Having trudged almost 20 miles around the streets of New York in the last three days, we began the day a bit fatigued, which we offer up as an excuse for our repeated disorientation and missteps today.  As the day began, we walked to the 50th Street subway station and took the #1 train north.  After a couple of stops, we realized we were on the wrong train and got off at 66th, grabbing the correct train back south to Christopher Street.

Our quest at the corner of Christopher and Seventh Avenue was a letterbox commemorating a quirky bit of New York history.  The iconic Village Cigar Store has been located at that corner since the early 20th century. On the sidewalk directly in front of the entrance is the Hess Triangle, a tile mosaic trod upon unnoticed by thousands of people each day.  Wording on the plaque reads, Property of the Hess Estate which has never been dedicated for public purposes.

The plaque is the remnant of a dispute between the city of New York and David Hess, a landlord from Philadelphia, who owned a five-story apartment building that once stood at this location.  In the early 1910s, the city decided to widen Seventh Avenue and extend the subway to Christopher Street.  Invoking its power of eminent domain, the city condemned and demolished 253 buildings in the area, including Hess’s apartment house.  

Hess fought the action in court, losing the original case and several appeals.  Thanks to a surveying error, the defiant landlord was able to get the last word.  He discovered that when the seized property was platted, a small corner was left off the city’s new deed.  Hess claimed ownership of that tiny piece and had the tile mosaic installed.  

It comes as no surprise that Hess refused the city’s request for him to donate the tiny parcel to New York.  The spot remained the smallest piece of property in New York City well into the 1930s.  Figuring the point had been made, the Hess estate sold the tiny triangle to the owners of the cigar store in 1938 for $100.  Owners left the Hess triangle intact as reminder that you can fight city hall, even if you don’t gain nearly as much as you lose in the process.

Mr. Hess vs. City Hall was a perfect example of the kind of letterbox we enjoy most.  Even though the box itself had disappeared, we still had the opportunity to learn a fascinating tidbit of New York history.  Just around the corner from Mr. Hess’s statement triangle, we did find a letterbox near another reminder of New York history.  During the 19th and 20th centuries, numerous Spanish immigrants came to the city.  Many settled in an area known as Little Spain, which extended along the Hudson River from Christopher to 23rd Street.  

Of the many expressions of Spanish culture in the area, one at 88 Perry Street stands out—a striking blue and white tiled blind arch on the side of an apartment building.  Constructed in 1868, the building was purchased in 1970 by Manuel Jimenez, who opened a Spanish antique shop in the ground floor storefront and added the blue tile mural.  The tiles contrast brilliantly with the building’s painted red brick façade.  The date 1868 on the mural reflects the year the building was completed.  And, for the record, we did find the letterbox whose clue took us to this interesting spot.

The Jane Hotel

Our next letterboxing clue introduced us to another fascinating bit of New York heritage, also in Greenwich Village.  The Jane Hotel, located fittingly on Jane Street, began life in 1908 as a hotel specifically for sailors with rooms resembling ship’s cabins.  In 1912, survivors of the Titanic stayed at the hotel during the hearings into the ship’s sinking.  Survivors from the crew held a memorial service at the hotel four days after the disaster.  

In the 1940s, the YMCA took over the hotel.  When that organization moved elsewhere some 40 years later, the Jane became a popular place with New York’s bohemian culture, hosting numerous rock-and-roll events.  Today, the hotel prides itself in appealing to guests with “more dash than cash” as its rooms, which still look like sailor’s quarters with shared bathrooms, have changed very little since it opened.   For the record, the letterbox here was missing.

More awaited with the next letterbox clue, which took us to a place we had been wanting to visit since we first heard about it several years ago.  The High Line is an elevated linear park and trail created on a viaduct built for rail traffic in the 1930s.  Many proposals had been advanced to demolish the structure since it fell into disuse in the 1980s.  But locals united to advocate transforming the former rails to a trail and park area. 

     

The first phase of the transformation was completed and opened to the public in 2009, with another section added last year.  With more still to come, it has become one of the city’s favorite green spaces, and we could see why.  Finding two letterboxes hidden in the park gave us a good opportunity to explore this innovative addition.

Walking to 15th Street to search for a letterbox at a yarn store, we again took a couple of wrong turns due to fatigue.  After finally locating the box, we walked to nearby Union Square for a picnic lunch, followed by a ride on the Q train back to Times Square.

After a brief rest at the Doubletree, we walked to the TKTS booth and bought tickets for the 2 p.m. matinee for Misery.  We noticed that a long line of people had already formed on the sidewalk at 1:30, comingled with the line for Matilda, which was playing next door.

People lined up to experience Misery

We debated getting in line and asked a woman who seemed official about the line.  She offered dire warnings about not being in line and the doors closing at performance time.  So we joined the queue and chatted with a couple from New Jersey.  When the doors opened, the line moved quickly, and we were in our seats by 1:50.

Never having read the Stephen King book or seen the movie with Kathy Bates, we found the performance excellent.  Laurie Metcalf was convincing as a crazed fan, and Bruce Willis was okay as writer Paul.  The ingenious revolving four-section set allowed the audience to follow the action from room to room and even to the cabin’s “snowy” exterior.  Riveting music—often just one note on harp or base repeated with effect—added to the suspense. 

After the performance, we had dinner nearby and returned to the hotel.  Exhausted, we fell into bed before 8 p.m., hoping extra rest will revive us for tomorrow.