Trotsky in Da' Bronx

A few years ago I wrote a short blog post about some of the more memorable headlines that have appeared in the NYC newspapers over the decades (most recently, in reference to the Good Morning America anchor adultery scandal, it was "Good Moaning America").

Anyway, in late 1917, a headline appeared in a local paper called Bronx Home News that had to make its readers do a double-take: "Bronx Man Leads Russian Revolution." 

The man in question was Leon Trotsky who, after Vladimir Lenin, became the second most powerful person in the newly formed Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, the world's first Bolshevik i.e. Communist nation. Wrecked by its disastrous participation in the First World War, the centuries-old Russian Empire crumbled into chaos. After numerous political convulsions, the world's largest nation, once ruled by the sacred autocratic Tsars, turned into a supposed "workers paradise", a hypothetical communist utopia.

It was not to be, obviously, but in late 1917 no one knew that -- all that Russians knew was that a failed and discredited monarchy had been destroyed, and a new socialist experiment had come along. Trotsky was one of its primary leaders, its main apostles, and for the next decade he would exercise awesome power -- until, he too, met his ruin at the hands of Joseph Stalin. 

A professional revolutionary, Trotsky lived a nomadic, stateless existence. A wanted man in Russia, he was exiled to Siberia twice, and spent most of his time bouncing around Europe (Switzerland, the UK, France, and Spain) before arriving in NYC in January 1917. His first impression of the city was: 

"Here I was in New York, city of prose and fantasy, of capitalist automatism, its streets a triumph of cubism, its moral philosophy that of the dollar. New York impressed me tremendously because, more than any other city in the world, it is the fullest expression of our modern age.”

Taking up residence on either 164 street or 172 street in the Bronx (it's not certain exactly where he resided), Trotsky lived in the city for only ten weeks, leaving in late March 1917. However, he made the most of his brief American sojourn, doing research and writing at the New York Public Library, engaging in anti-war debates at Cooper Union, going to food protests in St. Mark's Place and City Hall, and engaging in socialist agitation. It's important to remember that, prior to the Russian Revolution and the Cold War, there was a strong socialist movement in this city and country before the FBI and the government shut it down. Trotsky's goal was to organize socialist activity in America -- but then, in March 1917, revolution broke out in Russia. Trotsky left, sailing away from NYC and into history. 

Perhaps, during his brief time in NYC, Trotsky should have realized that communism would fail. Even though he lived in a small and modest apartment, he was shocked to discover that it had things like electricity, heat, a phone, and even a garbage shoot. He could see, even then, that America was the future.

Back in Russia, Trotsky participated in the October 1917 Bolshevik seizure of power. Almost immediately a civil war broke out between the Reds (the Bolshevik forces) and the Whites ("monarchists, conservatives, and Tsarist generals", as the sneering Ian Holm character says in the 1971 movie Nicholas & Alexandra, "all our enemies). Trotsky led the Red forces to victory as War Commissar in 1922. This victory cemented the Soviet Union's existence. Trotsky was at the height of his power.

But in 1924, Lenin, the USSR's first leader and Trotsky's patron, died. A vicious power battle between Trotsky and Stalin ensued. Trotsky lost and was out of power by 1925 -- and by 1929 he was out of the Soviet Union, exiled from the nation he had helped found, resuming a stateless, rootless life. He eventually landed in Mexico City, living in a guarded house, until he was killed by a Stalinist agent who buried an ice pick in his head in 1941.

If Trotsky has survived, if he and not Stalin had become Lenin's successor, the history of the Soviet Union and the world would have been much different. Perhaps it would have become a humane socialist nation. Instead, with Stalin, the USSR became a cult of personality, it became a terror state of gulags and death, it did not become a worker's paradise, it became hell. Trotsky was an idealist but Stalin was a brutal tactician -- and that's why history played out the way it did.

At least Trotsky got to spend some time in NYC -- most of his fellow revolutionaries never did. 

Apropos of my comment about the 1971 movie Nicholas & Alexandra, I highly recommend it -- it's an old-fashioned costume epic about the last Tsar and his wife, the kind of big movie they don't make anymore. It also has an amazing cast including a very young Brian Cox who plays Trotsky. If you're a fan of his hit show Succession where he plays an old, super wealthy media titan, it's cool to watch him in this movie, nearly 50 years earlier, playing a young idealistic Bolshevik revolutionary. There aren't any scenes in NYC, sadly, but it's still worth watching. 

Feral City

Like something out of a dystopian horror movie, most New Yorkers spent the year 2020 indoors, leaving the city streets mostly empties, the storefronts mostly shut. In large swaths of NYC, the neighborhoods felt abandoned, forlorn, empty, drained of the vitality of that makes this city great. 

But not everyone felt that way, specifically my NYC fellow blogger Jeremiah Moss Vanishing New York. 

He loves the fact that the city felt left behind. He loved that tons of rich people skipped town and left the city to us smallfolk. He loved that the people one often found on the streets were the freaks, the weirdos, the homeless, the vagrants, the people society mostly looks down on, the Others.

For a brief moment, it became their city.

This is not how most New Yorkers feel, of course. Crime went up sharply, (here and everywhere around the country), and we're still dealing with it. But Jeremiah, in a new book called Feral New York, offers a contrarian view, arguing that NYC in the worst of times was actually experiencing the best of times, that COVID was an unlikely gift to the least amongst us in the city. The gentrifiers were (temporarily) ceding their power, the "poetry of the streets" taking their place. 

The city became "feral" -- and Jeremiah dug that.

Of course, for people who lost jobs, for people who got sick, for people whose lives were completely upending and are stilling dealing with the aftermath, this thesis will be a hard sell. But it's an interesting take, nonetheless, an offbeat look at a very weird time, and what's more NYC than that?

Moving to NYC Ain't for Sissies

Twice in my life I've moved to NYC -- first, when I exited my mother's womb, and, second, when I moved back from college (which I even blogged about).

So, really, I've never moved to NYC -- I sprouted out of here, then left at one point, then came back, and have stayed ever since. I've moved around NYC a couple times, but never to it. I'm a native, a product of it, a weed in the great field of the city (more on weed later).

But millions and millions of people over the centuries have moved here, sometimes from nearby places, sometimes from across the country, sometimes from the farthest reaches of the world. And yet wherever they come from, and whatever the reason they move here, it's a big change, an overwhelming experience.

As it's been said about getting old, moving to NYC ain't for sissies.

