Knickerbocker Saloon Neighborhood Bar

Years ago, when I lived in Paris I finally got to Harry's New York Bar and it brought home to me the difference between the French cafe experience I had been having for months and the usual American bar scene.  To a great degree, it was a question of configuration.  Geometry.  Layout.

At the bar, people sit alone facing the bartender.  Even if they're together, with friends, there's a solitary feeling.  Me and my drink.  Inevitably, there is that reflective moment, when the patron stares down at the drink, at the bar top.

So it seemed with Mr. Charles McCarty who sat down next to me at the Knickerbocker Saloon late one afternoon.  He ordered his dinner from the bartender -- a steak to go -- and a dark beer while he waited for it.  He stared down at the glass.

I had just had a brief, lively conversation with three young people to my right -- two girls who had been sitting there for a while when a guy arrived.  I gave him my barstool so he could sit next to his friends, much as an airline traveler might do, except I did it before being asked, as soon as he appeared, for which they thanked me.

It opened the door to an exchange in which they told me that they had grown up in  Massachusetts -- the guy and one of the girls on Cape Cod -- and the second girl who was visiting, still lived in Boston.  It was a reunion of sorts.  The two from Cape Cod told me how magical the place of their birth would always be, but quickly added how much they liked New York, the neighborhood, and the bar, which they called "a neighborhood bar."  We had that conversation about how natural New Yorkers are born all over of the country but only feel at home when they finally arrive in this city.

When I turned to him, Mr. McCarty looked up from his glass, and proudly informed me that he was now in his 92nd year.  He had lived in the neighborhood since the 1960's.  Four years ago, he had lost his wife of more than 50 years. 

"Add 2 more years," he said, "if you count when we lived in sin, if you believe in sin." 

"It can't be sin," I said, "if it lasts for 50 years."

"Charles Stoneham McCarty," he introduced himself, and challenged me to tell him what the "Stoneham" might stand for.

 "Owner of the baseball New York Giants?" I offered.

"I'm named for him," he said.

"Then you must like baseball."

"Baseball is chess," he said.  "All the others are checkers."

The sound of many conversations rose above the neighborhood bar, rose above the limitations of geometry.

Knickerbocker Saloon Cultural Hotspot

I was pleased to be invited to the 35^th anniversary celebration at the Knickerbocker Saloon on a Sunday evening towards the end of April.  I had the good fortune to find myself at a table with three writers and a literary agent for yet another lively conversation at the Knick – cultural hot spot for all of its 35 years.

Nearly every discussion among creative people these days evolves into an exploration of changing media formats and this was no exception.  We moved from vinyl records and rare first editions to ebooks, intellectual property rights, concerts, photography, collaborative writing, history, music, concerts, the state of the music industry, assassinations, the de-sensitizing of violence and dozens of other subjects.

Peter Knobler sat to my left.  He specializes in collaboration and has written best selling books with James Carville, Kareem Abdul-Jabar, William Bratton, Hakeem Olajuwan, Sumner Redstone and others.  His current project is a book with ex-NYC Mayor David Dinkins.  He is the former editor of Crawdaddy Magazine.

Rick Woodward spoke extensively about his theories of photography and violence, and about how photographic images desensitize us to violence, beginning with iconic images surrounding the assassination of JFK, especially the killing of Lee Harvey Oswald, seen live across the country by so many.  His forthcoming book explores the subject.

Bruce Weber, a NY Times reporter, talked to us about the special art of writing obituaries for living people, except for the lead paragraph of course.  The recent collection of NY Times Obits in bookstores includes 75 entries he has written.  His book, “As They See ‘Em” is considered the definitive work on baseball umpiring.  Imagine my surprise to meet the author, since I happen to be reading his book; only after he mentioned the title, two hours into our conversation did the light go on for me.

Chris Calhoun of Chris Calhoun Agency, the businessman at the table, is a literary agent whose career of more than 20 years has included representation of such literary names as Billy Collins.  He opened his own agency in 2011 and represents some of America’s most prominent journalists, critics, historians, poets, and novelists.  He brought a worldly dimension to the conversation.

Champagne and hors d’oeuvres punctuated the talk in the best Knickerbocker fashion, as did visits to the table by Steve Jones, always completely at ease as the consummate host in a venue with original Hirshfelds on the walls.   I am happy to call him my friend of many years.