San Fran Neon

San Francisco doesn't strike one as a city teeming with lots of great old neon.  LA, sure.  Vegas, maybe in the boneyard.  Debra Jane Seltzer, perhaps the most avid enthusiast of old signs I know, once told me that Chicago is her favorite city of neon.  I haven't been to Chi-town in a while, but for my money, San Francisco has an enviable concentration of fine vintage neon that most other towns (especially NYC) can only dream of.

Illuminated signs are a long-entrenched part of the San Fran skyline.  The signs are there in the backdrop of films like the Maltese Falcon (1941), Dark Passage (1947), Thieves Highway (1949), and Vertigo (1958). 

The Maltese Falcon (1941)

Beyond the cinematic record, the proof is still there to be seen on the city streets.  These are works of real character, dating mainly to the 1940s, '50s and '60s.  They boast novel sheet metal work, uniquely appealing pre-Helvetica letterforms, and a general quality of design that is notably more sophisticated than that of their surviving contemporaries here in New York.  What follows is a short photo essay of old signs I found in an afternoon walk around San Francisco back in 2007.  

Vertigo (1958)

Inasmuch as these old signs tell us anything about a city's quality of life, the preponderance of old signage in San Francisco is enough to make one wonder how such fragile parts of the landscape seem more apt to survive in some places than others, both at the micro-level – from one neighborhood to the next – and a macro level, between cities.  At one point, common wisdom associated old neon signs with urban decay and stagnation.  Now, however, they're more often prized for their association with old, independent businesses that serve as anchors of stability for their respective neighborhoods.  What do all these old signs tell us about San Francisco?  What does their absence tell us about those places – New York and elsewhere – where such things just can't seem to survive?   

George’s Market / 702 14th Street

Harrington Bar & Grill / 245 Front Street

 Hotel St. Paul / 931 Kearny Street

 Mr Bing’s Cocktail Lounge / 201 Columbus Avenue  

Tosca Café / 242 Columbus Avenue

Royal Pacific Motor Inn / 661 Broadway 

La Pantera Café / 1234 Grant Avenue

Stella Pastry / 446 Columbus Avenue 

Tony Nik’s Café / 1534 Stockton Street

Columbus Café, Gino and Carlo / 562 Green Street

Sodini’s Restaurant / 510 Green Street

New Rex Hotel / 407 Broadway

SEE ALSO: 
Via Shorpy, a colorful scene from the heyday of San Fran neon.

Hotel Neon: The St. James Hotel

To look at it now, you'd never suspect the St. James Hotel (off Times Square) of having once been the quintessential seedy "transients" dive.  Unless you know that such was the state of most old hotels in this part of town through the 70s, 80s and 90s, when weathered neon signs seemed to hang over their entryways on every midtown sidestreet.

All's quiet on West 45th: the St. James today. (T. Rinaldi)

Neon HOTEL signs hung from the old brick façade of the St. James until fairly recently, finally coming down about ten years ago.  This particular signage was recognizable for having appeared in not one but two films, in which the St. James played the role of the gritty, down-and-out flophouse from central casting.  Director William Friedkin used the St. James in his 1980 film "Cruising," a psycho-sexual thriller about a serial killer on the loose in New York's then still rather ribald gay bars.  Not ten minutes into the movie, the St. James' old neon sign portends a brutal slaying soon to play out in a cheap room upstairs.     

   

The. St. James in its gritty heyday. (Cruising)

The same sign makes another cameo in director Penny Marshall's 1988 film Big, starring Tom Hanks.  After eleven-year-old Josh Baskin is rendered unrecognizable in the body of a grown man, he and a school chum make their way to New York, where they eventually wind up at Times Square in search of a cheap hotel.  "You lookin' for some fun tonight sweet thing?"  "No thank you."  After negotiating streets of beggars, prostitutes and wandering schizophrenics, they finally find themselves bathed in that familiar glow.  "Hey, this looks OK," reassures Josh's friend.  The camera pans up toward the that same old sign.  "No it doesn't!" comes Josh's desperate reply.

