#East 97th

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Israeli occupation airstrikes targeted Khan Yunis, in the south of Gaza, leaving several casualties among paramedics and civil defense teams. The Palestinian Red Crescent says occupation forces continue to target ambulance and civil defense crews in the latest of Israel's crimes.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚨 💥PARAMEDICS AND JOURNALISTS TARGETED ON 97TH DAY OF ISRAELI GENOCIDE💥

Israeli Occupation Forces ramped up their bombing and shelling of the Gaza Strip Thursday, killing dozens and targeting journalists and paramedics on the 97th day of the Israeli genocide of Palestinians.

In the south of the Gaza Strip, six Palestinian civilians were killed and many more wounded east of Khan Yunis, as a result of bombing raids by Israeli jets.

Also in the South of Gaza, occupation aircraft bombarded the home of the Bassam Abu Namous family on al-Samasma Street, west of Khan Yunis, killing seven civilians and wounding 25 others.

Occupation helicopters also fired sporadically into Khan Yunis, killing 19 over the previous day, due to Israeli bombardment.

IOF soldiers also continue to bomb and shell various residential homes in the Qaizan al-Najjar neighborhood in the south of Khan Yunis.

In Gaza City, IOF warplanes targeted the home of journalist Mohammed al-Thalathiini, killing the reporter and bringing the death toll among journalists in Israel's genocide to 112 since October 7th.

Israeli forces also targeted the al-Bureij, al-Maghazi, al-Nuseirat and the al-Mughraqa Camps area in central Gaza with heavy artillery fire and bombing raids.

In addition to these crimes, a Palestinian youth was seriously wounded as a result of targeting by an Israeli missile fired from a drone on al-Bahr Street in Rafah, southern Gaza.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the north of Rafah, southern Gaza Strip, the Abu Hatab family home was targeted by the Israeli occupation, killing six and wounding several others.

A multitude of wounded Palestinian civilians were also rushed to al-Shifa Medical Complex in the west of Gaza City, with three citizens killed from the Machi family, in the vicinity of the now defunct and destroyed Gaza International Airport that once existed in the enclave's capital.

In central Gaza, six Palestinians, including four from ambulance crews, were slaughtered when occupation jets targeted and bombed an ambulance on Salah al-Din Street, adjacent to the al-Maghazi Refugee Camp.

According to the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS), the Israeli occupation "deliberately targets" its ambulance crews, even when coordinating with International partners, with the PRCS warning against the targeting of the few remaining medical centers in the area.

A Palestinian residential home was also targeted near the entrance to al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in the Deir al-Balah area, resulting in the deaths of 12 civilians including journalist Ahmed Badir.

While in central Gaza, in the al-Maghazi Refugee Camp area, at least 17 civilians were murdered in strikes by occupation munitions, while Israeli forces also heavily bombed and shelled the al-Bureij and Nuseirat Camp residential areas.

In addition, Wafaa al-Bass, a recently freed prisoner held by the occupation, was killed in her home in the north of the Gaza Strip.

Since the beginning of Israel's genocide of Palestinians in the Gaza Strip began on October 7th, 2023, in excess of 23'357 Palestinians have been killed, with an additional 59'410 wounded in Israeli war crimes.

#source1

#source2

#videosource1

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[manhattanstepbystep]

Streets of El Barrio: Fifth Ave between East 97th Street and East 96th Street in Spanish Harlem, upper Manhattan

And this concludes the very large neighborhood of Spanish Harlem, El Barrio! Now, onto the west side...

[embe95]

Camouflage roses

Pt. 1

In a world at war, the 95th regiment is waiting for their orders at a country estate. Hwang Hyunjin sees the beautiful garden and the beautiful creature tending to it, and he just can’t resist. War is cruel and ugly, and its been so long since he has seen something beautiful.

Pairing: Hyunjin x reader

Genre: au (kind of) historic drama, slow burn, strangers to ???

Words: 2628

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

”Beautiful.”

”Jesus, you scared me!”

The camouflage really works… I was so enticed by the first peony I didn’t even notice a person making their way next to me. Most of all because nobody ever wanders into my garden, which I highly prefer.

The man in said camouflage stands beside me, so close his scent overpowers my flowers.

”Sorry,” he speaks in an amused tone, softly smiling down at the plants rather than looking at me and owning up to giving me a heart attack. ”Just admiring.”

There’s a great deal to admire, I’ll give him that. Our garden and greenhouse are a matter of pride to our family, even though I’m the one who has been tending to it, keeping it presentable and viable since mother died some years ago. To my knowledge, the oldest plants here were planted nearly three hundred years ago when our family first built the mannor house here. And to me this space, these vines and roots feel like a legacy worthy of preservation and protection. Convincing my father and brother of that is like rubbing sand paper on your armpits, but I manage. And they’re happy that I have something to keep me busy and distracted from the war raging out there.

Which brings me back to the camouflage character too close to me and my plants.

”You’re not supposed to be here.”

That strikes a chord, it almost seems as though he forgot where and who he was. The soldier straightens up like a metal rod had just attached to his spine and clicks his heels together so hard and fast he must usually be one for the rules.

”Pardon ma’am, I’ll depart.”

There’s a gleam in the corners of his brown eyes and pink lips.

”Your name, private…?”

”Private first class Hwang Hyunjin, ma’am! Sorry for entering the premises without authorization!” his voice booms. I feel the need to shush him.

”It’s alright, at ease or whatever, please stop shouting. You just scared me.”

His posture relaxes and his smile returns to inhabit the rest of his face, now in almost full force I’m sure. It’s magnificent.

