Living with Legends: Hotel Chelsea Blog

Book Reviews

The July/August issue of The Atlantic Montly features book reviews by Chelsea resident Sally Singer.  (How does she do it? Mother of three, fashion director at Vogue and now book reviews.) A portion of the reviews can be read online. Singer has selected an interesting array of books focusing on "morally vacuous women."   Two of the "morally vacuous women," Edie and Marianne Faithfull have a passing relationship with the Chelsea. 

Tracing A Life

If you passed through the lobby of the Chelsea Sunday evening and saw a tall, raven-haired woman, dressed in a white tee shirt, white petticoat skirt, white tights and silver Mary Janes rapidly banging on the keyboard of a portable typewriter you may have thought to yourself, is the hotel paying her to create atmosphere.  The answer is no.  Swedish novelist Sara Stridsberg, the author of a soon to be released novel based on the life of Valerie Solanas was passing through the Chelsea on the last leg of a tour that had included Atlantic City, New Jersey where Valerie grew up, Florida where she spent time in a mental institution, and San Francisco where she died in a Tenderloin District flophouse.  So, her travel companion was hanging in the lobby channelling Valerie and re-typing The Scum Manifesto.

Sara's novel based on Solanas' life will be released in Sweden in January.

Fond Memories of Charity Fundraisers

From Friday's issue of the Daily News,

Legendary theatrical costumer William Ivy Long  (And Former Chelsea Resident) was feted by Hollywood scribe Paul Rudnick, playwright Wendy Wasserstein and choreographer Susan Stroman on Monday to celebrate his 50th Broadway show.

Rudnick told the gathering at the Central Park Boathouse, which included Hugh Jackman, that he first met Long decades ago just as he was engaging in a farting contest with a fellow Yale Drama School student.

Then there was the time, 20-odd years ago, when he attended a "benefit auction" that Long was holding at his Chelsea Hotel apartment. The prize was a male hustler who would go to the highest bidder, male or female.

"Rudnick said: 'It turned out the prostitute was a Yale Drama School grad, too,'" one party guest tells me.

To Do List

Saturday, June 4,  3:00 p.m.
Chelsea writer Ed Hamilton reads his short story "The End of Sonny's Bar," at the Ear Inn Reading Series. Hamilton's fiction can be found online at SoMa Literary Review, River Walk Journal, and Modern Drunkard magazine .
Ear Inn
326 Spring St., NY NY

June 9 – June 26, 8:00 Medicine Show Theatre
Arnold Weinstein, librettist for the opera A View From The Bridge and lyricist for William Bolcom’s Casino Paradise,will premiere a suite as part of the Medicine Show.  Arnold, William & Arthur Miller in Arnold's apartment at the hotel. (Photo from Opera News)

Tools You Can Use

The Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division is a wonderful resource for locating images.

Was this 1938 photo of  Thomas Wolfe taken in the Chelsea? The date coincides with Wolfe’s tenure at the hotel. The LOC was unable to find any documentation regarding the location of the setting.  The photographer, Carl Van Vechten, was noted for his photographs of writers and celebrities.  Photographs of Sherwood Anderson (Chelsea Author) such as the one below taken in Central Park, are also part of Van Vechten’s collection.

This same database search revealed that photographer Arnold Genthe, renowned for his photos of Chinatown in San Francisco, was a resident of the Chelsea.

Resurrecting Dylan Thomas

Dylan Thomas is being brought back to life in the form of a 3D moving image created using his death mask. The image does capture a certain pickled quality.

  R - Tennessee Williams attending 1953 funeral service for Dylan Thomas.

Respect Thy Audience

Two Pew Internet surveys conducted in early 2005 show that 16% of U.S. adults (32 million) are blog readers.  The blogger audience now commands respect, says the current study. It stands at 20% of the newspaper audience and 40% of the talk radio audience. Meanwhile, 6% of the entire U.S. adult population has created a blog. That's 11 million people, or one out of every 17 American citizens.

Dumpster Diving

The recent unearthing of an unpublished play by Jack Kerouac and an unpublished poem by the then student Tennessee Williams has inspired me to be less annoyed by my boyfriend’s obsession with rooting through the trash at the Chelsea.  Here are his "literary" finds todate:

• Outtakes and/or duplicates from Doris Chases’ video The Chelsea.
• A poster autographed by beat writer Herbert Huncke.  The poster contains an excerpt from Huncke’s work, "The Hospital Again."  (Fair Condition.)
• Charles James’ drafting table. More about the table later.
• A Pink Guitar.
• A badly torn bunny painting by graffiti artist Hiroya.
• Art historian Helen Johnson's chair and magazine collection.  The collection consists of copies of People and Ebony from the 1970s. More about this later.
• Reams of bad poetry.
• Many sketches and paintings by various artists.
• An unfinished novel about the hotel.