And the reasons, as mentioned, are various, and fascinating. The New York Times Magazine recently ran several stories about people moving to NYC for a variety of reasons, under a variety of circumstances. The stories are about:

- The dreamers, the people who move here to find great success but inevitably find living and achieving here harder than they could ever have imagined. If you can make here ... Heck, it's hard for us natives to succeed here but being an emigre to NYC makes it even tougher. It's a sobering experience, as this story tells us.  

- There are the people (including dreamers) who move here and find themselves living with people they could never possibly imagined even knowing, let alone co-habiting with. The desire to live here is so strong, and the availability of housing is so stressed, that people end up living in all sorts of strange circumstances, in ways they could never have thought before moving to NYC. 

- There are the people who moved here in 2020, at the height of the pandemic, for myriad wild reasons. Moving to NYC is tough at the best of times but moving to the epicenter of the deadliest pandemic in more than a century? That takes guts. That takes determination. And each story behind it is fascinating. 

 - Then there are the people moving here not because they want to but because they have been displaced from their homelands -- refugees, people feeling war and persecution. Ukraine and Afghanistan are the most recent, horrifying examples but over the centuries people have fled danger at home to find peace and prosperity in NYC. My daughter has a new girl in her class who just started school in April, whose family just got out of Ukraine. They may be safe and happy to be in NYC but no doubt miss leaving home under these extreme, tragic circumstances.

- And now, finally, to the weed: marijuana will be legal to sell soon in NYC and New York State, and people who have experience in the legal pot business elsewhere are moving here to get into the game. An influx of legal weed dealers -- not scuzzy guys in wife-beater T's selling dime bags in their gross basement apartments -- but smart businesspeople plying a legit and profitable trade in classy, hygienic stores are coming to town, soon to sell us a variety of Indica and Sativa in various forms. No doubt the competition will be fierce but those who succeed will really have "made it here", seeing their NYC dreams come true through ever inhalation we take.

Moving to NYC ain't for sissies -- but it's always interesting.

Review: "Cimino: The Deer Hunter, Heaven's Gate, and the Price of a Vision" by Charles Elton

Over the years I've blogged about one of the most mercurial movie directors of all time -- Michael Cimino -- who had one of the most spectacular rises and falls in all of Hollywood history.

Originally from New York, Cimino directed brilliant TV commercials in the 1960s (the Mad Men era) before going out to Hollywood in the 1970s. He achieved major success in the movies, directing the 1974 Clint Eastwood hit Thunderbolt and Lightfoot followed by The Deer Hunter in 1978 -- a big hit that won Oscars including Best Picture and Best Director for Cimino.

Then it all came crashing down. 

His 1980 movie Heaven's Gate was one of the biggest flops ever -- and it triggered the sale of its studio, United Artists, effectively ending the company's existence. Until 1996, Cimino only directed four more movies -- including the great NYC crime thriller The Year of the Dragon in 1985 -- and then nothing at all until his death in 2016.

Cimino's life and career has always fascinating me. How could someone so talented, who had such major success, let it all slip away? How could he make a movie as great as The Deer Hunter followed by one as disastrous as Heaven's Gate? And what happened to him in those last twenty years of his life?

These questions about this unique cinematic figure also fascinated British author Charles Elton whose new book about Cimino is the first real biography of the director. Elton attempts -- and does -- answer some of these questions while leaving others frustratingly (for him and us) open.

One problem with writing about Cimino is that he lied -- a lot -- about himself: he embroidered his birthdate, his education, his family life, even his supposed military service to people. It's not clear if all this dishonesty was pathological or some kind of game he enjoyed playing with the press and public. And in a business of exhibitionists he was mostly reclusive, not courting publicity or attention. The people around him also mostly practiced this omerta, with few speaking publicly about him.

When Cimino died in 2016, the tributes and retrospectives of his life and career were few and far between -- this Oscar winning director seemed mostly forgotten except for a few like yours truly. So this new biography is a much appreciated -- and much needed -- evaluation of the life and career of a singular, controversial and important cinematic icon. I strongly recommend it. 

Strong & Unique

As 2022 unfurls -- and COVID rages on -- here are some reminders that the endurance and uniqueness of New York City is forever.

First, after slumping in the dark first COVID year of 2020, the NYC real estate market rebounded in 2021. People started buy lots more property, boosting the prices and numbers of sales dramatically -- even as the pandemic continues with no real end in sight. This comes as an addendum to the news over the summer that the population of NYC boomed during the last decade by more than 600,000 people making this city, by far, the largest in the country along with the highest growth rate. The strength of the NYC property market, and the continued growth of the population, truly proves that betting against this town, its people, and its future, is just a loser's bet. It's a stark contrast to the wailing you hear in the media, and on social media, with "Oh, New York City is over", "People are leaving in droves", "It's scary there," blah blah blah. The fearmongering, the negativity, the predictions of doom-- all lies! This town is stronger than ever before!

Second, another reminder that NYC is truly a city of islands, a beautiful archipelago, a unique place -- there's a guy who's job is clearing the NYC shorelines of abandoned boats. He works for the Parks Department and is head of "water and marine operations" and makes sure that any "derelict" or discarded vessels are removed -- he and his teams are basically trash collectors of the city's waterways. It's the kind of thing you never thought about before -- what happens in a city of islands like NYC when boats are orphaned and who takes care of them? -- but you then realize it makes total sense. How many other city's have a job like this? Again, one of the great, special things about NYC.   

Dorothy Parker Comes Home

More than fifty-years after the death of the legendary comic writer and public wit Dorothy Parker (think Fran Liebowitz before Fran Liebowitz), the great lady has come home to NYC.

Specifically, her ashes were returned to the city and interred at Woodlawn Cemetary in the Bronx, now to rest in eternity with fellow scribes like Herman Melville and Irving Berlin.

Parker died in 1967, leaving her entire estate to the NAACP but not indicating what should be done with her remains. For various reasons, largely due to Parker not indicating what should be done with her remains after her death, the ashes bounced around lawyers' offices in Westchester and Manhattan before taking up a long residence in the NAACP offices in Baltimore (where the great lady stayed in a filing cabinet for years). After closing their offices in Baltimore, the NAACP decided to send Dorothy home to NYC -- all without closing her eyes or clicking any ruby red slippers.

Dorothy Parker may not be well known today but she was a rare female to succeed in the male-dominated 20th century snake pit of comic writers. She wrote stories, poems, and books, even working in Hollywood. She also had bad marraiges, love affairs, and drank LOTS of booze. She was a party.

