: first rate midcentury block and script letterforms, outlined in stainless steel channels and neon tubes in vibrant hues of pink, turquoise and white that set each other off beautifully. 

Maiman's Pharmacy, on a balmy summer night in June 2009. (T. Rinaldi)

The sign appeared around 1951, the work of the Silverescent Neon Sign Co. of Brooklyn.  Some time ago I interviewed Al Higger, the retired former president of Silverescent, who recalled that the Maiman's sign was an example of a somewhat standardized design scheme the company deployed for drug store jobs throughout the city in the 1950s.  The design was developed by Silverescent's longtime layout man Charlie Klein, whom Mr. Higger recalls as a talented draughtsman and, like most neon layout men in New York during those years, a member of the Sign Painter's Local 230. Klein's drug store signs usually involved script lettering for the owner's name, block letters for DRUGS or PHARMACY, and some variant of the traditional "Rx" prescription symbol for full effect.  

Silverescent manufacturer's plaque, formerly on the corner of Eastern Parkway and Franklin Ave. (T. Rinaldi)

When Mr. Higger told me this, another sign popped almost immediately into my head: that of the Antelis Pharmacy on Elm Avenue in Midwood.  Here survives another example of the Silverescent/Klein drug store sign.  Like Maiman's, the Antelis sign features the owner's name in script, set against block letters reading PHARMACY and a fine Rx symbol, illuminated in three shades of neon.  The script and the Rx symbol differed slightly between the two signs, but the block lettering was the same.  Interestingly, Mr. Klein seems to have employed the same sans-serif letterforms for another vanished Silverescent sign, at the old Faber's Arcade on Surf Avenue in Coney Island, which disappeared over the winter of 2010-2011.

Two iterations of the Silverescent/Klein drug store sign, at Maiman's (above) and the Antelis Pharmacy (below), at 1502 Elm Ave. in Brooklyn. (T. Rinaldi)

Block lettering at Antelis (above) and Maiman's (below). (T. Rinaldi)

Silverescent seems to have used the same letterforms at the former Faber's "Fascination" arcade in Coney Island. (T. Rinaldi)

I first photographed the Maiman's sign back in June 2009, during an epic all-day neon appreciation schlep that took me and a friend from Manhattan to Bed Stuy to Ozone Park to Far Rockaway then back to Crown Heights and finally Coney Island (we bade a grand farewell to the old R40 series subway cars that same day).  I came away with nice shots of Maiman's all aglow that night, but I wanted dusky shots for the neon book, so I eventually returned only to find the sign partially dimmed, apparently with a few transformer outages.  I tried again some months later but found the place closed for the night and the sign completely dark.  I had better luck this past December on my next (and last) trip, but then – after all that – I wound up using shots from that first visit back in 2009 for the book.

Maiman's in October 2010. (T. Rinaldi)

Somewhere along the way the owners gave the sign a good sprucing up, perhaps around the time the place changed hands a few years ago.  Someone cleaned and painted the porcelain enamel sign faces (painting porcelain enamel is like painting brick – sort of senseless but hey, points for TLC).  Whoever did this clearly had an appreciation for the sign:  the old Silverescent manufacturer's tag was carefully removed, cleaned and reinstalled, instead of just being painted over as usually happens.  This left me with the sense that Maiman's was in good hands and would be around for some time to come.  Alas, a grizzly photo at Brownstoner confirms the bad news that the sign and store have gone, leaving a dark and dreary sight in their wake.  Could it be that the sign found a good retirement home somewhere?  Fingers crossed.  Meanwhile, we still have at least one classic Silverescent/Klein drug store sign over at the Antelis Pharmacy – run out and admire while the admiring's good. Satisfy your pharmaceutical needs while you're at it.

Above: A series of photos from December 2011. (T. Rinaldi)

IN OTHER NEON NEWS:

• Every so often, some good news: at JVNY, progress on the Beatrice Inn sign restoration.

• At Ephemeral New York, some forgotten signs under awnings.

• Word from the Lost NY blog that Sokol Furniture in Red Hook, Brooklyn is closed and the sign likely gone or going soon.

Kentile and the On-Premise Spectaculars

If one were to poll admirers of New York neon, the great Kentile sign in Brooklyn might well emerge as the city's best-liked heirloom sign.  Yet at the outset of my quest to document New York's historic neon signs, this magnificent relic proved a trifle difficult to categorize:  I often describe my scope as limited to "storefront" signs, as opposed to the big Times Square spectaculars that have already been covered at length and that typically do not survive more than a few years anyway.