”Why are you here?” my curiosity rarely extends beyond the realm of roots and blooms, but that smile… lips like rose petals, and hair as dark as the heartwood of an ebony.

”I’m a part of the 95th-”

”Yes, I know why you’re on my father’s property,” I interupt the already known to get to the needed answer. ”I mean here, as in the garden.”

The 95th, 96th and 97th regiment are our ”guests”, here because we live close to the border and our estate is now their command post thanks to my father’s endless generosity. I don’t mean to sound selfish or spoiled, I had just prayed that the war wouldn’t reach us. Wishful thinking, I know, and I am proud of my family for doing their part. But now I’m stuck, because I’m not permitted to go and fight or join the workers in the factories because father won’t allow it, and I refuse to go stay with our relatives in the east. So the deal we struck is that I remain here, on the premises.

”Heard the birds, saw the flowers… saw you…” his voice wanders off, hand reaching for the stem of a particularly spectacular peony. ”I haven’t seen beautiful things in months.”

I was about to smack his hand away before he said that. He deserves this, I get to look at beautiful things on the daily. And the smack would’ve been unnecessary anyway, since the next moment proves that he’s very gentle. His fingers merely graze the stem, ever so slightly, and I can see the permanent dirt and old cuts on otherwise delicate digits, that must’ve once done something much softer than holding a weapon. There’s a sadness in his eyes that now replaces the playfulness from before.

”I imagine… I can’t imagine, actually. I’m sorry.”

”Perfectly alright, ma’am.”

He straightens again, focus back on me instead of the plant at waist height. ”Once again, sorry for the disruption.”

”Oh no, it’s alright, really, you just frightened me.”

”Not my intention, I assure you ma’am,” there’s that glint again.

”Was it not?” I insist.

”Perish the thought.”

And then the cheeky devil winks before marching away. The nerve! I audibly grunt because my cheeks feel hot and return to my task of watering everyone. Now I’m late AND agitated, I can’t believe I thought I saw something deeper other than a moronic soldier who just wanted to flirt.

But… he didn’t seem like a moronic soldier. I think he also called me beautiful. The sadness that enveloped him for a moment was real, I’m sure, even if I can’t say I’m an expert when it comes to assessing character. Give me any plant, branch or bloom and I can tell you its age, the latin name, country of origin and care instructions, but as my family has often pointed out, I know very little of humans.

Well, anyway, I’m glad he’s off. And I’m glad I didn’t have time to tell him he can return to the garden as well as greenhouse at his leisure with my permission. Quite glad. Quite. There are dozens of soldiers at the estate as we speak. I’m sure I won’t be bothered by Hwang Hyunjin again.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

I was wrong. So very wrong. Because Hwang Hyunjin seems to now think that my greenhouse and garden are his to peruse and shuffle through as if they’re a public library.

I don’t mind his face, he’s terrifyingly pretty. But he’s a joker, a cavalier goose who has invaded my personal space without authorization. I don’t understand him or his motivations, and when I ask, he jests. Or flirts, I think. He ought to stick to his military duties, there must be something he’s neglecting because of this because none of the other soldiers simply loiter. He truly is infuriating, I wish he’d just leave me be. What do you mean ’have I told him’? Well, no. Not in so many words.

”You’re here again?” I stare at him in the morning mist, completely bewildered by his existence in my happy place as well as in the world, because the first rays of the morning sun flow through his hair and make his skin look like porcelin, or the luminous white of a lily, so he doesn’t look like a real person as much as he looks like a fae or elf.

He straightens up from the lily pads, an absentminded, weary smile on his rose petal lips.

”Sorry,” his voice is hoarse from sleep, or lack there of, I’m not sure. ”Just needed something beautiful.”

The reply stumps me, which happens whenever he appears genuine, exposed somehow.

”Are-” I clear my throat. ”Are you alright?”

Hyunjin hums. I notice dark circles around his almond eyes. He changes the subject. ”You’re up early.”

”Y-Yes, I wanted to come and see some blooms opening before breakfast.”

”Me too,” he says, eyes drifting towards the baronesse bush to my right. His stance is so steady, but his fingers give the anxiousness away, silently yet persistently tapping at his trouser leg.

I decide not to pry, it’s none of my business after all. No matter how much he inhabits my greenhouse.

We watch the sun rise and softly bring everything to life.

It’s infuriatingly peaceful and nice, I think as I go back inside.

”Where were you this morning?” father questions at breakfast once I’ve returned. My brother stares at me with the exact same look, and I’m reminded of how similar they are, both inside and out. Before I even get a chance to reply said brother rolls his eyes and explains to our father that naturally I was in the greenhouse.

”Where else?”

I want to make a statement about how there’s not a thing in Seungmin’s life he’s passionate about apart from pleasing father, and how it’s not my fault plants are far more interesting than either of them with their endless conversations about the war effort, bonds, the estate, and the family business.

But I settle for a nod. I just want to get some sustenance before heading back out, no need for a whole debate to ensue.

”Who were you with?”

”What?” I nearly choke on my coffee. Father’s expression is eerily jovial. ”What do you mean?”

”I was in the study after waking up, and heard the door close twice.”

”Oh!” I exclaim too quickly, considering that I haven’t thought of an answer. ”Oh… I uh, I wasn’t with anyone. A soldier was doing his rounds.”

”Their rounds don’t include your greenhouse,” Seungmin states, raising an eyebrow.

”W-Well…” I start while lifting a napkin to my lips to buy a few valuable seconds. ”Maybe not according to your schedules, but I’ve asked them to include it.”

”You?”

”Yes.”

”Have voluntarily asked people into your greenhouse?”