I've written about Dorothy Parker before -- you can read it all here. However, I previously failed to mention that she was the subject of a fine 1994 movie starring Jennifer Jason Leigh called Mrs Parker and the Viscious Circle, about her days with the Algonquin Roundtable. It's worth a viewing if you want to know more about this quintessential New York City character whose like we won't ever see again (although Dorothy Parker would doubtless be brilliant on Twitter if she were still around).

Interview: Lisa Cintrice on Her Adventures in Early ‘80s NYC

Forty years ago, New York City was a very different place. Dirty, dangerous, crazy, and too much fun for anyone’s good, this city was a cauldron of depravity, culture, and craziness. You didn’t live in NYC back then, you survived it – and no one survived it or had more fun in it than Lisa Cintrice.

A great beauty from Long Island and Queens, Lisa endured a rough childhood and made it to NYC, falling quickly into the adult film and club scene. She lived in the heart of Funky Town, a sexy and wild Bohemia, a time and place that has become mythic – although, as she makes clear, it came at a price.

Eventually, Lisa moved away and changed her life.

Lisa was kind enough to answer some questions about her life in early 1980s NYC, and she has some wild stories! She tells us about her early life, a memorable stunt she pulled off in Times Square, a unique record she holds, why she eventually left NYC – and also gives us the best advice about what all of us should do to get a great workout.

Briefly, tell us about your life. Who is Lisa Cintrice?

So Lisa Cintrice was an 18-year old adult actress who worked on 9 adult films and got a lot of publicity from how I got out of the army. I led a sheltered life as Lisa Vanasco and I ended up living the high life in NYC as a young adult actress known as Lisa Cintrice.

In 1981, still a very young woman, you enlisted in the Army but then, before shipping off, managed to get out of it in a way that literally made headlines - and got you TV. It’s a great “Only in New York” story. Even though I’m sure you’ve told it many times, please do share it here if you don’t mind.

So when I was 16 my dad went to federal prison and I got pregnant and married a man that was 26. I was very sheltered and naive. He became abusive very quickly so I left when I was 17.

At that point I had no direction in my life so I joined the army. I had 10 months before I shipped out. My husband's sister knew what happened, actually, she saw him punch me and pulled him off me. 

She asked if she could photograph me to send to her friend who worked with Oui magazine. I ended up getting a layout in Oui, and Peter Wolf took me under his wing and I ended up doing an adult film.

I went to my recruiter to tell him I was doing porn and wanted out of the army. I was told I had to go and I was also told not to link the army to my porn career.

Well, once I told Peter what the army said, he came up with an idea to get me out. Peter Wolf and Richard Milner did a press release where I was going to strip out of an army uniform in front of the army recruiting station in Times Square so that’s what I did.

I also was in every newspaper and magazine in NYC. I was going to be discharged but then I went on the Tom Snyder show. After Tom Snyder the army said if I stopped doing talk shows I would get a general discharge that turned honorable so I got out.

Truly, “Only in New York!” What was early 1980s NYC like for you? Did you find it scary, exciting, both?

I grew up in Queens and Levittown so the city was fascinating to me. I went to the city to shoot the Oui layout and literally never went home.

I ended up moving in with Tiffany Clark, Fred Lincoln, and Jean Silver. It was one big party to me intertwined with filming adult films. I honestly don't know how I survived.

Keep in mind I had just turned 18. Clubbing, coke, dancing at the Melody Burlesque, hanging out at Bernard’s which was across the street. Partied at Studio 54 and other clubs I don’t even remember. I had no fear. I would walk all over the city at all hours of the night not even thinking maybe it wasn't safe to be out alone at 3 AM.

I would end up in gossip columns because I was always taking my clothes off in clubs. Also spent a lot of time at Plato’s Retreat and the Hellfire Club which was an on-premise S&M club.

Those were the days!

Sounds like fun! I’m curious about two movies you made at that time: Mascara, about as NYC as any movie gets (it even has scenes on the subway), and Debbie Does Dallas 2 (a sequel to one of the most famous adult films ever). What are your memories of making those films?

I don’t remember much about Mascara. I remember I worked with Ken Yontz. He was Seka’s ex. I remember Lee Carroll and Tiffany Clark were in it. I haven't watched that one.

However, I do remember Debbie Does Dallas 2. I actually watched one scene and I will get to that.

So Bambi Woods clearly was only doing the film ‘cuz she needed money so it was obvious she didn't want to be there. I did a scene with her in a bath tub and Jean Silver and I bathed her with penis shaped glycerine soap so just imagine what we did with that soap LOL! I got the vibe that Bambi hated every minute of it.

I also had a scene with Ron Jeremy where I was supposed to give him a blow job. I told him I was going to deep throat him and he said not to do that because it was not possible and my teeth my hurt him.

Well, telling me I can’t do something is a sure way for me to do it. So I did it and that blowjob ended up in the book Only the Best by Jim Holliday which rates the best scenes in adult film. I was number 4 of the 5 best blowjobs. Number 5 was Marilyn Chambers and Ron Jeremy.

Now that is a very cool record to have! What made you move out of NYC?

I left NYC to tour with one of my movies and I was doing a lot of coke back then. I had a moment of clarity and chose to not go back to NY because I felt like it was too easy to score coke in NYC. I cut all contact with everybody I knew. I got sober, went to college, got married. I have grown kids, and I reconnected with my old crew a few months ago.

Was is hard leaving the city and the business?

It was hard at first because I didn't have job skills and I didn't want to call my family till I got my shit together which I did. Got sober, went to college, got married, had kids, and life is good.

It was difficult because of the publicity about the army and porn. The only time in my life that I was fired was from a bartending job where someone saw me in Debbie Does Dallas 2. I kept that part of my life private until recently when I finally felt ok to talk about it.

Do you ever visit the city and, if so, what do you think of NYC today? Do you miss anything about it? 

My dad died in 2016 but even though my dad moved to Los Angeles he kept a place in NY so I would go back every so often and see friends and family. I miss New York food the most.

You have a great Twitter account where you mostly chronicle your physical fitness regime. As someone who needs to get in shape, how do you get and stay motivated to exercise regularly – and what do you think makes for a great workout?

I have been lifting weights since I was 19 and I am 58 now. I posted my workouts to keep me accountable and, if it motivates someone, that's even better.

One thing about working out is the adrenaline you feel when your done training. I am addicted to how good I feel after. That feeling motivates me. I plan my workouts a week in advance so I don’t even have to figure out what I am going to do, it’s all on a list  I have good and bad days at the gym. Some days I am stronger than others.

