October 1, 2025

Every now and then, I go back and review my files. “AS I SEE IT” was the title of a weekly column that was written for Litmor Publications in the 1900s. It was the forerunner of what has become my present-day articles that appear monthly in THE THEODORE NEWSLETTER. “On the Stoop” was the second article I penned and appeared in 1991. I’ve resurrected the “Stoop” – with some token minor edits – for this month’s article. I hope you like it.

My friend, the writer Costas Anifantakis of Searingtown, had this to say about “the stoop”: “Using the word ‘stoop’ as a noun is probably unique to Old Gotham. The etymological derivative of the word is lost somewhere in the hustle and bustle of the city’s pubertal period. The brownstone exterior of eight to ten steps, known as the stoop, might have been adopted from the fact that a pedestrian had to do just that (stoop) to negotiate an upward and forward motion simultaneously, the essence of stair ascension. The stoop served and still serves a few functions – primarily, it is a simple architectural expedient providing access to an upper entrance to a building. It not only constitutes a convenient place to hang out but is also an excellent collecting point for the latest gossip. The stoop is a cosmos where one can observe the coiling and uncoiling of the street activity, and lastly, it constitutes an athletic playing field where kids, with the aid of a pink rubber ball (a spaldeen), can play stoopball. Stoops come in a few shades of sandstone, varying in steepness and depth and although each has its own distinct character, they all have one thing in common: an unmatched view of the world flowing by endlessly.”

The stoop at 168 West 65^th Street (between Amsterdam Avenue and Broadway) served as both an observatory tower and conference boardroom for me and the guys on the south side of 65^th Street during the late 1940’s. This area and the area due south and west were once classified by Mayor LaGuardia as New York City’s worst slum area. That area, just due north of Hell’s Kitchen, was leveled around 1950, to be replaced by what we now call Lincoln Center. Here is what I remember most of the view from our stoop at 168 West 65th Street.

• We lived at 170 West 65^th Street, on the third floor, next door to the stoop. I had only a 10 to 12 foot walk from our tenement building to the stoop.
• Directly across the street on the north side of 65th Street was Commerce High School, essentially a non-technical school. It’s still there today.
• Further east diagonally and adjacent to Commerce H.S. was the Loews Theater, later to be converted to a CBS TV studio. It was here that Jackie Gleason’s 8 p.m. Saturday night shows were staged. The afternoon program featured a beautiful and slim singer named Rosemary Clooney.
• Due east near Broadway on our side of the block was Joe McGrath ‘s father’s bar. It was here that I would stand by the door and watch Buddy Young and Vic Raschi. At age 17, I moved inside and was introduced to a “7 and 7”, aka, Seagram’s Seven Crown and 7-up.
• Diagonally west across the street (on the northwest corner intersection of 65^th and Amsterdam) was one of Con Edison’s generating plants.
• Around the corner, between 64^th and 65^th on the east side of Amsterdam was the Open Kitchen restaurant, one of New York’s premier eateries. It featured eleven stools along the counter and three small tables squeezed into a tight space at the end of the counter. Don’t ask about the bathroom. My father somehow managed to get us through the depression with this small establishment.
• Directly across the street from the Open Kitchen restaurant on the west side of Amsterdam was the Ederle Bros. meat and pork store. Sister Gertrude achieved fame when she became the first woman to swim the English Channel.
• Further south and west was the “black” neighborhood. This area housed a chicken market (I think it was Kosher) and Ripley’s clothing factory. The bulk of my father’s customers were Ripley employees.
• There was a tall gym teacher at Commerce High School that lunched daily at the Open Kitchen. A retired colonel, we all addressed him as Colonel Reutershan. One day, he announced to my father in a deep resonating voice: “George, the future is in chemical engineering. Send Louie to school to get a chemical engineering education.” That’s how and why I became a chemical engineer. I really had no say in the matter. My, have times changed.
• There was a sign on the front door entrance of the Con Edison generating plant that read: Show Your Pass. Every now and then, I would mischievously meander over there at night and cover the letter “P.” Would this be classified as graffiti?
• The terrors of the neighborhood were the gang from 63^rd Street. They roughed me up twice. The first time was really bad. They had asked for my money. I only had 5 cents, but had mistakenly told them I had 15 cents.
• The stoop’s tenement had been converted into single furnished room apartments. It housed veterans of Japanese Hawaiian descent who were attending a dental technician school on the G.I. Bill. I remember it as a scam for both the veterans and the school; despite this, I have nothing but positive memories of those guys. Almost to a person, they were kind, helpful and sincere people.
• It was through the same veterans that I was introduced to prostitution, dope, and gambling. I believe nearly all of them smoked weed. Prostitutes came and went at all hours. Blackjack and dice games occurred on occasions; horse betting was a daily ritual. Fortunately, I only got involved with gambling.
• We often pitched nickels or pennies to a wall or a crack in the sidewalk. One day, I won $80 – an unheard of sum in those days pitching quarters to line on the tarred street. This started what I then called my “gambling fund.”
• Stickball was played without gloves (some nearby players used gloves) with one sewer as home plate and the next sewer as second base. Broomsticks served as bats and a pink Spaldeen was the ball. Our team matured in my eighteenth year, and I believe we won all but one of our games that summer. There was at least $100 bet on each game and our team rarely could raise more than $25. I usually was the big contributor with $5. The rest of the money was put up by the owner of the stoop’s tenement; he turned a nifty profit that summer.
• Late one Saturday afternoon, the back door of the CBS studio opened and out came a group led by the Great One, none other than Jackie Gleason, and Phil Foster, Jackie’s guest that night. They were all stewed to the gills and wanted to play stickball for a couple of bucks. We couldn’t believe our good fortune. It was 6-0 after 2 innings when they retired to the studio.
• I fell in love with a girl named Patricia Pike; but as the old joke goes, she didn’t want to know that I existed. I still have that effect on people.                       –
• The block was predominately Puerto Rican; but my best friend was a Cuban named Gustavo Carrion. Gus was the janitor/superintendent of our building. One of his responsibilities was feeding coal to the furnace in the basement. He picked up the nickname “Aqua Caliente” because everyone used to yell for more hot water during the winter months.
• During the Depression and World War II years, I would go to the restaurant and ask my father for a nickel to go to a movie. I could never quite figure out why some of the other kids couldn’t go because they didn’t have, or couldn’t get, a nickel. Saturday morning was a must for me because of the weekly serial. The one I remember most was “The Adventures of Naomi.” I fell in love with her, too.
• When it came time to level our block, my father’s lawyer couldn’t appear in court to arrange for the settlement from the city for the Open Kitchen restaurant. At my father’s request, I went in his place. The judge awarded my father $750. I started yelling and the judge threatened to throw me in jail. I remember shutting my’ mouth immediately since I was overcome with fear. Needless to say, the lawyer received a $250 fee, leaving my father with a measly $500 and without his near lifelong business.

It was an eerie feeling, when several decades later, I returned to my earlier home and found nothing but empty space and a newly paved sidewalk. The stoop had departed, never to- return – yet not to be forgotten. But times have changed:  I now live in East Williston in a beautiful house, but it doesn’t have a stoop.

God Bless America.

Note: Interestingly, the address 170 West 65^th Street was assigned to the theater that today houses Lincoln Center. In addition, I heard from Patricia Pike and an Ederle grandson.

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NOVEMBER 1:         Hello Basketball, Goodbye Baseball

DECEMBER 1:          Undecided