”Well, as voluntarily as one can at war time. I wouldn’t want a spy to lurk behind my azaleas and have access to the plans in father’s study and maybe to take us all out just because my greenhouse hasn’t been properly guarded. But of course if I’ve overstepped I apologize, I’ll ask the rounds to stop.”

”No, no,” father sighs, happy to have my rant over. ”Good thinking, dear, but please run these ideas by us the next time.”

I smile politely. ”Of course, father. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my happy place. The lilac season is ending and the branches need trimming.”

”How exciting,” Seungmin chuckles sarcastically.

”It is, thank you.”

Walking down the aisle towards the back door that leads to the garden I feel heavy due to my lie. Why did I even choose to lie? Hwang Hyunjin isn’t a secret, is he? Maybe I just didn’t want him in trouble, which is what would’ve happened if I’d stated that there’s a soldier who enjoys spending time in the greenhouse, and maybe with… me? They would’ve punished him somehow, and no matter how annoying he is, I wouldn’t want that for him. They might prohibit him from coming at all, and I wouldn’t want that… for him.

I take the fib further when Hyunjin comes by next time in an effort to make the lie more of a mistake in verb tenses.

”You want me to guard the greenhouse?” Hyunjin tilts his head.

”Yes,” I speedily answer, focused on trimming the third lilac bush of wilted leaves and dying blooms. It’s so sad to watch such a gorgeous plant in this state, but I attempt to remind myself that I’m giving it ”the phoenix treatment”, so it can rise again next spring. ”I told my father the greenhouse is guarded and I need to make it true.”

”And why, pray tell, did you say that?” he leans on one of the pilars, a cheeky grin smeared on his smug face.

”I-” I feel a blush coming on. ”They were saying I do nothing to help, so I said I’ve ordered soldiers to-”

”Ordered? Ma’am, you can’t give us orders.”

”Well no, of course not, bad choice of words… I’ve asked soldiers to guard the greenhouse as well.”

He’s quiet, so quiet that I stop my work and turn to stare at him.

”Alright,” he finally says. I can see the familiar, amused glint in his eyes and somehow know he doesn’t believe me. This is going to come back and bite me, isn’t it?

”But I want to formally meet general Kim, you know, so he knows exactly who he’s letting get close to you.”

I am correct.

Close to you… Hyunjin’s words make me gulp, and I hope it’s not audible.

The next morning I ask father and Seungmin to meet Hyunjin, scared out of my mind of what could come of it. But it goes… splendidly. Hyunjin is an irritatingly stereotypical soldier, charming my father instantly while giving no hint of having even met me before I’d ”inquired about arranging a detail for the estate’s greenhouse”. If his skill with a weapon is anything like his conversational skills then we really have nothing to worry about, there’s no doubt in my mind we’ll win.

”But of course you’ll have to leave the post if you’re called to the front,” father seriously points his fork at Hyunjin. I don’t even want to think about the front.

”Of course, general,” the soldier nods in reply, and I have a flash of what Hyunjin would look like bleeding and gasping for air, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

And so it is settled. Now suddenly, instead of complaining about Hyunjin being around so much, I’ve personally ensured that his orders are to do so. I’ve given him full access and permission to enter the premises. Wow.

Right away on that very same afternoon, soldier Hwang is making his rounds as requested, looking happy as I’ve ever seen him.

”Don’t make me regret this,” I groan as he exaggeratedly looks under the tables and stalks behind pilar. I already regret it, my hidden chuckle is not to be taken as approval. ”I’m positive that no one is hiding in the compost!”

”Ah, mi lady, you can’t be too careful!” Hyunjin leaps from a crouching position near the compost to the nearest pilar. He laughs heartily, relaxes his shoulders and leans on the table. ”Thank you for giving something more to do, it’s a welcome change from border surveillance and waiting to be called upon to be here with you.”

He speaks with a strange mix of ease and gravity, the words are joyful but completely earnest. ”But…” he begins and I just know he is going to ruin the genuine air he created. ”…if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could’ve just said so.”

The nerve! I scoff. ”I… I just didn’t want you to get into trouble. You seem to like the distraction of the plants and since my father almost caught you, I had to think of something. I repeat: do not make me regret it.”

”Thank you, ma’am.”

I glance at him saluting me, trying to force my lips to remain straight. Why do they keep curling up? Why does the sun keep framing him like its favourite son? Why do I want him here?

What was I looking for?

”Here,” Hyunjin hands me my shears before I reach for them. Thoughtful dumbass.

”You’re in my head. I don’t like it…”

”You don’t sound sure.”

”I’m considering between dislike and hate.”

”Funny.”

”Not to me, it’s not. Get out.”

”Alright.”

”No! I mean, yes, fine, leave.”

”You just said to-”

”I meant from my head!”

”Oh. Well… should I go?”

”I don’t care.”

”Right, of course you don’t. I’ll be on my way then. No danger here. Goodbye, ma’am.”

Hyunjin turns and makes his way to the garden as I stomp toward the lily pond. Obviously I care, the question is WHY? I want him out, out of my brain, out of my sight. Out out out. Jesus. It’s only a few hours until his next rounds, I’ll see him then. Phew. I mean ew.

Ew, his hair, how it’s so curly and shiny and always looks like he got off a horse. Ew, his rose petal lips that shine even when cracked and curve when he smiles. Ew, his hands with gritty, army-molded creases paired with long, slender, artistic fingers. Ew, his gentle self, brave soul and fantastic eyes. Just… phew.

And suddenly its time for dinner. I’m just out the door when I hear it; a loud *pang* from a distance followed by a whistle. The bomb lands in the garden.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Looking out of a store window on the east side of Madison Avenue between 96th and 97th Streets, ca. 1956.