You know you had a good workout when you feel energized. What I tell friends who want to be active is do it for 90 days and stick to the goals you choose. After 90 days it will become like brushing your teeth it will be habit. Think of it this way: there are 24 hours in a day so anyone can spare even 30 minutes to take a daily walk. Start slow and do what you like.

I love running, my husband swims, some friends bike. Do what you like so you look forward to working out. I need to follow this advice!

Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about Lisa Cintrice?

I am finally at a place where can embrace my past and my future. I outed myself to most of my friends that had no idea. I have no regrets. I lived an interesting life, and if no one likes it then, oh well, life goes on.

Back in 1981 there were only about 200 people who did adult films. Now it’s really evolved where anybody can be a webcam girl. I am glad it’s getting to be more accepted. 

Lisa, you will always be accepted! Congratulations on surving so much so well, having so much fun, and creating a great life for yourself. You are truly an inspiration.

Thanks so much for talking to Mr NYC!

Interview: Lynn Paula Russell, Legendary Artist and Performer - Creating an Artistic Career

Somebody should make a movie or, better yet, a mini-series about the life of Lynn Paula Russell. Her story has had a number of fascinating chapters that would translate into equally exciting episodes. Lynn has worked as a stage actress, model, and adult film star. But that’s not even what she’s best known for! Lynn has mainly had a long and very successful career as a portraiture and erotic artist. She has used her body, mind, intelligence, emotions, and overwhelming talent to forge a long, unique, and multi-varied artistic career, an amazing professional achievement.

If the biggest thing on Lynn’s resume was appearing in the revolutionary musical Hair, that would be enough. But after years on the stage, she moved into erotic modeling before starting her career as a graphic designer and illustrator. Lynn is best known for her highly explicit, charged, and extremely beautiful erotic art in addition to her portraits of the rich and famous. But whether she’s illustrating people or subjects that are naughty, nice, or both, her work blazes with color, sensuality, confidence, and a true appreciation of the beauty of the human form. To see her work is to see an explosion of love for people, for nature, for sex, and for the gloriousness of life.

Lynn is British and still lives in the United Kingdom but, from the late 1960s to the 1980s, she came to NYC several times. She had, to say the least, many interesting adventures and experiences in the city that most of us can only dream about. In this three-part interview, Lynn shares her memories and thoughts on her career of performing, art, sex, and, of course, New York City. 

Tell us briefly about your upbringing and what led you to pursue an artistic career.

Since it is virtually impossible to be brief when it comes to discussing one’s upbringing I will try not to get too deeply into this subject. I grew up in a small seaside town in the South of England. My mother was a gifted artist who had never been given the opportunity to pursue a career of her own, so she was determined that this should not happen to her four daughters. From a very young age, we all took dancing classes and appeared onstage in musical shows. These were the highlights of my young life. But in the early years I also loved to draw all the time and knew this was one of my best subjects at school. When it was time to choose a career direction, I was torn between my two loves – Art and Theatre. Eventually it seemed more sensible to go to Art School, and I specialized in Graphic design. But nothing is straightforward and soon after leaving college I found myself being propelled towards a career treading the boards.

You have acted and danced but also have spent most of your career as a painter and illustrator. Tell us about your experiences as a stage performer and why you decided finally to devote yourself to creating art.

Well, in my hometown I had become closely associated with a writer who was planning a musical production for the London stage. He had seen my appearances in the local amateur dramatics and wanted me to be in his production. This sounds mad, when I look back, because I had had no professional experience – and as it happened, I never did appear in that show, but it did provide me with a huge impetus to come to London. I was taken on by an agent who sent me up for all kinds of jobs. The very first one brought me to the US. What luck that was! Then the second job granted me the unique experience of appearing in the musical Hair, which had come over from Broadway to the West End in 1968 and caused a sensation. I had seen it as an 18-year old student and been quite shocked by its openness, and then three years later, in the National Tour of the show, there I was, the erstwhile prim, provincial girl, stripping off on stage and feeling proud to do so!

The breakthrough of these early days didn’t last unfortunately and although there had been a few high spots that were exciting, after 6 year’s work began to dwindle. It was as if some inner reserve was holding me back from fully engaging with my true feelings. My trouble was that I could only play emotionally inhibited girls, like myself, and couldn’t get beyond a certain inner block. But when doors start closing, others open to new possibilities.

You have had a long and successful career as an erotic artist. What inspired you to start creating erotic art and what are your favorite books that you've created and worked on?

The answer to this springs out of what I said about feeling blocked. I guess we all have to work within our limitations, but something was pushing me from inside to burst out and release myself. This burst-out finally happened when I was 30 – well, they say that hitting this age makes you review your life and take stock. It certainly heralded a change of direction for me. This is when I took the plunge and decided to model for soft-core porn magazines in England. I did not see this at first as a career move – it was more like accepting a dare. I viewed it as a sort of therapy. To my great surprise, I took to it like a duck to water. Being able to be honest at last and get my clothes off was a massive relief, and for a few weeks the modeling sessions took over my life. Since the things that move us deeply have to be expressed in art, I soon found myself drawing on my experiences to create new work. Then I started illustrating a magazine called Janus, which specialized in a very British subject – erotic corporal punishment. This also expressed my own area of interest since S/M was something that had intrigued me ever since discovering The Story of O.

Several collections of my work were published in the early 2000s by the Erotic Print Society, and I think my favorite is A Sexual Odyssey. That is the most comprehensive cross-section of illustrations and paintings.

Your erotic art is very explicit but it is also visually stunning -- colorful, elegant, sensual, and confident. It feels like you are both trying to arouse the viewers while also proclaiming the beauty and power of human sexuality. Is that a good way to describe your work or would you describe it differently?

I am glad that is how you see my work. Yes, beauty, and power are very relevant. That is what hit me when I started my adventures – sex is the fundamental power of life, which is always motivating people, whether they are aware of it or not. The expression of power, both negative and positive, is always related to the sex drive, which is why we have to be careful how we use it in our relationships. And yes, the beauty is there too. Orgasm is a way of connecting with the universe, with the very core of our being. Excuse me for waxing lyrical, but it is about time that we started to see and evaluate our sexuality in a new way and stop thinking in terms of ‘dirt’ and ‘smut’.

You're most known for your erotic artwork but have also done non-erotic art like portraitures. What is some of your most notable or favorite non-erotic art that you've created?