(Big) 

Hollywood's unflattering characterizations of the St. James were not without basis, at least if one is to judge by a write-up that appeared in the New York Times under the headline "Shadows Near the Bright Lights," one year before the release of "Big."   Times writer David Pitt detailed tough times at the St. James and its neighbor, the Normandie, both of which by then had joined the ranks of the city's Single Room Occupancy, hard-knocks hotels.

"The day clerk at the St. James, who asked that his name not be used, acknowledged that prostitutes routinely try to bring customers upstairs. But he said he always did his best to keep them out, sometimes with the aid of a baseball bat.  'Sometimes a hooker will sneak by me,' he said from behind his desk-to-ceiling bulletproof canopy. 'But look, I don't know who is and who isn't. How am I supposed to know? They go into the Plaza, too, but who stops those girls?'

Checking in. (Big)

"'Now drugs - that I won't allow,' he said, reaching under the counter to display his Louisville Slugger, a Fred Lynn autograph model. 'I see drugs, I say Mr. or Mrs., out you go.'"  Mr. Pitt also scored some choice quotes from the hotel's night clerk:  "'See where the glass is broken?' he asked. 'We wouldn't let this guy in the other night, so he kicked in the door. That kind of pimp, they're the worst - filthy, dirty, living on crack. Your regular pimp is usually clean... These are lowlifes.'"

Photographer Guy Mansuco caught this great photo of the St. James sign just before it disappeared.  (Guy Mansuco)

The St. James' old neon signs hung in there all the way through the Times Square ball drop that rung in the new millennium.  They finally came down a few years later, apparently around the time the St. James picked itself up, shook itself off, and re-opened as a more tourist-friendly hostelry.  Today the pimps and the lowlifes seem to have checked out:  the St. James gets decent reviews at yelp.com, though one visitor, a certain Karla P. from Encinitas, California, complains that the management still uses "actual metal keys" rather than electronic card readers for room access.  The neon may be gone, but the old St. James lumbers on, its checkered past now safely pickled in celluloid. 

(T. Rinaldi) 

THIS IS THE SIXTH in a series of stories entitled "Hotel Neon," exploring the unique resonance of neon hotel signs in the American psyche. See also: 

• Hotel Neon, Part 5: The Penn Terminal Hotel

• Hotel Neon, Part 4: The Keller Hotel

• Hotel Neon, Part 3: The Cavalier Hotel

• Hotel Neon, Part 2: Hotel Neon

• Hotel Neon, Part 1: The Chelsea Hotel

• Hotel Neon, Introduction

IN OTHER NEON NEWS:

• Via the Lost City blog, D'Aiuto Pastry closed this past Sunday (8/11/2013), supposedly for "renovations."  This does not bode well for that fantastic sign...

• From DNAInfo: some serious backpedaling from our friends at U-Haul, after their erasure of Brooklyn's landmark Eagle Clothes sign in Gowanus.

Cab Call Decoded and The Utah House's Neon Epilog

After my May 30, 2013 post on the former Utah House in Chelsea, friend and reader T.R. Revella did what didn't occur to me, and looked up the corner of 25th and 8th in the Percy Loomis Sperr photographs over at the NYPL to see what was going on at this corner in the 1930s.  Photographs dated March 21, 1938 show the storefront occupied by a certain V. Protopapas Pharmacy.  Like most drug stores of that period, Protopapas had a handsome little neon swing sign dangling over the corner, advertising "DRUGS" and "SODA". 

(P.L. Sperr / NYPL)

In writing on the Utah House and its ancient, hand-painted sign, revealed in the midst of a storefront renovation, I hoped that this relic might be covered over in plywood and entombed to one day reveal itself again.  Sadly, the sign has since been destroyed.  The storefront's new occupant, the Market Cafe, had the brownstone lintels slathered in black, Karnak-like crap.  So much for that.

