The Flying Dutchman of Washington Square

The Seventies was a great time for street musicians in the Village. Some were awful; some were fantastic, but most were good-natured, harmless folks.

The Flying Dutchman was both awful and bad-natured. He played an upright piano which was mounted on wheels, and would often be found on weekends beneath the grand arch in Washington Square Park. Sitting atop the piano was a full-sized mannequin of woman with long blonde hair.

The FD played loud, heavily-chorded music that reeked of anger. I never recall him playing a tune that I recognized. It was just BANG, BANG BADABANG BANG BANG. A scraggly, unkept fellow, he made for quite a sight. He never talked to people, as I can recall, except for one instance when a listener dared to try and sit atop the rolling platform on which his piano was mounted. "Get offa my peeyana!," he yelled.

Vintage TA Busses!

During the Seventies the TA may have been perpetually broke, but it had some interesting busses in its fleet. These photos were taken by my fellow transit fan Ben at the 2005 Transit Museum's Bus Fest.

In the top picture we see the color scheme which the TA started to use in the early 70s. It took a while for them to convert their entire bus fleet from green to blue, especially on Staten Island, which was usually stuck with the most ancient vehicles. The top photo shows a well-preserved TA bus from the early 70s.

In the middle photo we see the interior of one of the older busses, some of which were still around during the Seventies. Note the hard plastic, molded seats. The TA originally offered passengers soft seats, but after so many of these had been slashed by vandals they converted to these rather uncomfortable seats, which were always in sets of two. In the front half of some models of busses the seats mostly faced the front, while past the rear exit door most faced the center aisle, with the exception of those mounted directly over the rear wheel, and the last row. These made good "conversation pits" for groups of teens, who usually considered the back of the bus to be the cooler place to ride. On other models, all of the seats faced the center aisle. This wasn't too good for sightseeing, but it allowed for more space for people to stand and walk around.

The bottom photo shows a type of illuminated advertising that was popular on busses for a time in the early Seventies. The large billboards that ran along the top of each side of the bus were translucent, and were illuminated at night. This made the busses very easy to spot. The route signs were also, for the first time, well-illuminated, especially those on the sides.

Greatest Hits That Never Were

During the early 70's, at the end of each year there would be frequent TV ads on local stations for record albums featuring the "Greatest Hits of 19--, as performed by the Sound Effects." The ads would feature brief clips from the tunes, which, if you were tone-deaf, may have sounded something like a recent hit by a contemporary performer such as Elton John. In fact, it was the creation of some anonymous studio musicians and singers who strove to sound as close to the original hit record as possible. This band of unknown "artists" were called The Sound Effects. Their names were never made public, perhaps out of embarrassment.

The producers of the "Sound Effects" albums would try numerous tricks to mimic the records they copied. On their version of Elton John's "Bennie and the Jets," for example, they inserted recordings of applause at the same moments as when the audience was heard clapping on the original recording.

Sound Effects albums were not usually sold in serious record shops, although I did come across one at Woolworth's. Mostly they were a mail order item. Now and then you can find them at garage sales.

Abbe Hoffman's STEAL THIS BOOK

Amongst the many publicity-hungry, self-promoting, alleged radicals our town has produced, few were as controversial as Abbe Hoffman. (He’s the one whom Pete Townshend wacked with his electric guitar at Woodstock). Hoffman, along with a few sidekicks such as Jerry Rubin, was always in the news and always making a stink. Probably one of Abbe’s more memorable stunts was the publication in 1970 of a mass-market paperback entitled STEAL THIS BOOK, his third major work (after Revolution for the Hell of It and Woodstock Nation). STB was a mixture of Yippie (Youth International Party) rhetoric and advice on topics ranging from how to make your own yogurt to shoplifting to how to sneak onto the subway. There was also information about subjects such as venereal diseases and intoxicants. (“Avoid all needle drugs. The only dope worth shooting is Nixon.”)

STB was widely sold in the early 70’s, and was popular with many of us who did not embrace Hoffman’s far-out political notions. One reason was his advice on how to get free phone calls and pinball games. A Number 14 brass washer with a piece of tape over the hole supposedly would successfully simulate a dime, and some kids actually went to their local hardware stores to purchases boxes of these. Did they work? Well, my pal Nick tried, and had some luck, but most of us found they didn’t work. I wonder how many pinball machines across America went out of commission because of kids following Abbe’s advice jamming their coin boxes.

There was a much darker side, however, to STB. Hoffman included a whole chapter on how to create Molotov Cocktails, pipe bombs and other ordinance for the Revolution, plus calls for the disruption of colleges and even high schools. He also taught how to use slings and other improvised weapons to attack “the Pigs” (police). I certainly hope that no kid was ever injured trying to concoct a homemade weapon using his advice. This was the side of the Sixties and early Seventies that we often forget. It wasn’t all peace and love.