Before I entered the erotic scene my work was largely centered around the theatre. When I was no longer an actor, I illustrated a children’s book and painted some posters of vintage film stars. Then there was a stint working backstage, mainly on the show Annie, which was a huge hit in London. Andrea McArdle who created the part of Annie in the original production, had come over from Broadway to open the show, and it was her mother Phyllis who first commissioned a portrait from me. Thereafter, I received other commissions from the cast and production team, like Sheila Hancock, who played Miss Hannigan, and Charles Strouse, the composer of the music. Then other shows followed. A Chorus Line was one of these. Of course, since most of my paintings were supposed to be surprise presentations, I wasn’t able to paint from life. Two of my favorites were the portraits of Tommy Steele in many of his various roles, and of Monty Berman, the famous London costumier.

In 1979 I was once more in New York, painting such people as Liberace, TV chat-show host Merv Griffin and theatre producer Lewis Allen. Much later on, in NY, I met the publicist of "Masterpiece Theatre" and was asked to provide publicity portraits of actors in British TV shows that were widely shown in the States. The most memorable one of these showed the young Colin Firth heading the cast in his first appearance in a TV series. Remembering back, there was also a calendar to celebrate the Royal Wedding of Charles and Di in 1981. That really was miles away from my erotic creations!

Thanks Lynn! In the next part of our interview, Lynn tells us about working and having fun in NYC in the 1970s and ‘80s.

You can visit Lynn Paul Russell’s website and an exhibition of her work at:

www.lynnpaularussell.org
https://www.talismanfineart.com/product/cat/current-feature-4

What Makes a Mayor?

New York City will be electing a whole new swath of municipal office-holders next year, thanks to term limits. Most of the city council, the borough presidents, and the city-wide office holders will change -- including, first and formost, the mayor.

The mayor of any city is a real-life human being and human beings, as we know, aren't perfect. Yet New Yorkers love the idea of a "perfect mayor", someone who not only runs the city but also embodies it.

The mayor of New York City is expected to be many things: a day-to-day manager ensuring the smooth delivery of government services as well as taking charge in an emergency; a long-term visionary and leader who moves the city into a better place (less crime, more affordable housing, better schools, cleaner streets, etc., anything that improves the quality life and experience of living here); an advocate and cheerleader who promotes the city's image and interests to the rest of the country and the world; and a big personality, a larger-than-life character who is as much a showman (or showwoman), a performer, as much as a politician or a leader. 

The qualities that New Yorkers want in mayor are many -- it's a tall order to be come Hizzoner. The perfect mayoral DNA hasn't been generated yet. 

Fiorello LaGuardia is, for many, the model of a modern NYC mayor and many of his successors (like Koch and Giuliani) have aped his big personality style if not his decency and competence. Others have been a conscious reaction to that type of mayor -- Lindsay, Dinkins, and, in their way, Bloomberg and De Blasio have shown that this city can sometimes elect a more genteel and down-to-earth mayor. 

It's also axiomatic that mayors are destined never to rise to higher office (governor, senate, president) and that they better not show that they are anything less than 200% focused on just being mayor (leaving town, running for another office, brings mayors a cropper).

It's impossible to tell what makes for a successful mayor because the times they govern in, and the challanges they face, are so different. But it's almost inevitable that, after years of controversy, tough decisions, bad luck, whatever, NYC mayors often leave office unpopular. History can sometimes, however, be much kinder to them in the long run. And their personality, their mascot role, become less important -- it's what they left their successors to build on that's deemed most important.

The recent death of Mayor David Dinkins is a huge case in point. When he left office in 1993, and for years afterwards, the common wisdom is that he left the city crime-ridden broken down mess that Rudy Giuliani came in and fixed. But a closer look at the record shows that Dinkins bequeathed the man destined to become an adulterous, bankrupt, impeached one-term loser president's lawyer a much stronger city than was previously appreciated: under Dinkins the police force increased, crime was actually falling greatly, Times Square was alreay changing, the city was improving. But the perception of it hadn't yet changed, and Rudy sucked up all the credit.

Thus it has been and will always be so. Life isn't fair, politics is less than fair, and being mayor of this town is both the greatest honor and one of the most unfair jobs any New Yorker can possibly get.

Jerry Seinfeld on the Fate of NYC

Man-oh-man that Jerry Seinfeld has a way with words.

Today the comedy legend published an op-ed where he takes aim at anyone who thinks that NYC is "dead" due to the COVID-19 pandemic. As always, his genius is to communicate, in a few short words, in a pithy phrase, so much emotional truth that it bowls you over.

To sum up the idea of leaving New York for simpler environs: "Are ... You ... Kidding ... Me? ... I will never abandon New York City. Ever."

He rejects the idea of "remote everything" taking over the world: "There's no energy ... Crazy places like New York City," the energy that people congregating here, creates a lifeforce that cannot be replicated in any other way..."

And the real conclusion: "Because of all the real, tough New Yorkers who, unlike you [the people who abandoned it], loved it and understood it, stayed and rebuilt it." 

Count Mr NYC as one of them.

Thanks Mr. Seinfeld.

Review: "The Last Seduction" (1994)

Something was in the movie water in October 1994 when not one, not two, but three very different but nonetheless classic movies were released -- Pulp Fiction, Clerks, and The Last Seduction.

The Last Seduction falls into my favorite new category of NYC movies -- movies about New Yorkers who are far from home, in an environment that is totally alien to them.

The plot revolves a woman who works as a telemarketing manger who is married to a doctor. They are deeply in debt to the mob and decide to make some easy money by engaging in a one time drug deal (the doctor-husband sells some goons stolen prescription drugs and winds up with a big suitcase full of cash). His wife then steals the money and heads upstate, leaving her husband to the mafia's fate, while she plans to get to Chicago and start a new life. Worried that her husband and the mob might find her if she gets to Chicago too soon, she stops in a small town in upstate New York, gets a job, and seduces a local man (hence the title) into murdering her husband (the mob has not yet killed him but instead broken several of his fingers).

Her plan is coldly brilliant and flawlessly executed but she is desperate to get out of this small town and go back to NYC so she can live large on her stolen loot. Throughout the movie there are jokes about living in "cowtown", how this city woman cannot tolerate life in this tiny place, and she even tells her "cowboy" at once point to go find a nice "cowgirl" and make "cowbabies." Lovely lady.