Another Song with Roots in the Chelsea

Patti Smith divulges the origins of her song "Gloria," in a recent interview with Simon Reynolds.

Gloria, says Smith, it's a song about her sister Linda, a sort of morbid fantasy rooted in remorse: the pair, rooming together in the Chelsea Hotel, quarrelled, and Linda disappeared, causing Patti much anguish. Written in 1971, the verses languished in a drawer for several years, until they were pulled out and given an incongruously jaunty reggae backing.

Patti in her room at the Chelsea.

Dylan is 64

Bob Dylan turns 64 today, but I'm not going to do an extensive blog about his relationship to the Chelsea because, as they mentioned in yesterday's New York Time's article, "he is a shill for Victoria's Secret."  Instead, I'll dwell on his cat Smoke who either ran off or went up in smoke, depending upon whose story you believe, during the fire that Edie started in her room. 

In the spirit of Smoke, today's Slice of Life is about those crazy hotel cats.

There’s a big orange cat that comes in our window from the fire escape—which it uses to travel between floors.  One time it got into our room late at night without our knowing it, and just went to sleep amidst all the dusty papers and boxes under our bed.  At the break of dawn it clambered out on the opposite side of the bed—near the wall—scaring the hell of both of us.  We thought a rat must be climbing into bed with us.

There’s no rats in the hotel, as far as I know, but there are plenty of mice.  Lately we’ve set out glue traps, so we have to be careful and not let any domestic animals into the room.  But one time in the middle of the night I had to go down the hall to the bathroom, and, half asleep, I opened the door and a little gray cat darted into the room.  She went straight for the glue trap under the bed—a big one for rats, those are the best—and got stuck in it straightaway.  Howling and thrashing, she leapt wildly about the room, crashing into furniture, until she finally dislodged the glue trap, at which point she darted from the room and sped away down the hall.  I turned on the lights and found the glue trap: the cat had left behind three perfect paw prints, framed in thick gray fur.  At least that kept her away for a few days, though now she won’t let me pet her anymore.

This little gray cat runs into rooms all the time, especially tourist rooms, and gets trapped inside.  Her owner then has to comb the halls, calling out the cat’s name, and listening for it’s piteous cries.  When she finally tracks it down, she has to call the front desk to get somebody to open the room and let the cat out.

We used to have a dog too, Gingie, a fat brown mutt.  Gingie had free reign of the hotel and would ride the elevator form floor to floor.  Whenever I opened a can of tunafish, I could always count on hearing Gingie’s scratch on my door—though it would usually come about an hour later, when the tunafish was long gone.  After this happened several times, I learned to save a small portion for her.  Poor Gingie, alas, has long since joined the ranks of the Chelsea ghosts.
Copyright 2006 Ed Hamilton

To Do List

Tuesday, May 24 at 7:00 p.m.
Pultizer Prize winner and New York Times icon Joseph Lelyveld will be in discussion with Chelsea author Michael Rips.  Rips recently published his second novel,  The Face of a Naked Lady, An Omaha Family Mystery.

Housing Works Cafe

126 Crosby Street, NY NY

Wednesday, May 25 at 7:00 p.m.
Michael Mejias has relaunched his reading series at the Kettle of Fish.  The Kettle is similar to the Chelsea in literary spirit.  The original location on MacDougal, was the watering hole preferred by the likes of Jack Kerouac and the Beats.  And 59 Christopher was once the home of the legendary Lion's Head; the literary hang out where scribes including Jimmy Bresin and Ed Albee practiced drinking.  Crystal Mandler, Cleyvis Natera, and Scott Snyder will be reading. 
59 Christopher Street, NY NY

Saturday, May 28 - June 14, 2005
One-time Artnet Magazine "Celebrity Art" columnist Baird Jones unveils an exhibition of "Star Art" in the project room at the Chelsea Art Museum. Among the celebrity art-makers in the show are Herb Alpert, David Bowie, David Byrne, Richard Chamberlain, Miles Davis, James Dean, Grace Kelly, Jack Lemmon, Kim Novak, Dee Dee Ramone, Red Skelton and Donna Summer

Saturday, May 28, Lawrence, Kansas
Big garage sale featuring William Burrough's memorabilia.