Kentile Floors: slab serifs on high. (T. Rinaldi)

Kentile, however, is hardly a storefront sign.  Thus, it would be more correct to characterize the subject of my study as "on-premise" signs.  In advertising parlance, this term denotes signs that announce goods or services procurable in the immediate proximity of the actual sign (as storefront signs typically do), as opposed to "off-premise" signs (like billboards or some painted wall signs) that remind us to buy things like Coke or Kleenex at the next opportunity. 

Spectacular!  A 1954 advertisement  for Time-O-Matic switch equipment featuring Brooklyn's newly built Kentile spectacular. Among other things, Time-O-Matic made "flashers" that allowed signs to come alight in animated sequence, which leads one to wonder - did the Kentile sign once perform such stunts? (Signs of the Times, March 1954, used with permission)

Kentile is therefore what might properly be called an "on premise spectacular".  It is one of a small handful of these giant antiques that survive around town, most of them perched over old hotels or factories.  I have recently added this family of signs to the database over at nyneon.org, for your enjoyment and/or edification, and will periodically chose one to profile here at the New York Neon blog.

A 1944 advertisement for Kentile from the Architectural Forum. (Architectural Forum)

For all its prominence, details on the big Kentile sign are elusive.  It likely appeared here in 1953 or 1954 to advertise a now-defunct maker of floor tiles.  The sign has a nearly identical twin over a former Kentile facility in Chicago.  The Brooklyn sign (and probably the one in Chicago, too) is the work of the White Way Neon Sign Company, which also produced the nearby Eagle Clothes spectacular at around the same time.  Both of these signs were positioned to distract travelers on the nearby viaducts of the Gowanus Expressway and the IND Subway. 

For true Kentile afficianadoes, Live Poultry Industrial Clothing offers t-shirts featuring the sign in a range of colors.  (Live Poultry Industrial Clothing)

The wealth of photographic tributes to the sign on flickr testifies to Kentile's intense appeal. (flickr.com)

The Municipal Art Society some years ago added the Kentile sign to its honorary list of "Places that Matter".  An even greater measure of its popularity can be found at flickr.com, where a quick search produces an almost unbelievable volume of photographic love letters to this big old sign that hasn't come alight in many moons.  There is something about Kentile that turns us into compulsive photographers.  Is it the sign itself?  Its ruinous state?  Or perhaps its urban industrial context?  In the end, it's probably some mixture of these things that makes us lift our lenses to this landmark of reliquary neon.

Detail from a 1944 Kentile advertisement. (Architectural Forum)

IN OTHER NEON NEWS:

• Over at Project Neon, a real heartbreak - Maiman's Pharmacy is gone, along with one of my favorite signs in the city.

The Neon World of Pilar Montero

Last week brought sad news of the death of Pilar Montero, the 90-year-old former proprietress of the Montero Bar & Grill on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn.  Montero's is one of two establishments on this stretch of Atlantic Avenue whose storefronts are graced by veteran neon signs.  It so happened that Mrs. Montero was connected with both of them.  In addition to the bar she opened with her husband in 1945, there is the shuttered Long Island Restaurant up the street, which was run by her sister-in-law, Emma Sullivan.

Montero Bar & Grill, at 73 Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. Projecting sign c. 1949 by the Corvin Neon Sign Co.  The plexiglas fascia sign is a later addition by the Silverescent Neon Sign Co. (T. Rinaldi)

As the neighborhood changed around them, this pair of stalwart businesses acquired an almost legendary status among devotees of the vanishing city.  The Long Island closed in 2007, but seems now to be undergoing renovations that (fingers crossed) might re-light its spectacular ensemble of stainless steel neon signs.  The Montero Bar & Grill, deo gratias, is still open for business, Mrs. Montero's heirs having taken over after her retirement some years ago.

The Long Island Restaurant, at 108 Atlantic Avenue, across the street and one block up from Montero's. A superb ensemble of stainless steel signs installed by an unknown sign shop c. 1951.  (T. Rinaldi)

Montero's neon sign is the work of the Corvin Neon Sign Co. of Brooklyn.  Buildings Department records suggest an installation date of 1949.  The author Frank McCourt lived in an apartment over the bar for some years.  "Outside my window, the MONTERO BAR neon sign blazed on and off, turning my front room from scarlet to black to scarlet," he recalled in his book Teacher Man.  The sign still comes aglow each evening, but has not flashed in recent years.

Montero's neon sign bears the manufacturer's mark of the long-vanished Corvin Neon Sign Co. of Brooklyn. (Brooklyn Classified Telephone Directory, Fall-Winter 1946)

I stop into Montero's every now and then when I'm in the neighborhood.  I wish I could say I remember Pilar Montero.  I think we once exchanged friendly salutations, a nod and a "goodnight" on my way out one quiet winter evening, after enjoying a rousing round of Jeopardy on the TV over the bar. 