The great actress Linda Fiorentino played Bridget, the scheming femme fatale, while Peter Berg plays the mark of her seduction, and Bill Pullman is her miserable husband. The people in this movie are uniformly horrible, the story starts out dark and gets darker, and it ends badly. But the movie is also very funny and, yes, sometimes sexy. This is the kind of movie that doesnt get made anymore and, had it not been so well made and acted, would have just been another dumb thriller.

So this is a great one to watch although probably not with someone you're in a relationship with. It makes you want to become celibate.  

NYC Renters Catch a Break

For decades the real estate industry has controlled NYC by controlling its politicans -- both at the city and state levels.

Campaign contributions and cynical pressure groups (like "Jobs for New York") have made politicians cower and give landlords and big real estate companies whatever they wanted at the expense of renters and ordinary people. For years they have tried -- and, in some cases almost succeeded -- in getting rent control and stabilization abolished. Renter protections have been systemically weakened over the years, most notably back in 1994 and 1997 (read all about it here).

So when the state legislature this week passed massive new tenant protections it was a huge  historic victory for renters and ordinary New Yorkers after decades of being trampled on: security deposits will be limited to one month, tenant blacklisting and illegal evictions are criminalized, rents regulations are no longer tied to income, more apartments will remained rent regulated. 

These are amazing, great changes -- and show, now more than ever, how elections have consequences.

Ironically, bizarrely, we have an extremely greedy NYC real estate monster to thank for these new laws: Donald Trump. If that psycho hadn't been elected president in 2016, it's quite possible that the Democratic grassroots wouldn't have turned out as strongly as they did in the 2018 elections, leaving the Republicans/IDC corrupt coalition in power in the state senate.

Thanks Donald!

"Around the Town in 26 Hours and 36 Minutes"

In 1974 a very brave Daily News reporter took a marathon ride across the NYC subway system -- and wrote about the entire journey.

Reprinted here for the first time anywhere, go back in time and take the trip of a lifetime around a very different NYC.
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AROUND THE TOWN IN 26 HOURS AND 36 MINUTES 

New York Sunday News March 31, 1974 

The Lefferts Blvd. Station at four in the morning could be the loneliest place in New York. Or maybe just the coldest. Wind blows across the elevated tracks. I look out the train – suspended here – waiting for the return runs to Manhattan. Outside the night is dark except for some metal lamps on the deserted platform. Bare light bulbs form little circles of heat in the cold air. I am absolutely alone. Reflected in the train windows are its baby-blue walls splashed magenta and orange with graffiti. Beyond them I can see the black tops of trees, the low buildings of Queens stretching west toward Brooklyn. Far off, a yellow glow indicates Manhattan. Shivering, I cross to the open door and step out onto the platform. It is very still. A quarter moon hangs over Ozone Park, where all sensible people are asleep.

It might be warmer below near the token booth. Perhaps there is even a candy machine. But if the train should suddenly pull away…? No, I decide. Even if there is a machine, it won’t be working. There are some 6,600 vending machines in the New York Subway System. I know of four that work. The Interborough News Co. owes me eighty-five cents. Dear Sirs … I begin composing a letter in my head – then stop. If I give the locations of all the stations where I lost coins yesterday, they’ll think I’m mad. Some of those stations are 50 miles apart!

It seems to me that I have been here an eternity. I look at my watch: 20 minutes. This wait could ruin my chance at the world record. It stands at 21 hours and 8 minutes.

The first subway riding record – traveling the entire system of routes for a single fare – was set October 27, 1904: IRT Opening Day. The subway, an historic 9.1 miles, extended from City Hall to Grand Central, turning west across 42nd Street to Times Square, and then up Broadway to 145th St. After an official opening trip by city dignitaries – with Mayor McClellan holding a silver controller – followed by several hours of invitational rides, the subway was opened to the public at 7 p.m. 111,881 passengers paid a nickel each to ride that day. Scheduled time for an express was 26 minutes; the local took 46. Although those early riders were conscious of making history, it is doubtful that they had any thoughts of setting track records. It was just too simple.

The new subway generated appendages almost yearly. It reached Brooklyn via tunnel in 1908. The success of the IRT encouraged more construction. The Brooklyn Rapid Transit (after 1923, the BMT) began operations in August 1913, and the city-operated IND was opened Sept. 10, 1932. Under the dual contracts by which the city had financed construction of the privately operated IRT and BMT, it had also retained the right to purchase them. In 1940 both were acquired for $326,248,000. The three lines were unified under city control on June 12 of that year.

Two days before unification, Herman Rinke, a curious and still indefatigable electric railroad enthusiast, decided to tour the existing system for a single five-cent fare. He had no thought of setting a record. With unification, the IRT-operated 9th Ave. El was scheduled for demolition. His trip was a 25-hour sentimental gesture. It turned out to be the first recorded try. Since that day, 66 people have ridden the entire system in 24 recorded trips. These records are kept in an unofficial file at the TA Public Relations Dept. No one knows how may kids have done it just for fun. The 1961 subway map cited the example of a Flushing youth who had ridden all the routes in 25 hours and 36 minutes for a single token. The TA’s aim may have been to point out the scope or convenience of the subway, but that record – set Jan. 25, 1957, by Jerome Moses, 16 – instead seemed to invite competition. During the 1960s, subway derbies became a fad with urban students; 11 of them were completed during the peak years of 1966 and 1967. On April Fools Day of 1966, the M.I.T. Rapid Transit Club began a highly publicized ride. They had used a computer to route their attempt and informed the newspapers. On April 2, they were feeling foolish by 1 hour and 1 minute. And Geoffrey Arnold, who had held the 24 hour, 56 minute record since 1963 when he was 17, remarked “Pacific St. was a ridiculous place to start.” That June, nine boy scouts from Troop 290 in Queens further shamed the computer by logging 23 hours and 18 minutes. And on Aug. 3, 1967, 16-year-old James Law, with six buddies, rode from 168th St., Jamaica to Pelham Bay Park in 22 hours 11½ minutes; a time cited in the current Guinness Book of World Records.

When the Bronx Third Ave. El was closed in August 1973, subway route mileage was diminished 5.5 miles. On Oct. 8, Mayer Wiesen, 35, and Charles Emerson set a “modern record,” riding over 230.8 route miles, changing trains many times, and passing through the 462 operating stations, in 21 hours and 8 minutes. A record which looks as if it will stand unless I get out of the Lefferts Blvd. Station.