Photo: John Albok via MCNY

[eretzyisrael]

Harry Rabinowitz poses for a photo outside of his Delicatessen in New York City, 1910. The Rabinowitz family lived above the store at 1403 Madison Avenue and East 97th Street in the Upper East Side. Harry’s son Jerome later changed his last name to Robbins. Jerome Robbin’s is world renowned for his work as a choreographer of ballets as well as his work as a director and choreographer in theater, movies and television; best known for his work on West Side Story and Fiddler on the Roof.

Humans of Judaism

[historysisco]

On This Day in New York City History February 11, 1897: The White Rose Mission (also known as the White Rose Home for Colored Working Girls and the White Rose Industrial Association) was established in New York City on 97th Street in what is now the Upper East Side.

The New York Public Library Archives and Manuscripts page describes it as follows:

"The White Rose Mission and Industrial Association was founded in 1897 in New York City by Victoria Earle Matthews (1861-1907), former slave, journalist, author, and social worker. The Mission was a Christian, non-sectarian social center for African-American women who had migrated to the North in search of employment."

Victoria Earle Matthews (May 27, 1861 - March 10, 1907) was the daughter of a slave and its believed her father was the master of the plantation. Her mother would escape to New York City and after the Civil War would return to Georgia to claim Victoria and her younger sister. Both girls would return to NYC with their mother.

Matthews would self educate herself  and eventually became a journalist working on such NYC newspapers as the New York Times, New York Herald and the New York Sunday Mercury. She would also write for such African American newspapers as the Boston Advocate and the New York Globe.

Matthews would found such organizations as the Woman's Loyal Union (1892) and the National Federation of Afro-American Women (1895). The establishment of the White Rose Mission in 1897 sought to help black girls and young single women migrating from the south to learn skills that would help them find employment and to provide adfoddable shelter.

Matthews also wrote such novels as Aunt Lindy: A Story Founded on Real Life (1893) and helped to put together the address delivered at the first Congress of Colored Women of the United States, at Boston, Mass., July 30th, 1895 entitled The Value of Race Literature. It called for the collecting of writing both by and about African Americans. She also lectured on "The Awakening of the Afro-American Woman" and edited “Black Speeches, Addresses, and Talks of Booker T. Washington." Matthews would die of Tuberculosis on March 10, 1907.

The White Rose Mission would move to a larger location in 1897 at 217 East 86th Street and eventually moving to 262 West 136th Street in Harlem in 1918 until its closure in 1984.

#WhiteRoseMission #VictoriaEarleMatthews #BlackHistory #BlackStudies #BlackHistoryMatters #AfricanAmericanHistory #AfricanAmericanStudies #WomensHistory #WomensStudies #HERStory #SocialHistory #NYHistory #NYCHistory #History #Historia #Histoire #Geschichte #HistorySisco

https://www.instagram.com/p/Cohmb_pu5YW/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[notesonnewyork]

Editor’s Note (7)

East Harlem, April 28, 1947. You’re looking at the Marx Brothers Playground on Second Avenue between East 96th and 97th Streets. This image was taken a few days before it opened to the public on May 1st. Although dubbed the “96th Street Playground” then, it would eventually be renamed after comedic legends Harpo, Groucho, and Chico who grew up a few blocks away at 179 East 93rd Street. Today, the playground is the subject of a serious land use debate: Is it a piece of protected parkland or just a playground that generates floor area for development? On October 23, 2017, Governor Cuomo directed Rose Harvey, State Commissioner of the Department of Parks, Recreation, and Historic Preservation, to find out. 

I’ve been doing research on the topic for the past few months, and City Limits just published my investigation. You can check out the whole story here:

https://citylimits.org/2017/11/14/manhattan-parcel-with-murky-origins-could-frame-a-debate-over-parks-and-development-in-the-city/

A special shout out to Jarrett Murphy, who allowed my writing to appear in his paper’s pages. Thank you so much!

-----

(Screenshot taken from The New York Times’ article introducing the new playground on April 28, 1947. Retouched for clarity by Riff Chorusriff.)

[futurebird]

North Brother Island

In 1904 New York City's lower east side was home to a thriving German American community. In that same year they would be uniquely struck with one of the most terrible disasters in the city (and America's) history.

This is one of those disasters that might be better known today for the tendency to overlook and forget it. But, this was a tragedy on the scale of the Titanic and 9/11. 

June is always hot and miserable in NYC. Especially in the days before air-conditioning. The chance to go on a riverboat ride must have seemed like a special treat for the children of the working and middle class families in the lower east side. 

Fresh air and sightseeing!

They packed picnic baskets and some got dressed up. This kind of outing was a tradition on the last day of school. It was a Wednesday, most of the men were at work, still the General Slocum , an old steamship with budget prices for holiday outings would be packed.

The trip started out as planned. Everyone was having a wonderful time. But, around them were ominous signs that the passengers couldn't have been expected to notice. 

The General Slocum didn't have enough life boats.

The few that it had were so disused that paint had stuck them to the decks. 

The life jackets, far too few in number, were filled with rotting cork that would be useless for buoyancy. 

Back then it was extremely rare for city children to know how to swim.

The steam ship took off up the east river. It must have been a powerful engine to cope with the tides. They were making good time going at about 15 knots or 17 mph when, around 97th street the crew noticed a fire.

They tried to use the fire hose, but like nearly all of the safety equipment it had not been tested for far too long and burst. They couldn't put out the fire. And the boat was speeding up, not slowing down!

Boats tried to pick up passengers but the ship was moving too quickly. It would crash near North Brother Island. Home to a quarantine hospital.  (And a few years later Typhoid Mary.)

