Last week, Ben Bernanke, the Chairman of the Federal Reserve, announced that the U.S. economy is finally improving. There were a few caveats of course. In his statement, he noted that high unemployment together with tight credit is likely to limit consumer spending. I didn’t need the Chairman to tell me that. I can see it right here in my neighborhood, an ever-evolving microcosm of urban economy that seems to reflect the national trends.
For the past thirty some odd years, I’ve lived in the same apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Bordered by Lincoln Center to the south, Columbia University to the north, Riverside Park and the Hudson River to the west and Central Park to the east, the area has traditionally been home to an integrated community of professionals, both single and with families. Naturally, the most desirable streets – Central Park West with expansive views of the park and famous buildings like the Dakota where the film “Rosemary’s Baby” took place and where John Lennon lived and was shot; and Riverside Drive with high-ceilinged spacious apartments overlooking the Hudson River – have always been priced beyond the reach of the average citizen. But, until the early 90’s, the streets in between offered a wide variety of accessible housing, running the gamut from renovated brownstones, to turn of the century buildings down on their luck, where un-uniformed doormen frequently looked as though they’d as soon mug you as announce your arrival.
In the late 1970’s, when I came to my home as a young bride with an instant family, the neighborhood was decidedly diverse. Children, at an age where some independence is in order, were allowed to walk unaccompanied on Broadway, but never on Amsterdam. Broadway was a boulevard of mostly mom and pop stores, including a small gourmet food shop called Zabar’s. The closest thing we had to a chain store was a Woolworth’s five and dime, where the children could spend the dollar bills bestowed by grandparents on birthdays and holidays. Amsterdam, just a block away, was an avenue of Single Room Occupancy hotels, where overwhelmed city agencies frequently stowed welfare recipients with chronic drug, alcohol or mental health issues. In the warm weather, Amsterdam’s corners were busy with illegal transactions, which often resulted in unkempt addicts of one sort or another nodding out in doorways, a paper cup on the sidewalk in front of them, testifying to the eternal hope that some sympathetic passerby might still offer a donation, in spite of the visual proof the money was not going to pay for food or baby shoes. We described our neighborhood as “mixed,” meaning it was safe if you were vigilant; that you could be secure walking from Broadway to the Museum of Natural History on Columbus Avenue as long as you stayed on 79th Street and didn’t opt for one block farther up or down, where the streets were narrower, the buildings more dilapidated, and the residents somewhat questionable.
In the early 1980’s, we became a bi-coastal family, when I accepted a job in Los Angeles writing first “General Hospital” then “Days of Our Lives”. I quickly realized that buying a car for your teenager was not the perk of a spoiled child but an absolute necessity, granting the adults in the family a modicum of freedom from the constant chauffeuring obligatory in a society where you could be questioned on the street by a policeman because you were… walking (yes, it did happen to me)! The lifestyle didn’t suit us and when my contract expired, I sought work in New York and with great relief, we sold the house and the cars and came back to New York.
But even though I returned to the same apartment, it wasn’t the same neighborhood. Six years had brought a seismic change in the culture, both nationally and in my little corner of New York. The Reagan era was in full swing and yuppies reigned supreme. Gone were the welfare hotels, converted to renovated buildings reconfigured as condos. The desultory gathering of wino’s drinking from paper bags in the doorways of Amsterdam Avenue had been replaced by a social whirl of restaurants and bars whose happy patrons spilled onto the sidewalks, still drinking without moderation, but from cocktail glasses and bottles of imported beer. The five and dime had become a store featuring discount designer clothing, and Zabar’s had expanded from it’s single storefront to almost an entire block and was besieged by both tourists and locals. And though I distanced myself from Madonna’s material girl, I was happy there were no more “good” or “bad” blocks. All the streets had been proclaimed desirable and we felt safe wherever we went.
Although the 1990’s began with a period of recession, the recovery was quick. By 1992, then Chairman of the Federal Reserve, Alan Greenspan had coined the phrase “irrational exuberance” to describe the boom in the U.S. stock market, which went from a low of below 4000 at the start of the decade to a high of over 10,000 at the beginning of the 21st Century. Rents and apartment prices on the upper west side escalated until they were considered out of reach for the average New Yorker (except for the lucky few, like me, who were ensconced in rent-controlled apartments which were protected by law). Although some small stores remained, they were gradually being replaced by national chains like Banana Republic and the Gap. And of course, Starbucks sprouted on every second block. There was no question some of the character of the neighborhood had been lost. But still, I could shop, eat, go to the movies, have a drink, all within a few blocks of my home. The economy was stable and so was the neighborhood.
The start of the new millennium brought another recession with the bursting of the dot-com bubble, but a quick recovery followed. I know because from my window overlooking Broadway, I could see the remaining small stores being replaced by large banks. My building, which had been a rental property since it was built a hundred years ago, was bought by new owners with the intention of converting it to a condominium. We were offered the opportunity to buy our apartment for three million dollars with an “insider” discount of 5 %. Fortunately, as tenants in a rent-controlled apartment, we could neither be evicted nor forced to buy, so we could afford to scoff at the preposterous proposal. We thought at those prices, the apartments would never sell, but sell they did – primarily to hedge fund managers and wealthy Europeans looking to spend their Euros. Of the 120 apartments in the building, only four have been bought by their original occupants. Neighbors whose children I watched grow up were forced to move as their leases expired. But the rest of us benefited as the new landlords, in the interest of selling at top prices, began construction to refit the elevators and remodel the lobby.
And then, the bottom fell out. The stock market plunged, housing sales plummeted, companies went broke, and unemployment soared. In spite of the fact that the new apartments in our building have reportedly been reduced up to 40%, there seem to be no takers. We don’t see so many workers in our fancy new lobby and we’re hoping that we’re not doomed to living in a construction zone for many more years to come. On the corner of our street, four restaurants have closed, and only one has been replaced. The others remain boarded up vacancies, whose doorways once again have been overtaken by a cadre of dissolute men drinking from paper bags. A large electronics chain has recently closed and the clothing store is on its last legs. But Starbucks is busier than ever, and more people seem to have more time during the day to scan their laptops while sipping a latte and looking out the window onto Broadway.
So as glad as I am to have Ben Bernanke tell me the economy is improving, it won’t become a reality for me until I see it from my window. I’m waiting for new tenants to move in, and the restaurants to re-open. I want to see those empty store fronts filled with shoppers, even if they’re in stores I don’t frequent. And as each day goes by, I’m gratefully aware that I’m lucky to be working and wish the same good fortune for my friends and neighbors. I hope the Chairman is right.
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