At 8 yesterday morning, I am just starting out, entering the 168th St. terminus of the Jamaica spur, an old elevated line taken over and extended by the BMT. The 1893 span between Alabama Ave. and Cypress Hills may be the oldest el track still in continuous use. The train I board is one of the oldest also: rolling stock built in the mid- 1930s. Sixty-watt bulbs light the cars. Hanging down from the ceiling are fans with black blades. I make my way to the front car, intending to ride looking out the window next to the motorman’s cab, but a handsome black kid, about 13, has got there first. He stands, hands in his pockets, nose to the glass, alert, ready to “drive the train.” At 8:03 we head toward Manhattan – looking down long streets of old houses, over expressways clogged with morning traffic, rattling past Cypress Hills Cemetery where miles of tombstones cast small, neat shadows in the early light. At Broadway-Myrtle, I change to the M train, yoyo-ing up and back to cover the Myrtle Line – past houses whose third-story windows, with pulled blinds, are often no more than six feet from the train.

9:15. Manhattan comes into view from the Williamsburg Bridge. The huge building blocks that pile its shore jut powerfully at the sky. Below, the East River is gray. It is a postcard approach. The train “zooms-in” like a 1940s movie – so familiar that I almost expect to see titles flash across. No matter. The Manhattan skyline still makes me gasp.

10:00. I am changing trains in Brooklyn when I see the kid from the Jamaica el again. We grin in recognition. “Hey,” I shout, “Are you doing the system too?” As the train doors shut, I see him nod. He swings off to Coney Island, while I race up in search of the Astoria train. On the DeKalb overpass I spot a snack bar and buy a Coke for breakfast. Aside from some coins in my jeans, a notebook and map, I have decided not to carry anything – sort of an urban Camp Fire Girl.

11:12 – En route to Flushing on a blue World’s Fair train. To my left Shea Stadium passes; while off to the right lies Flushing Meadow. The ribbed Unisphere and skeletal towers of the ’64 Fair rear up out of the flat landscape – fossilized like dinosaurs.

12:05. Returning to Manhattan, I change at Jackson Heights for the newer IND. On the underpass is a Nedicks – coffee and a hot dog – breakfast is shaping up. I am wiping mustard off my fingers when I reach the underground Roosevelt Ave. platform. On May 2, 1970, this was the site of the first subway fatality due to collision or derailment, in 42 years; two GG trains collided during evening rush hour, killing two passengers and injuring 71.

1:55. The F train to Coney Island is one of the new, longer R-44 models: pristine and elegant, with seats of muted orange and yellow. Panels of fake wood are set into its walls and fluorescent lights line the ceiling. Just before the doors close, a chime sounds – rather like the Avon doorbell. The advertising cards, color transparencies lit from behind, glow. These are the poshest cars to travel the subways since No. 3344, “The Mineola,” rolled through in 1904. No. 3344 was the private coach of financier and IRT organizer August Belmont. His car had real wood, mahogany, with velvet-draped picture windows so that guests could enjoy the flashing signals while white-coated stewards broiled steaks in the galley and served iced champagne. Above them, Empire ceilings arched, pale green and gilt; the washroom windows were stained glass. If one cares to make a comparison, the Mineola can be found in the Branford Trolley Museum at East Haven, Connecticut.

I am about to succumb to the quiet style of these long, air-conditioned cars, when I notice that the doors between them are kept locked. Existing subway tunnels were built for 60-foot cars, more the size, if not the décor, of the Mineola. These new, 75-foot units do not mesh properly on curves; the space between cars becomes dangerous. Motormen, conductors, and presumably transit police, have keys, but New Yorkers are naturally leery. Many feel that being trapped in one car could become a risky situation.

The IND Coney Island line becomes elevated for a brief span entering Brooklyn; the highest point in the system, 87.5 feet above street level, is at the Smith and Ninth St. Station. Here the view is open in all directions: back toward postcard Manhattan, out into the harbor. Little automobiles crawl over the arched expressway ahead; below, the Gowanus Canal and Red Hook. Too soon, we are underground.

At Church St. the line ramps upward again, joining the 1919 BMT el track at Ditmas Ave., where it emerges and begins the long approach to the ocean. Coney Island, cold and closed, decorates our passage. Orange and green spokes of the Wonder Wheel circle blue sky; flags and bits of banner blow. A deserted but honky tonk air prevails. We pass the roller coaster, webbed and delicate in the afternoon light. The air is bracing.

2:54. The Brighton Line heads back to Manhattan, for a while paralleling the sea. Short views down streets end in ocean. The pastel acres of Brighton Beach Baths stretch, patterned, toward the sand. We stop at Sheepshead Bay before heading northwest, traveling over the old ground level tracks of the 1890s Brighton Railroad, widened in 1907 to cut through the tree-hung backyards of Victorian mansions facing Buckingham Road.

3:15. At the Prospect Park Station hundreds of high school kids mill, going home. Cops range the platform and one accompanies us onto the Franklin Shuttle. The kids are wonderfully natty; boys and girls stride aboard wearing platform shoes that defy balance, pants with big bells, hats, lots of jewelry, elaborate hair-dos. While I am aware that teenagers in groups are responsible for a fair amount of subway crime, I cannot imagine this stylish group doing anything to muss their clothes. Subway history is full of accounts of rampage and vandalism. Two days after the 1904 opening, eight youths armed with buckshot blowers boarded the new subway at 145th St. and proceeded to shoot out the electric lights while doing gymnastic stunts on the straps. Two were arrested at 96th St., the rest escaped. But this was not the first subway crime. That occurred opening night. During the crowded ride north from Brooklyn Bridge Station, someone lifted the $500 diamond stickpin that had been holding down the tie of Harry Barret of W. 46th St. When he reached Grand Central, his necktie was flapping.

3:50. The return shuttle is almost empty. As it approaches Prospect Park again, we pass near Empire Blvd. In November of 1918 it was still called Malbone St. The name was changed after the Brighton Beach Special, jammed with evening rush hour passengers, failed to make a curve at the tunnel there. Five wooden cars, taken over from the old Brooklyn Union Railroad, were dashed to bits, and passengers thrown rapidly along the tunnel walls, literally had their faces rubbed away. Ninety-seven lost their lives, 150 were injured, and for days the accident drove World War I right off the front pages, When motorman Edward A. Luciano gave himself up, he was found to have had only two hours of instruction before being given the controller at Park Row in Manhattan. Earlier that morning – before motormen walked out in a dispute over unionization – Luciano had been a yard switchman. His promotion was sudden – this was his first run. He was acquitted, and the union made its point.