The nurses and patients at the hospital rushed heroically to the beach and saved a number of lives.

But, caught between drowning for not knowing how to swim and death by fire the majority of passengers would perish. A congressional hearing would follow. People were outraged.

The ship had been inspected not long before the disaster. And the inspection documents claimed that it had sufficient life jackets and life boats. It is likely the inspector was paid off by someone at the Knickerbocker Steam Ship company.

Little Germany was devastated and would never be the same. Death touched every apartment in some buildings. And, for a time, it was all that people would talk about.

But, then greater tragedies would come to overshadow it, and time would soften the grief.

There is a memorial in the city. A children's water fountain. 

I mostly know about this story because I have a kind of obsession with North Brother Island.

Between it's legacy as a small pox quarantine hospital, the steam ship disaster and Typhoid Mary... North Brother is a place that NYC rarely thinks about. 

Though in the 50s and 60s there was new construction there. A "home for way ward youth" It seems like all these islands beyond the Hell's Gate are places where the city puts people and things it wants to forget.  Riker's island isn't far from North Brother. One is totally uninhabited and taken over by nature, the other ought to be.

On North Brother island most of the windows in the old buildings from the 60s are broken and at this time of year leaves blow in to collect around the forgotten bookshelves and murals. Spent summer weeds have started growing in the hallways, and give their last gasp of life before the snow drifts come. 

You can't hear the city on that island, just the thrumming of  insects. And maybe the cries of the nurses rousing everyone to run to the sandy north shore.

[nyc-cpw]

Manhattan Valley

Manhattan Valley is a neighborhood in the northern part of Upper West Side in Manhattan, New York City. It is bounded by West 110th Street to the north, Central Park West to the east, West 96th Street to the south, and Broadway to the west.[1] It was formerly known as the Bloomingdale District, a name still in occasional use.

Geography

Manhattan Valley occupies a natural depression running east-west across Manhattan, declining rapidly from high rocky bluffs at the western border of modern Central Park, and following west the valley created by what was once a minor stream draining from roughly the area of the Harlem Meer into the Hudson River.[2] The area is located on a gentle slope between West 96th Street and W. 105th Street.[3]

A division preferred by community groups extends the area south to W. 96th Street,[1][3] a major thoroughfare which runs in its own natural valley and stretches across town through Central Park.[3]

From west to east, Broadway, Amsterdam Avenue, Columbus Avenue, Manhattan Avenue, and Central Park West are north-south thoroughfares through the neighborhood. Amsterdam Avenue, Broadway, and Central Park West proceed in an uninterrupted grid; Columbus Avenue becomes Morningside Drive north of W. 110th Street. Manhattan Avenue originates at 100th Street and proceeds north into Harlem.[4] Several large swaths of Manhattan Valley are made up of residential developments which break the regular city street grid. The area from W. 100th to W. 97th Streets between Central Park West and Amsterdam Avenue consists of Park West Village, a "towers in a park" housing development. Another superblock, occupied by the Frederick Douglass Houses lies just to the north, bordered by Amsterdam Avenue, W. 100th Street, Manhattan Avenue, and West 104th Street. Columbus Avenue also passes through both of these developments.[4]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattan_Valley

[jeannereames]

This is probably a very stupid question, but how did the Ancient Greeks measure time (in terms of years and months) ? What was their calendar like? What year would Alexander have viewed himself to be living in?

I love these sorts of daily-life details, so I may have got a little carried away…. Before I get into the weeds, however, I want to make everyone aware of a reference resource:

E. J. Bickerman, Chronology of the Ancient World. Thames & Hudson, 1968.

Yeah, it’s old now, but Bickerman spent most of his career on dating puzzles, and I don’t think there’s anything recent to match it. When I first was told about it years ago in my historiography class, I practically bounced off the walls. (My fellow grad students thought I’d lost my mind.)

I’m not sure of the best way to address this query—topically or geographically—but I’ll go with topically. I’ll also say upfront that I’m unfamiliar with Egypt, so they’re not much mentioned. Also, if you want more details on any particular system (Roman, Athenian, Babylonian, Jewish), there are plenty of online resources.

Long-count Calendar

How to number years across a span? Regnal years was most common in antiquity: year 1, year 2, year 3 of ___ king. Also, king lists detailed how long ___ ruled. The Ancient Near East (ANE) excelled at chronologies; we have some that go back to Sumer. That’s pre-Bronze Age. The span of some reigns can be deeply problematic (e.g., mythical), but we have the lists. Fun note, Neo-Assyrians named years by its major military campaign. Tells us a lot about them, no?

What about places without kings? Greece, Rome, Carthage?

The Greeks had several systems, internal and panhellenic. Internal systems often dated by the name of a prominent city magistrate. In Athens, that was the eponymous archon, in Sparta, the eponymous ephor, etc. The panhellenic system used Olympic years. In Dancing with the Lion, if you look at date plates before sections, that’s what I used. It’s a 4-year system, so, “In the year of the 97th Olympiad,” “In the first year of the 97th Olympiad,” “In the second year…,” and “In the third year…,” then we’re to “In the year of the 98th Olympiad…” In modern annotation it’s Ol. 97.1, Ol. 97.2, Ol. 97.3, Ol. 97.4. From (our year) 776 BCE down into the Roman Imperial era, the Olympics made useful anchor dating for the eastern Mediterranean (Magna Graecia).

Rome had its own system: two in fact. It counted years by both consuls, but also AUC = ab urba condita … “from the founding of the city.” Carthage used a similar system involving their two senior Judges for their senate.