Raccuglia & Son Funeral Home, at 323 Court Street, about a ten minute walk from Montero's.  Signs by the Super Neon Sign Co., c. 1958. (T. Rinaldi)

Last week, Mrs. Montero's funeral was held at Raccuglia & Son Funeral Home on Court Street, about a ten minute walk from the bar.  Like Montero's and the Long Island Restaurant, the Raccuglia funeral home boasts some Brooklyn's finest classic storefront neon, one of about ten funeral homes in the city that still have vintage neon signs over their doors.  Raccuglia's signs seem not to have come alight in many moons.  Alas, such is the neon world of Pilar Montero, the fading ambiance of the twentieth century city.

Mrs. Montero's name shines on over Atlantic Avenue.  (T. Rinaldi) 

SEE ALSO:

• A tribute to Mrs. Montero in the NYT, and a great write-up featured in the Times back in 2006.
• Another great sign by Corvin Neon, documented by Frank Jump in 2004, which has sadly since perished.

IN OTHER NEON NEWS:

• At nyneon.org, maker identified for the wonderful wonderful United Airlines sign at LaGuardia Airport
• As of Sunday, January 22, 2012, Rocco Restaurant's ancient swing sign on Thompson Street hangs over an empty storefront, its neon tubes removed.
• The Music Box Theater's 1954-installed vertical sign has come down for a refurbishment. 

Ode to a Luncheonette

Hinsch’s seemed too good to be true.  Turns out it was.  Various internet sources report that the venerable confectionary and luncheonette, on 5th Avenue by 86th Street in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, has suddenly shut its doors, and two of New York’s finest old signs have gone dark some 63 years after they went up.

Hinsch's occupied this storefront at 8515 5th Avenue in Brooklyn for 63 years. (T. Rinaldi)

This past summer, I gave Hinsch’s a call to ask about the old neon signs that hang over their storefront.  I’ve made a hundred or so calls like this trying to gather as much information as I can about these old signs before the details of their provenance vanish into the ether.  Sometimes the calls go nowhere.  Sometimes a grumpy voice on the other end hangs up on me.  But there are other times when friendly store owners are only too happy to tell me about their family businesses.  I can very often sense great pride in the way they speak.  

Elevation sketch of Hinsch's vertical sign, installed c. 1948.  Rounded ends, porcelain enameled steel in two tones and bird feather details mark this as a fine work of its period. (T. Rinaldi)

The woman who answered at Hinsch’s passed the phone to John Logue, Jr., the owner.   Mr. Logue spoke with a polite, friendly cadence, every bit as pleasant as the business he ran - it was a pleasure to talk with him.  A business association tallied up 685 confectioners in New York 45 years ago, he told me.  This summer he knew of only four that survive.* 

Hinsch’s had been in business at the same location since 1948, but the shop had roots that went back further, having operated on 18th Avenue in Bay Ridge previously.  In 1948, old Mr. Hinsch moved the business to its current address, where a confectioner’s called Reichert’s had already been in operation for at least a decade.  The city’s tax photo from c. 1940 shows Reichert’s storefront with neon signs very similar to the ones Mr. Hinsch installed in 1948 (this was fairly common – many of New York’s old neon signs replaced predecessors of similar configurations).  

Before 1948, 8515 5th Avenue was home to Reichert's Confectionery, with neon signs very similar to those installed by Hinsch. (Municipal Archives)

Mr. Logue’s father began working for Hinsch before the shop moved from its old location on 18th Avenue.  He bought the business outright in 1961 and later passed it to his son, the affable Mr. Logue who kindly lent me a few minutes of his time this summer.

We may never know who Hinsch hired to make his signs back in 1948 – Mr. Logue quite understandably had no idea; the information may or may not lie buried in Buildings Department paperwork somewhere.  The little “Union Made” tag appears to be too faded to yield the numeric code that might identify the maker.  Whoever it was did a fine job.  The signs looked great.  And they lasted 63 years, right up to the day Hinsch’s closed.  I echo Project Neon's plea for a neon angel to give these signs a good retirement.   Meantime, I’ll remember a frigid night in January a few years back, after hours of traversing the city seeking out ancestral neon, when refuge came accompanied by a cheeseburger and a coke, slid my way across the countertop where untold thousands of burgers and cokes had been served up over the  decades. 

Oh well, I guess we still have Burger King.

*The other three confectioneries Mr. Logue mentioned are the Anopoli Ice Cream Parlor on 3rd Avenue at 69th Street in Bay Ridge, and two outside the city limits - Itgen’s Ice Cream Parlor in Valley Stream, and Krisch’s, in Massapequa, the latter with a lovely neon sign of its own.  There is also Eddie’s, in Forest Hills, also with neon.

UPDATE: As of December 2011, Hinsch's is up and running again under new management.