5:02. I am picking up a few stray miles under Rockefeller Center when evening rush hour begins. While I know the total 3.8 million daily subway riders cannot all be taking the D train tonight – it feels as if they are. Jammed shoulder to shoulder, passengers have nowhere to look but up. Above our heads, “Miss Subways” stares out of her poster, giving us a strained smile, “hoping to do some modeling.” Since 1941, when the contest began, over 200 New York working girls have become “Miss Subways.” In the early years, a new face showed up every month. Currently, two winners, out of six finalists, are chosen every eight months by passenger vote. Miss Subways receives a $40.00 charm bracelet dangling silver tokens, and her picture decorates the 6,700 subway cards for a three-month period. I ride standing all the way to 205th St., Bronx. Sheer endurance does not win a girl the title.

6:10. At 168th St. and Broadway, I change trains again, and descend into the IRT on a hot automated elevator to ride the Seventh Ave. local to Van Cortlandt Park. The ride is through the deepest section of track in the whole system: 180 feet below street level at the 191st St. and St. Nicholas Ave. station.             

7:00. Moving under Harlem on the No. 3, a rather splashy train with big graffiti – mustard yellow and pink predominate. Despite $10 million spent to remove graffiti and 1,562 arrests in 1972, the TA is losing the “spray can war.” I read off the names: Supreme King 219, Snake II, Lopez 138, and amuse myself trying to think up my own subway logo – in case graffiti should become legal. Outside the stations pass, dingy, written all over. Two Black Muslims move in and out of the strap-hangers selling Mohammed Speaks. On this line, I am a “token white” – the pun lifts my spirits.

8:02. TA police range the E. 180th St., Bronx platform where the No. 2 pauses. One boards, walkie-talkie mumbling at his waist. He will be riding until 4 a.m. Since May of 1965, a uniformed transit patrolman has been assigned to every train during these hours.

10:30. I stand in the first car, face pressed against the glass, speeding through a dark, underground world, the lighted coach behind me forgotten, as the black tunnel comes on. Tracks in perspective lines rush, disappearing under my feet, crossing, converging ahead. Signal lights change: yellow – “proceed with reduced speed,” green over yellow – “on diverging track.” Express lines mount, as local tracks sink in the dark. In the distance, tiny orange lights flicker above the tracks, then disappear where track-men carrying lanterns dive into the sidings. Now the square, metal-pillared cut rounds into a tube; we approach the old, 1908, Battery-Joralemon tunnel. Green lights signal us through. I make myself useful peering intently at the dark curved walls, checking for leaks.

1:12. The Wilson Ave. station on the Canarsie line is a narrow, double-decked curiosity: one track occupies each level – the eastbound track emerges, briefly elevated, traveling above the underground westbound span. We pass the deserted platform in half light. It faces – a single track away – the Cemetery of the Evergreens. No one in his right mind would get off at Wilson Ave. at 1:12 in the morning. No one did.

2:30. The A train heads out over the waters of Jamaica Bay, leaving behind the huge glow of JFK that arc-lights the eastern sky. I have made the Rockaway Round Robin on schedule and can relax. Only between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m. is it possible to cover the entire Rockaway peninsula on a single train. This 19th century summer beach resort was linked to the L.I.R.R. until 1956, when service was transferred to the IND. The train moves further out across the vast, dark bay. Only feet below on either side, water laps the narrow trestle. Far out, a crescent of lights veers gently inward on the long railroad stem. Beyond that brilliant curve, the ocean pounds. For miles around the night is black and cold, the water deep. A strange place for a New York subway train.

4:00. And farewell to Lefferts Blvd.

5:30. Waits are long now. The work trains move slowly underground through nearly empty stations, picking up trash and cleaning out tunnels. The New York bars have closed, and some standees on the Hoyt St. platform bear witness to this fact. A heavy black woman joins me; she walks as if her feet hurt, and I suspect she has just got off work. The trains always take a while at this hour, she tells me. We stand together on the platform, unacknowledged sisters, re-enforcing each other. In 1907, the Hudson Tubes were still running Women Only Cars with guards aboard to insure protection. I guess we have come a long way.

At 6:26 the sun rises over Greenwood Cemetery where I am passing, for the second time, over an elderly bit of track known as the Culver Shuttle; 1.1 miles still bear tribute to Andrew Culver, who built a steam railroad to Coney Island that passed over this site in the 1880s.

7:00 – Coney Island for the second time in two days! Crossing the Stillwell Terminal overpass, I go by the employees cafeteria and smell breakfast. On the Sea Beach Line, morning rush hour is just beginning. This is the third rush hour I have ridden through without leaving the subway. The poignancy of that situation might be enough to make one who has dined off Zagnut bars, peanuts, and Lucy Ellen orange slices for two days, get a cramp. I try not to think of hot coffee.

8:10. Changing trains at Union Square I am especially careful, warned by history. The first subway passenger accident occurred here Opening Day, 1904. A Miss Sadie Lawson, 26, of Jersey City, who had been riding north and south for several hours, fell getting off the southbound train and broke her hip. I grab a metal strap and hang on tightly all the way to 42nd St. 

8:25. Times Square. The 42nd St. shuttle contains 2,700 feet of original 1904 IRT track, now isolated. In 1928, the second worst accident in New York subway history happened just south of here on the Seventh Ave. line. A defective switch broke as the ninth car of a 10-car theater rush-hour train was passing over it. The rear wheels switched to a diverging track and the ninth car, running suddenly at right angles to the others, was sheared in two by the steel pillars between tracks. This mechanical “crack the whip” killed 18 passengers and injured 100.

9:30. The Lexington Ave. Express emerges into bright sunlight just before the old Yankee Stadium. Once, under a glaring blue sky, its lacy wood trim gleamed white like decorative icing – a great hollow cake with a short right field. Now, under the ungentle touch of the renovators, the place is growing unrecognizable. At the Woodlawn terminus, the leaves have lost their Fall colors, but on the golf course below, lucky men tee off across rolling fairways. It is a splendid day for riding elevated trains.

10:39. Pelham Bay Park. I have made the trip – on 67 different trains – in only 26 hours and 36 minutes. 26 hours and 36 minutes! The thought that I may be the first woman to complete the ride does not console me at all. But the sun is shining. And I have my logo: Ms. Subways 114.
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You can read this essay and other great ones just like it in How the Camp Fire Girls Won World War II by Rebecca Morris. 

Also, read more 1970s subways coverage from the Village Voice here.