When it came to “world histories,” authors such as Diodoros Siculus used several systems: Olympiad, Athenian archon, and Roman consuls. It gets a bit unwieldy, but is about as universal as we have for the Med until Christianity took over everything.

Yearly Calendars

Much of the ancient world used lunar (354 days), not solar (356 days) calendars. Yes, they knew a lunar year didn’t line up with the solar, and they used “intercalation” to fix it, avoiding summer festivals being celebrated in winter. Either a 13th month was needed every 3 years, or they added a few days to months here and there, making a “lunisolar” calendar. We have an intercalated day in our own calendar: Feb. 29th in Leap Year. To fix a calendar, however, an “anchor” is needed. This anchor is usually a solstice or equinox, which may (or may not) correspond to their New Year.

Our modern (Western) world places New Year’s in the dead of winter. But many pre-modern calendars put it in spring. Makes sense: life renews, it’s a new year. The Babylonian New Year was decided by the spring equinox—first new moon after—which pattern affected most of the ANE.

The Hebrew New Year (Rosh Hashana) is in autumn, but their first month (Nisan) is in spring. (They also have a New Year for Trees! Tú bish'vat. How cool is that?) Wanna know when your Jewish friends are having a holiday? Use Hebcal, the gold standard.

MANY ancient cultures have more than one calendar running at a time. So do we. Working in the uni, I have the “normal” year, but also the “academic” year to keep up with.

Despite the dominance of certain early systems like Babylon, counting the new year was specific to a region and people, and their religious traditions. No single Greek new year tradition existed. Both Delos and Athens used the first new moon after the summer equinox: early July. The Macedonian calendar seems to as well, so Alexander was born in the first month of the year. Other city states were different. I’ve forgotten most but do remember Sparta’s is in autumn because their new year almost falls on my birthday.

Remember, although we today talk about “ancient Greece” as if it were a country—it wasn’t. There was a landmass called Hellas, but each city-state was independent, and had its own laws, gov’t, coinage, and religious cult. Too often “Greek” winds up being conflated with “Athenian,” because we happen to have the most evidence from ancient Athens. But both Athens and Sparta were weirdos. Corinth, Thebes, Argos, Mytilene, Cos, Eretria, Miletus…all were a lot more typically Greek in their gov’t systems, etc. There were also 3 (or 4) different branches of Greek: Ionic-Attic, Doric, and Aeolic. When we talk about reading the “ancient Greek” language today, most people mean Attic Greek, or even Koine Greek (Hellenistic era common Greek).

That means every city-state had its own calendar, connected to its own festivals.

In fact, most city-states had several: sacred, civic, etc. Athens had a 12-month lunar calendar for festivals, but a 10-month civic calendar corresponding to the 10 tribes for Assembly business. Originally, they had only 4 tribes, not 10, so political changes meant calendar changes.

In each city-state, month names were derived from the major festival for that month. We have the complete month names for only a few: Athens is one and (fortunately for me) Macedon is another (specifically Ptolemaic, but it’s likely the same as the Argead). Below “Ancient Greek Month” REALLY means “Athenian month,” which annoys the hell out of those of us who don’t consider Athens the be-all and end-all of Greek history!

Because their months were lunar, they bisect our months, e.g., July/Aug = Athenian Hekatombian or Macedonian Loos [Alexander’s birthmonth], Jan/Feb = Athenian Gamelion or Macedonian Peritios [probably the month that gave Alexander’s favorite hound his name: Peritos]. Likewise, as the Athenian new year began in midsummer, dating ancient events also bisects. You’ll see 342/1 to designate the year from July of 342 BCE to June of 341.

As mentioned, most places used lunar months as the most basic time-keeping, but the moon isn’t the only way to make a “month.” Rome originally had 10 months of 30/31 days, adding 2 later, which is why our 12 months have Romanesque names.

Just remember: NO UNIVERSAL SYSTEM for months.

What About Weeks?

A seven-day week is borrowed from the Jews via Christianity. Both Jews and Egyptians had a dedicated day of rest. (For Egypt, the 10th day.) In most places, however, days off were festival related. Every month had festivals, which might last from half a day to several days in a row. You worked…took off for a festival…then you worked. No regular day of rest. (For the modern weekend? Thank unions and the Labor Movement!)

How did others subdivide a month? Athenian months were c. 30 days, divided into 10s: 1-10, 11-20, 10-1. Yup, the last is backwards. But dating also counted waxing and waning moons. So the new moon began a month, the 7th of the month would be the 7th waxing moon, the 24th the 6th waning moon. This is the Athenian system. Other city-states are less clear, but probably similar.

Romans had kalens (1st), nones (7th), and ides (15th). Nundinae (market days) means 9th, but were really the 8th day. The 7-day week is late Imperial and, again, owes to Christian take-over of Jewish weeks.

Most systems had “auspicious” and “inauspicious” days for religious activities, civic activities, and business activities. Don’t start anything on an inauspicious day! (These were manipulated, especially in Rome, but that’s a whole different discussion.) The closest modern equivalent I can think of is Mercury Retrograde. 😊 Although in modern Greece, signing a contract on a Tuesday morning is bad juju, or May 29th. Constantinople fell on a Tuesday morning May 29th, 1453. We might, in America, consider 9/11. Who wants to open a business on 9/11?

The Horai (The Hours)

When did the day begin? Again, the ANE and Med are different. In the ANE, day typically began at sunset. So yes, that’s why the Jewish shabbat starts at sunset on Friday and lasts till sunset on Saturday. (If you didn’t know, the Jewish “day of rest” isn’t Sunday, but Saturday.)

