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While canvassing in the Southside of Williamsburg, Lincoln Restler (at left) stops to speak with a neighborhood resident and a campaign member, Marcos Masri. Photo by Benjamin Lozovsky
Story by Benjamin Lozovsky
On a perfectly temperate August Friday evening, while most New Yorkers are outdoors at barbeques or gone on vacation, cherishing the last few glimpses of the summer sun, Lincoln Restler is indoors knocking on apartment doors.
By Lisette Johnson
Photo by Bridget Batch
The debate over whether chain stores in Williamsburg are good for the neighborhood is nothing new. Indeed, Reverend Billy (a crusader for sustainable consumerism whose 2009 mayoral campaign was endorsed by L Magazine) launched a massive protest in 2001 when it was rumored a Starbucks was opening on Bedford Avenue. For nearly ten years, however, the main drag of the ‘Burg has remained relatively chain-free. Until now. Duane Reade opened a store at the Northside Piers on Kent Avenue in September, and recently a “coming soon” sign from Duane Reade appeared on Bedford and North 3rd Street— right across the street from Kings Pharmacy.
Kings opened in 2002, and co-owner and manager Anthony Baglino said they’ve maintained a regular customer base ever since. “When we first moved into the neighborhood,” he said, “there were Duane Reade bags everywhere.” That changed after Kings opened. Baglino estimates that before Duane Reade opened on Kent, “Ninety-nine percent of the people who live here were shopping either here or at Northside Pharmacy.”
Photo by Orrie King
The Whitney Houston Biennial was a one-day loft-style exhibition curated by Christine Finley in DUMBO, featuring 85 women artists. It bears no affiliation with the similarly themed 2009 Whitney’s Biennial at c.r.e.a.m. That one paralleled Whitney Houston’s drug addiction with the struggles of an artist.
Strategically positioned just inside the door of the show we are immediately introduced to Christa Bell, the artist prophet who steadily recites words and euphemisms for “vagina.” She is a holy woman surrounded by beads and flowers but many of the terms are vulgar (Hair Pie, Hatchet Wound, Furry Taco), yet the neutrality in which they are spoken are embraced and non-judgmental.
While he was talking to the real estate agent Jim Kirk on a pay phone, his neighbor, Mrs. Noily’s tenant—Lydia, was it, or Lynne—came up out of the steamy subway, her body revealed in a strappy tank top and short skirt, long legs shooting out. Her light brown hair, pulled into a ponytail, had slipped seductively loose. She looked taller than he remembered from seeing her outside the Noily’s. Emil quickly turned to face the other way, but she’d seen him and waved. Their block of houses was a fifteen minute walk from the hub, which was where he assumed she would go.
He hung up the phone and there she was standing in front of him, long, lithe, and barely dressed. “Hello there, Detective Milosec.” Emil nodded, keeping his eyes on the top of her head of shiny, smooth hair. An odor came off her, a whiff not just of sweat, but of something from fields and early morning. “It’s Loretta, in case you forgot.”
“Loretta, right.”
photos by Durston Saylor / The main dome has a ring of 20 oval windows; the bank’s initials are etched into the glass.
In the distance is the second dome with a stained glass skylight.
By Mary Yeung
“This is my life’s work,” says Carlos Perez San Martin, general manager and part owner of Weylin B. Seymour wedding venue. Perez San Martin is only 32 years old, but he is old enough to know that the opportunity to restore and manage a beloved national landmark like the Williamsburgh Savings Bank building comes only once in a lifetime.