Hoffman eventually went underground to avoid the authorities. He resurfaced Upstate in the 1980s, where he had been living for years, sometimes doing environmental advocacy. In 1989 Abbe committed suicide, following a long battle with depression. Parts of STB are available online.

The Pet Rock Craze

The economy may not have been doing so well in 1975, but that didn’t stop thousands of people from spending $5.00 ($10.09 in today’s money) on a totally useless present called the Pet Rock.

The product essentially consisted of a small stone resting in a bed of straw in a box resembling those which animal shelters give to folks who adopt cats. Included was a brief booklet on your new pet’s care, plus a heart-rendering account of how many rocks are brutally destroyed each year.

I have to confess that I purchased two Pet Rocks as presents. The first went to Stephanie, an older hippie-type with a great sense of humor. She got quite a kick out of it. Not so for Mike, a pre-med student. He opened the box, removed the rock and placed it on the table. When it didn’t do anything he announced “It’s broken!” Mike’s now a specialist in Internal Medicine.

The Great Blackout of 1977

Just when the City was trying to get itself back on its feet came one of its most infamous moments. On July 13, 1977 at 9:43PM lightening struck some key Con Edison transmission lines in Westchester County, causing our entire city to fall into darkness. Unlike the blackout of 2003, during which most New Yorkers helped each other out and things were incredibly orderly, in 1997 the event was marked by inexcusable vandalism and looting. Fires were often set, and when the FDNY would respond to emergencies their personnel were often pelted with rocks. As usual, the apologists for the bad guys were soon offering their analyses of the situation, finding various excuses for their behavior. This may have been the Seventies, but unfortunately in certain circles the old Blame Society mentality which all but glorified criminal behavior as righteous rebellion still reined in many circles.

Things were pretty calm in the middle-class area where I lived at the time. Our neighbors had a portable generator, which they hooked up to flood lights, and some of us were out most of the night making sure things were alright. But in places such as Bushwick, the devastation resembled Baghdad. Five years later I spent a few months working in that area, and can never forget what I saw. Entire blocks were still all but burned-out. Some sections were like ghost towns. Many buildings remained abandoned, and you could still the fire damage. Those who defended the looters and arsonists no doubt were not those who were stuck with living in such a place.

In a sense, I think that the 1977 Blackout was a turning point for many New Yorkers. It may have been fashionable to think of the lines from “There But for Fortune” and romanticize common street hooligans. But when everyone got a sense of what such people were like when left to their devices, it helped some folks reassess their views on the subject.

Loft Living BEFORE it Became Fashionable

Remember the area below Houston Street before it became known as "SoHo?" Essentially, the area was full of loft buildings built with cast iron frames and intended for light industry. But, as manufacturing jobs started leaving our town in the 60's and 70's, there was a great deal of empty space in these structures.

At the same time, artists, seeking cheap rents and large spaces to do their work, started renting lofts in areas such as SoHo. Forget the pictures out of Architectural Digest or Metropolitan Home; loft buildings were anything but "luxury" housing! Security was poor, the elevators (when the worked) were typically designed for freight and not people, and the buildings were often poorly-maintained. Since many such apartments were not in compliance with the Fire Code and other regulations, landlords knew that their tenants would not be likely to complain about poor conditions.

It was not uncommon to find ancient fixtures in these lofts. My friend Janice had such a space on 30th Street in which the toilet was of the type in which a tank was mounted near the ceiling, and one flushed it by pulling a chain. Ted, who had a loft in TriBeCa, didn't even have a bathroom in his apartment. There was a single toilet for the floor at the end of a long hall. Still, he loved his apartment, which had about a dozen windows overlooking the Hudson.

As with the Village, areas where artists congregated soon became fashionable, and the yuppies and their old-money counterparts soon sought out loft space for themselves. The landlords, recognizing that investment bankers could pay a lot more for an apartment than artists like my friend Miguel (who had to rely upon Food Stamps to eat), began renovating their buildings, turning them into "luxury" rentals and coops. The odder the surroundings, the hipper they thought the place would be. For instance, when the old Ex-Lax factory on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn was turned into coops, the management kept the company name above the doorway, and you would even find real estate ads for "The Ex-Lax Coops." Some landlords resorted to heavy pressure tactics to remove the original tenants in their buildings. Ted fought with his landlord for years, and frequently went without heat or hot water. One winter it got so cold in his loft that he spent several nights in a City shelter for homeless people. Eventually, I am happy to report, Ted won his legal battles, and the building owner renovated his apartment for him.

Of course, we know what eventually happened. As housing prices in loft communities soared, artists had to move further and further away in order to find affordable space. A new loft community would form, and soon after the Yuppies would arrive, causing the whole cycle to repeat itself again.