For Greece and Rome, et al., day began at dawn. Each day was then evenly divided between day and night, so there was no standard length of an hour. It depended on the time of year. Each half had twelve hours, subdivided into 4 groups of triads. Originally in Greece it seems there were only 9, not twelve, but they increased to match the lunar months. The division of 4 groups of triads also yielded the 4 seasons of 3 months each. Hora was initially a season, not an hour.

In any case, dawn was always the first hour, noon the 6th, sunset the 12th. Same deal for night (twilight, midnight, pre-dawn).

This is great for military and civic purposes, but most people tended to refer to daytime divisions more generally: dawn, midday, etc. And there was nothing like minutes or seconds. That’s totally modern. Closest, they might come would be to count “breaths.”

The gnomon (sundial) was the chief way to measure hours, as it matched longer or shorter days. But it’s kinda hard to use a sundial at night, or on a cloudy day, or inside. Night hours were approximate.

The water clock (klepsudra) was first popularized in Greece in courts and the Assembly (to time speeches), but spread to other use, for inside or on shady days. Yet water clocks are unwieldy to carry around.

The Romans did have portable sundials (below), but again…needs the SUN. Btw, I should add that sundials aren’t only a Greco-Roman thing. The Chinese had them too. By contrast, the sand-clock or hourglass is a medieval invention. Won’t find them in the ancient world.

[manhattanstepbystep]

Streets of El Barrio: East 97th Street between Second Ave and First Ave in Spanish Harlem, upper Manhattan

[abladesosharp]

le Bas; explications.