(T. Rinaldi)

Asked and answered:  my post on the St. Regis Hotel's lovely and mysterious "Cab Call" sign had hardly merged onto the information superhighway when an e-mail came in from architect Rick Zimmerman.  "Many, if not all of those cab calls were made by the now defunct Kliegl Bros., makers of much theatrical lighting equipment," he writes.  Mr. Zimmerman directed me to old Kliegl catalogs, scanned versions of which can be viewed online at klieglbros.com.  The catalogs will delight any enthusiast of old signs.

(Kliegl Bros.)

Cab Call signs appear in Kliegl catalogs from 1913 through as late as 1936, in pretty much the exact form as the one over at the St. Regis. Kliegl's product lit describes them as "a rapid, quiet and effective means of calling vehicles to doorways of theatres, hotels, department stores, and other public buildings."  The signs were "constructed entirely of metal" and made up of "three numbers placed together in one frame. . . . Each number is distinctly outlined by incandescent lamps and can be seen clearly by day as well as by night." 

(Kliegl Bros.)

In the post, I speculated on how exactly they worked.  Says Kliegl Bros: "One special constructed switch which is operated without inserting a card or other contrivance, by simply operating the numbers, units, tens and hundreds on handle and pressing the handle inward, makes the correct connections quickly. . . . Any printed card with numbers can be given patrons, so that on return of same, the proper carriage can be called by attendant."  In other words, sort of like the take-a-number system over at the DMV.  Mystery solved!

Many thanks to T.R. Revella and Rick Zimmerman for writing in with these helpful hints.

IN OTHER NEON NEWS: 

• Another one gone:  The Charles St. Garage sign (featured in the neon book) has been replaced by this glamour girl:

• Charles St. may have lost its neon, but St. Charles still has its – from James and Karla Murray, an absolutely gorgeous photo of the St. Charles Garage "for Transients" over on East 60th Street.

• A painful loss on the horizon: the Back Fence, on Bleecker, set to close in the coming weeks.  

(T. Rinaldi)

• Much as I hate to be the bearer of really sh*tty news ... the rest of Hinsch's neon seems to have come down, "for repairs."  Don't hold your breath.  Thanks to Debra Jane Seltzer for the link.

• Speculation on the future of the Watchtower sign in Brooklyn Heights.  

• Not all news is bad news: via Rolando Pujol, Riverside Liquors is up and running again, along with its great old sign, on the Upper West Side.  Welcome back guys!

(Rolando Pujol's instagram)

• Check out this really great write-up on New York Neon over at The Bowery Boys blog!

• A great shot of The Hub in the Bronx, c. 1940, in all its neon glory, via Shorpy.

• Also via Shorpy, feast your eyes on Jamaica, Queens, here absolutely dripping in neon storefront signs in 1944.

• And yet another one from Shorpy – a wonderland of suburban neon out in Smithtown, Long Island, 1954.

• By way of Rob Yasinsac, another upstate loss, at the Peekskill Inn overlooking the Hudson in Peekskill.

The Inn on the Hudson, nee the Peekskill Inn. (T. Rinaldi, above, Rob Yasinsac, below).       

• From Tom over at Krypton Neon: a very promising trailer for a very promising new doc called "Signpainter," based on the recently-released book by the same name.

• Not neon, but of the same ilk: Jeremiah's Vanishing New York reports that the now-shuttered Elk Hotel's "Entrance on 42nd Street" signage, a relic of seedy Times Square hiding in plain sight at 43rd and 9th, is now hiding somewhere else.

(T. Rinaldi)

  
• Way out of the tristate, but neon news nonetheless – some spectacular Pontiac dealer signage "gone the way of the Pontiac" in Orlando, Florida. 

• A great roundup of old Boston signage (neon and otherwise) at this tumblr page.

