The Ice Flow

By Matthew Storey

I took Scout for a walk this morning, a Saturday, a little before 7AM. It came as no surprise to see the black garbage bags out front of our building, torn open and rummaged through - that has been a reality on East 89th Street for longandlong, but it is still sobering...

In some respects, this actually reflects an improvement in conditions in this part of Manhattan, an area (between 86th Street and 96th Street, East of Lexington Avenue on the upper East Side) that was a buffer zone between moneyed Manhattanites south of 86th and poor residents of Spanish Harlem, north of 96th, when I was growing up. In those days, violent crime was prevalent in the projects that line 1st Avenue going North and homeless encampments littered the area that Jimmy Cagney had grown up in some 100 years earlier. Its an odd mix, gritty urban elements and block after block of newbie New Yorkers who spill out of America's Universities every Summer for their chance at the NYC dream, the first job, the nightlife, the freedom to wear what you wish, fuck who you want, party like a rock star and do it all unjudged - as long as you show up at work, and pay your rent.

The college kids have a little boost from mom and dad back home and quickly gravitate to the bars in the neighborhood, bars that illustrate how diverse an American cross section actually lives here - around the corner is 'Elaine's', the legendary saloon and meeting place for lions of literature, media and entertainment, next door to that is a place that calls itself the 'Largest New England Bar in the Area' (an area 30 miles south of New England), across the street from that is a place that caters to fans of Ohio State AND the Pittsburgh Steelers, an unthinkable combination to the bar another block away that goes with the traditional OSU/Cleveland Browns mix.

The Homeless who are working their way through the garbage bags are from all over as well. They know the Sanitation schedule and jockey for position in the wee hours to get first shot at the goodies in the bags. They know that these kids have yet to really worry about the cost of things or the value, and can find stuff that is relatively new but boring to its owner. They can collect cans and bottles for deposit of course, and there are always those who go for the high end score - financial records that can be sold to Identity theft outfits who empower homeless efforts just as much as the recycling centers do.

Lately, however, Scout and I have noticed a new group amongst the mostly minority, mostly drug addled denizens of the streets. Where mumbling and odor have become familiar, we find occasional isolated individuals sitting on a stoop, poring over the newspaper, reading a discarded book, sipping not a bottle of rotgut, or a generic cup of coffee from some bodega but one from Starbucks. Brand identity not typically being a concern to the downtrodden, but still registering in the value system of these new homeless, those college kids from a few crops past who came to town, learned the neighborhood, got the job, started to party, found they needed the party more than the job, lost the job, kept the 'party' and ended up on the street. I've seen still fresh faced versions, late '20s to mid '30s. The only NYC place they really know is this transitory one they first came to, and so, when the gravy train ended and the gut craving took over - they remained here. Home.

Its only one of the signs of a Manhattan that has, in some respects, been at the epicenter of the Financial crisis as home to Wall Street and the center of Finance and, in others, has been immune to some of the pernicious impact that has rippled out to what we arrogant New Yorkers like to call 'The Provinces'. Construction jobs, evaporated all over America, have been everywhere in Manhattan, as tax incentivized projects planned during the time of plenty are forced to completion before the tax break ends. Where once these developments dreamed of selling off multi-million dollar apartments to bonus stuffed kids from Wall Street, their projects spring up on seemingly every corner to vast emptiness or as mid level rentals. It is just another example of how the 'crisis' impacts differently on folks who have made different choices.

At the high end, in Manhattan's wealthiest precincts, is where the bulk of the money has always resided and it is there that the bulk of damage has occurred. Real Estate values have plummeted across the board but that has a drastically different impact upon a former Bond Trader who has seen his multi-million dollar condo drop down below the value of his mortgage than it has on a working class person happy to see rent controlled apartments in good neighborhoods readily available, sans broker fees, with free months tacked on, at prices 30% below what was available just two years ago.

Businesses that are built upon 'luxury' sales to the moneyed classes, or services to these elite cash machines have shuttered or had to downsize their expectations, but well run businesses that serve a more egalitarian mix, and do it well, continue to thrive. As always, the upper east side retail indicates the working woman heavy mix of residents, as nail salons, dry cleaners, spas, eyebrow threaders, boutiques, chain clothing outlets and user friendly (read:affordable) restaurants and bars continue to thrive and propagate.

I'm a Dogwalker and a Catsitter, which places me in a crawl space between the 'Upstairs' clients and the 'Downstairs' building staffs of doormen, porters and superintendents and the army of service people (like me!) who care for cleanliness (maids), repair (contractors), apartment look (interior designers). personal look (stylists)., transport (drivers)..even the creatures themselves, blissfully unaware of the stratifying impact of greenery, have their own levels of care beyond the walker/sitter who writes to you today...the groomer, the vet, the vet-tech, the vet receptionist, the vet physical therapist, the vet chauffeur...and because I have a huge mouth, have been in one place or another all along this spectrum at some time in my life and am endlessly curious...

I talk to them.

*Phyllis, is 45, she's a designer at an auction house, married with a kid and a dog (where I come in). She lives across the street from Madoff's place in mid-level luxury (for Manhattan). In 2006, she made $250,000, working 9 months of that year and vacationing/traveling all over the world. In 2008, she made $41,000 and is desperate to sell her condo before she has to tap savings. Her daughter is in an expensive private school that costs almost as much per year as she made last year, which is more than she will this year. Her life was built upon assumptions that no longer exist. By any measure, she has 'enough' and is unworthy of sympathy, but simply of note, she will have to adjust and I suspect she will. But the private school tuition seems likely to evaporate and tough choices about where to live and where to school await.

*Marco is 34. He has an MBA from Wharton, the first in his family to go to college, let alone the most prestigious B-School in the land. He took a job right out of grad school that paid him $180,000 his first year, by his 4th year (2006) his income bordered on seven figures. He met a woman, who had an MFA and a taste for fine living and they purchased a condominium apartment in a top tier new high rise and appointed it in style, she decided not to work - preferring to focus on their lifestyle and travel for new art and design elements while her man plugged away at the Bank. They occupied their new 58th floor paradise on January 19, 2007, his companies stock, where most of their wealth was concentrated was trading above $170 per share - making them multi-millionaires.

On St, Patricks Day, 2008. Marco was barred from entering his office at Bear Stearns. The shares he had stubbornly held onto, after conferring with senior executives at his firm and others, was essentially worthless and was sold the next day to JP Morgan for $2 per share. He was out of work, wiped out in his investment account and overextended for art, rugs, travel, clothes in his bank account. Within 3 months, he was unable to make the $8,000 per month 'Maintenance' payments on his condo and his lady left him. 3 months after that, he'd been evicted from his residence by the board and his possessions were sent to auction. He moved in with his brother, a doorman. Since February of 2009, he has been working part-time as a porter in the building his brother tends door. He remains a brilliant, innovative guy and will recover, in time. But right now, he is lucky to have a family who love him, a place to sleep and a job that keeps him fed. His wife divorced him and remarried a 62 year old Mexican millionaire who made his money in ceramic tiles, the sort that can be found in the jacuzzi of the apartment Marco used to call home.

These are the first tales, the 'Upstairs' snapshots...next time we'll look at the other side of the coin, at some New Yorkers who are doing BETTER than before.

Until then...