incipit; emplacement et architecture. ∙ Le bas se trouve entre la 97th rue et East Lincoln Avenue, au Nord. Plus vaste que ne l'est le Haut, les quartiers résidentiels, allant de Southeast Yonkers et North Side jusqu'à Woodlawn et Wakefield se mélangent avec une vie plus agitée, à mesure que l'on s'éloigne de la limite Nord. Moins délimité que l'autre côté de la Ligne, il n'y a pas de réel quartier des affaires ou frontière avec une zone plus portée sur l'amusement. De Harlem à Williamsbridge, en passant par le Bronx, tout le monde semble y trouver son compte, peu importe ce qui est recherché. Sur ABSS, le Bas est reconnaissable de par son architecture brutaliste et, apportée jusque là-bas dans les années 50, pour reconstruire les dégâts occasionnés par l'attaque de Washington DC. i. société et organisation politique. ∙ Plus étendu que son alter ego de l'autre côté de la Ligne, le Bas offre la capacité de pouvoir s'y faire tout.e petit.e si tel en est le d��sir. Le manque de structure politique et hiérarchique, connu de tou.te.s les habitant.e.s du Bas, laissent les tensions et les rivalités poindre différemment. La bienséance et l'éclat solennel n'ont pas leur place entre les rues à l'aspect brut et bétonné, et les conflits se retrouvent, dès lors, bien moins dissimulés. La richesse, le luxe, et l’opulence n'ont jamais fait partie de l'existence du Bas : dans une misère commune, les différents clans s'accordent au moins sur ce point. ∙ Le Bas est régi par la loi du plus fort. Dans les différentes rues, derrière les portes closes ou directement sur les pavés abîmés, il n'est jamais rares de voir deux – ou plus – individus se provoquer en duel, partant d'une querelle plus ou moins importante, dépendant de l'impulsivité de chacun. Là où, au Haut, tout est codifié, le Bas semble bien plus anarchique. Les règles ne sont pas définies par des lois, mais par les possessions des différents Clans qui y vivent. À chacun son domaine d'excellente : que l'on ne tente pas de marcher sur les plate-bandes d'une autre, ou les conflits entre les Clans risqueraient d'exploser. Au Bas, la notion d'honneur fluctue selon les gens, condamnant les individus qui se placent – volontairement ou non – en dehors de cette notion ou y échappent à se retrouver mis au ban de la société du Bas. ∙ Depuis les années 80, le Bas souffre des sentiments d'insécurité et de peurs qui ne cessent de grandir, mettant à mal l'équilibre précaire que ses habitant.e.s avaient réussi à trouver. Les fréquentes coupures de courant, l'après-coup de la guerre et le coût humain ont plongé le Bas dans un abîme de peur et de violence. ii. les relations personnelles. ∙ Au centre de toutes les relations, qu'elles soient familiales, amicales, romantiques, ou autres, se trouvent à la fois l'honneur et la notion d'engagement, expliquant ainsi pourquoi les mercenaires sont aussi mal perçus (ils commettent une trahison envers leur propre Clan, dès lors qu'ils vendent leurs services à un autre). Les liens qui unissent les habitant.e.s du Bas sont tout autant très forts, que parfois toxiques : si l'honneur d'un proche, lié par le sang ou non, se trouve bafoué, les réactions peuvent être d'une impulsivité et d'une violence étonnantes (cf. : les provocations en duels, qui font partie intégrante de la vie de ce côté de la Ligne). ∙ Encore aujourd'hui, le Bas est régi par une hiérarchie patriarcale, mettant à mal les ambitions des femmes qui y vivent. Le mercenariat, au fil des années, est donc devenu pour elles un moyen d'émancipation leur permettant de couper les ponts avec le joug d'une autorité paternelle, ou tout simplement masculine. ∙ Au Bas, les unions sont décidées par les parents, visant à y trouver un intérêt (économique, politique, ou quelconque), mettant ainsi une pression familiale très forte sur les épaules des enfants. Les sentiments n'ont que peu – pour ne pas dire, pas – leur place dans les décisions prises lors des fiançailles. Au sujet de l'identité de genre et de la sexualité, un manque de tolérance, contrastant avec le Haut se fait encore fortement sentir dans les rangs de ce côté de la Ligne. ∙ Les familles vassales ont la possibilité, pour renforcer les liens avec la famille régnante, d'offrir en « cadeau », un fils ou une fille dans le but de protéger un enfant de la famille régnante ; ces derniers devenant donc des hommes-liges ou femmes-liges. Iels sont alors amenés à vivre aux côtés de l'enfant désigné.e par la famille régnante. C'est une pratique courante, notamment pour les dettes de sang : il n'est également pas rare qu'un homme-lige ou une femme-lige soit choisi.e parmi ces derniers pour rester aux côtés de l'enfant désigné.e. iii. technologie, loisirs, culture. ∙ La technologie et la médecine sont semblables aux nôtres, mais les habitant.e.s du Bas y ont pourtant un accès plus restreint que dans le Haut. Si la plupart d'entre eux possèdent un téléphone portable et un compte sur les réseaux sociaux, l'accès à la technologie de dernière génération y est moins évident par manque de moyens. La médecine, quant à elle, se plaçant comme un privilège au Haut, est également très loin de la portée de la plupart des gens du Bas, alors amené à pratiquer des formes plus expérimentales et non-conventionnelles de cette dernière. ∙ Les astres n'ont pas grand-chose à apprendre aux habitant.e.s du Bas, qui n'y voient que l'interprétation pompeuse d'un ciel que tout le monde a au-dessus de la tête. Les mariages ne dépendent pas tant des étoiles, que des intérêts que l'on peut en tirer. ∙ Grâce aux Seong, le Bas jouit, malgré la misère, de divertissements, de jeux d'argents, et autres loisirs plus équivoques, dans des lieux plus ou moins connus de chacun.e. Des paris, des spectacles plus ou moins tout public, des casinos d'un standing étonnant pour l'endroit, ou encore des combats illégaux – le sont-ils vraiment s'ils ne se font pas découvrir, cela dit ? –, ils mettent à disposition du Bas des solutions d'évasion temporaires et permettent ainsi de tromper, le temps d'une soirée, le ressenti général qui s'abat souvent – pour ne pas dire constamment – sur la société dans laquelle ils prennent place. Comme de l'autre côté de la Ligne, le Bas admire, adule les gladiateurs et leurs combats, retrouvant alors dans le spectacle qu'ils leur offrent une catharsis nécessaire et bienvenue et, parfois, la vision d'un de leurs proches : nombreux gladiateurs ont utilisé les combats pour pouvoir se glisser de l'autre côté de la Ligne, vers le Haut. iv. Les mercenaires. ∙ Contrairement au Haut, le Bas ne possède pas de forces armées définies, et encore moins officielles. Le service militaire n'y est pas obligatoire et, de toute évidence, il ne possède pas les infrastructures nécessaires à accueillir les jeunes gens comme le fait son homologue. À la place, les différents Clans du Bas font appel à des mercenaires, quand bien même le mercenariat n'est pas reconnu par la loi. Le principe est simple : au plus offrant revient la fidélité temporaire du soldat, le temps d'une mission ou d'un contrat à durée déterminée. Le.a mercenaire est alors recruté.e parmi les membres d'un autre Clan. ∙ Parce que mercenaire fait partie des jobs qui payent le mieux au Bas, il nécessite un entraînement spécial, malgré le manque d'infrastructures pour le pratiquer. Les formations sont chères, non pas en matière de bien matériel, mais de don de soi : l'apprenti mercenaire, peu importe son genre, s'engage à se donner, littéralement, pour pouvoir assurer l'entraînement. Il s'articule en deux phases : l'enseignement théorique, la stratégie, les modes opératoires, la traumatologie balistique, la topographie, entre autres, et la mise en situation réelle, pour les différents combats, les techniques de protection rapprochée, les secours opérationnels, la récupération de données, et une pratique intensive de la magie, offensive et défensive. ∙ Les mercenaires sont souvent craints et, auprès de la plupart des gens, même au Bas, ont mauvaise réputation. L’appât du gain comme principale vision de ces soldats non reconnu.e.s aux yeux de la loi, iels sont vu.e.s comme des opportunistes, quand pourtant quelque chose de plus fort que ça peut être à l'origine de leurs actes.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Sunday service at St. Nicholas Russian Orthodox Cathedral, 15 East 97th Street, 1954.

Photo: John Albok via MCNY

[luminaryburner]

Three pin oaks, East 97th street, Central Park https://www.instagram.com/p/CJyqP4NhvVK/?igshid=bihbamd9j3zl

[historysisco]

On This Day in New York City History February 14, 1965: While Malcolm X, his wife and four daughters were asleep in their home, a series of molotov cocktails were lobbed through the windows of their home. Malcolm X and his family were able to escape the home safely.

Located at 23-11 97th Street in East Elmhurst, the early morning attack on the Malcolm X home was a sign of things to come for the Civil Rights figure. The firebombing of his home came a week before Malcolm X would be assassinated while preparing to give a speech to the Organization of Afro-American Unity at the Audubon Ballroom in Washington Heights.

#MalcolmX #BlackHistory #BlackStudies #BlackHistoryMatters #AfricanAmericanHistory #AfricanAmericanStudies #NewYorkHistory #NYHistory #NYCHistory #History #Historia #Histoire #Geschichte #HistorySisco

(at East Elmhurst, Queens)

https://www.instagram.com/p/CopXWaxOqUj/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[icanthelpitblog]

#wood_veins #wood #walnut #decoracion #designwood #design #interiordesign #decoration #saladbowl #fruitplatter #nyc (en East 97th St And Lexington) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5gNX_OoikT/?igshid=ou09gkb1gqt5