• And finally, a last bit of unhappy news: RIP to Big Nick's on the upper west side, which had one of my favorite neon window signs in town.  

(T. Rinaldi)

Eagle Clothes

I guess it had to happen sooner or later:  the one and only Eagle Clothes sign in Gowanus, a much-photographed Brooklyn landmark, is coming down.  This week.  It's likely already gone as you read this. I always figured the cause of death would come in the form of some Buildings Department citation for falling chunks of Eagle signage hitting the sidewalk.  But DNAinfo reports that the sign's demise has come instead at the hands of U-Haul, its owner, who plans to add two stories of self-storage units to the former industrial building on whose roof the sign has stood for the past 62 years.

RIP: Eagle Clothes, a Brooklyn landmark. (T.Rinaldi)

As it happens, I had just been prepping a little tribute to the Eagle sign for a forthcoming post.  Sadly that tribute is going up ahead of schedule, now as an obituary piece.  The Eagle sign debuted in the summer of '51, advertising the wares of Eagle Clothes, a now-defunct maker of men's suits.  Like the neighboring Kentile Floors spectacular (erected a few years later), the Eagle sign took aim at motorists and passengers on the elevated viaducts of the Gowanus Expressway and the IND subway (now the F train).  

(T.Rinaldi)

Both signs were the work of the White Way Neon Sign Co of Chicago. Signs of the Times magazine devoted a substantial illustrated blurb to the Eagle sign upon its installation: "The word 'Eagle' is spelled out in red 18-foot porcelain enamel letters," it said. A "realistic back-lighted skyline silhouette of plastic buildings," already long gone, originally crowned the top.  Otherwise, the sign went unchanged through the years, even after Eagle Clothes went belly-up in the 1980s.

Signs of the Times, November 1951. (ST Media Group, used with permission)

It's gone now.  "U-Haul had originally hoped to preserve the vintage sign," reports DNAinfo, "but . . . installing the sign on top of two additional floors would make the entire structure too tall for city height limits."  Huh?

"City height limits"?  

Somebody ought to tell that to the guys building all those 12-story condos in the neighborhood, like this one, this one – oh, and this one, two blocks away.  

(Curbed)

DNAinfo also reports that U-Haul "worked with the city to find community members or local groups to weigh in, but no one stepped forward."  Oh yeah?  Earlier this year, an anonymous comment on this blog suggesting the imminent demise of the nearby Kentile sign sparked a mild torrent of Internet chatter, until the New York Times established that the rumor was a false alarm.  Seems like a proposal to drop the Eagle might have made at least a ripple in the murky waters of the Gowanus.

#gowanus (_jlu_ on Instagram)

Not to worry: U-Haul has pledged to do "everything in its power" to "make sure we maintain the past and incorporate parts of the sign into the new building."  Except that the letters seem already to have been dumped.  Writes Wayne Heller of Lite Brite Neon (whose shop is on the same block as the Eagle sign), "they appear to be chopping the whole thing into pieces before tossing it into the dumpsters. . . .  I don't think much will be left by the end of the day tomorrow [Thurs 7/25/13], the Eagle letterforms are already trashed." 

The Eagle has landed - apparently in the trash.  (Wayne Heller)

I wish U-Haul would just have told it like it is:  they could have figured out a way to keep the sign, but it would have cost too much damn money.  They could cleverly built around it, taking a cue from the developer of 4610 Center Boulevard in Long Island City, who cantilevered their tower behind the famous Pepsi sign to create a "shadow box, so the letters stand out."  They could have formally proposed re-erecting it on the roof of the new addition, and let the Buildings Department take the fall if indeed such an installation would exceed "city height limits."

(T. Rinaldi) 

But, as U-Haul pointed out, the sign wasn't Landmarked (nor is Pepsi, or Kentile, or basically any other sign in New York, unless it happens to belong to an already-landmarked structure – food for thought), so by rights they can do whatever they please here.  And that they have.  Eagle Clothes will no longer woo, please, amuse or charm passersby on the Gowanus Expressway, or the F train, or the newcomers in those luxury mid-rises.  But there will be plenty of self storage.  And with more new buildings on the way, Gowanus: you're gonna need it.

SEE ALSO:    

• JVNY's excellent redux of the life and times of Eagle Clothes.  

• An Eagle eulogy from Forgotten NY.

• A survey of Eagle and other south Brooklyn relic signs, also from Forgotten NY.

Signs Under Awnings

In rounding-up old signs for the neon book, I managed to find just a few hundred specimens of "pre-helvetica" neon scattered around the five boroughs.  In truth, however, there are probably hundreds more, hidden beneath layers of newer signage hung by thrifty business owners who saved a buck by simply installing their own signs over those of their predecessors. 

Old neon hidden under / peeking out from / revealed by the removal of newer signs installed over them.  From top: Fink's Fine Footwear, Livingston St., Downtown Brooklyn; unknown bar off Fulton St., downtown Brooklyn; unknown Delicatessen/Restaurant on First Avenue in Manhattan; Floral Expressions of Harlem, on 135th Street.  (T. Rinaldi)

The palimpsest thus formed reveals itself every so often, when those newer signs come down, and the layers of the urban fabric temporarily unravel.  Sometimes, the disinterring of a long-buried relic sign  elicits an outpouring of exaltations from enthusiasts of old New Yorkiana, as in the case of the Dixon's Cafeteria sign off Times Square, which was revealed 2007.  

The Loft's Candy chain is long gone, but this sign remains under an awning at 88 Nassau St. in Lower Manhattan (T. Rinaldi).  A matching sign once hung on the Bond Building in Times Square (below, between Woolworth's and Regal Shoes, by way of American Classic Images).

The signs are not always neon.  A recent storefront rehab on 8th Avenue revealed the ancient herald of the Utah House, which likely pre-dated the discovery of neon in 1898.  There are porcelain signs, hand-painted signs, signs for shops that vanished generations ago and signs for businesses that simply installed newer signs over their old ones.

Non-neon ghost signs revealed on 8th Ave. in Chelsea, at 22nd St (top), 30th St (middle), and 25th St (bottom). (T. Rinaldi)

Once exhumed, these old relics are sometimes covered back up by newer signs, entombed again perhaps to reappear one day for the amusement of future antiquarians.  More often than not, however, the unearthing of these old signs presages their imminent demise.  The Dixon's Cafeteria sign reappeared only to be taken down soon afterwards.  Dapper Dan's "Imperial" clothes on 14th Street was revealed only to be lost a few months later. 

Hidden signs found out and undone, from top: 125th Street in Harlem; old signs for Faber's Fascination arcade on Surf Ave. in Coney Island, exposed during the building's demolition; Dapper Dan "Imperial" clothes, on 14th St. in Manhattan, saw the light of day again for a few months before being taken down. (T. Rinaldi)

So don't be shy about looking up under the awnings of your neighborhood bodega, liquor store or wash-and-fold; you never know what friendly neighborhood ghosts might lie beneath.  

SEE ALSO: 

• Signs under awnings turn up every so often over at the Ephemeral New York blog, as they do here and here.

• This unearthed Treadwell Shoes sign in Williamsburg could be yours:  

• A Brooklyn butcher sign recently revealed and removed, at JVNY.

• Unearthed signage for Bogan's Corner Bar & Grill in Harlem and the Normandie Bake Shop in Crown Heights, photographed by Dave Cook of Eating in Translation after being disinterred.  They're both gone now:

• By way of Rolando Pujol, a relic of Longchamp's restaurant at the Chanin building made a brief appearance a few years back:

UPCOMING NYNEON TALKS:

• July 22, 2013, at the NYPL / Mid-Manhattan Branch.