May 27 - 29
Lower East Side Festival of the Arts.

They're Back!

Sally Singer and Joe O'Neill moved from the hotel to Brooklyn, but that didn't last long.  Within a year they were back in the Chelsea with their three kids in tow. 

"Some people leave because of the mice, some people leave because of the roaches, and some people leave because of the people in the elebator," Mr. O'Neill said.  I guess there aren't any mice or roaches in Brooklyn.

Sally in her Narciso Rodriguez gown, and Joe with his back to the camera. (style.com)

Daniel Smith Loves New York

Writer Daniel Green Smith answers 5 questions.  The hotel is where Smith started work on his second book, "I was hoping to get divine inspiration, instead I got a huge bill for motorcycle parking, but I love New York..."

What do you do?
I am a writer.

When did you stay at the Chelsea?
I stayed at the Chelsea hotel for about 2 months in 1998 and 1999.

Why did you choose the Chelsea?
I went there because I was on a figure 8 motorcycle tour around the country in honor of my father who died in July of 1998.  My father had been a writer in New York early on in the 30's and had fell in love with the book "Homeward Angel" by Thomas Wolfe.  It seemed like there could be no better place to stay than in the place one of his favorite authors lived and wrote one of my father's favorite books.

Would you stay at the Chelsea again?
I would covet the chance to stay at the Chelsea again and finish the novel, but alas, I can't afford to stay there, and must work writing in between jobs...

What are you currently working on?
The figure 8 motorcycle tour is the topic of my second book, and I'm still working on it, but the nature of the book and the tour was and is, the resolution of the war between father and son, an unfortunate resolution in death, where neither son nor father is redeemed.  The theme of the book is how we as the son's of the greatest generation live in the legacy of the wounding of our father's.  The wounding of the depression, of WWII, of the misunderstanding that the generation had to live with as we moved into this modern age, and the misunderstanding that we as their children often felt.

You can check out Daniel's work at www.carpentersongs.com

Nabokov was a Thief?

Maud Newton has an interesting post about the controversy surrounding the authenticity of former Chelsea author Nabokov's Lolita.  Maurice Girodias, the publisher of Lolita, and many other important books, also lived at the Chelsea.  An article published in The Nation in 2004 suggests that Girodias may have been Valerie Solanas' original target, afterall he was her publisher and a lot of people want to shoot their publisher, but since he wasn't at home, she decided to go to the Factory and shoot Andy Warhol instead.

"...Solanas was thrilled by her status as a soon-to-be-published writer, but it wasn't long before she began obsessing about the seemingly restrictive legal boilerplate of Girodias's contract.

On June 3, 1968, Solanas stopped by Girodias's office or his room at the Chelsea Hotel, depending on the source. She carried a gun in a paper bag. Girodias was out that day, so she proceeded to the Factory. There she shot Warhol in the chest three times. (And the art critic Mario Amayo as well--no one ever seems to remember the poor guy.) She aimed the gun next at Warhol's manager, Fred Hughes, who uttered a line that could have been lifted from one of Warhol's deadpan films: "Oh, there's the elevator. Why don't you get on, Valerie?" She did. That evening, she turned herself in..."

One of the five readers of this blog has a question

How can you confirm that someone actually lived in the Chelsea? 
Collected oral histories and archival sources are a good starting point.  You Must Remember This: An Oral History of Manhattan from the 1890s to World War II is both a fascinating book to read and a well documented resource.

You Must Remember This is part of Amazon’s “Search inside the book” program, which results in the ability to find interesting details about authors Edgar Lee Masters and Thomas Wolfe. 

on Page 462:

"... Only at the Hotel Chelsea did it seem that life continued as it had. The proper ladies enjoyed their afternoon teas, while the literary ..."

Bad Writing

Everybody is a critic. Passages from Ethan Hawke's two novels were featured during a recent literary series highlighting bad writing. Maybe they all have a point.

On the Nod

Coming back from the deli, a bag of muffins in one hand and a tray of coffees in the other, I rounded the corner to the elevator just as it was opening. There was a man in a black leather jacket in the back corner of the elevator, head down, slumping forward, on the nod.  Without thinking, I stepped into the elevator, and as soon as I was fully on, he fell right into me.  “Shit!” he yelled, loudly.  Luckily, he caught himself just as he hit me; I couldn’t have caught him because my arms were full.  “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled.

The desk clerk had seen what had happened and he called out, “Hey, what’s going on in there?!  Everything all right in there?!”

“Yeah, it’s OK,” I said.  I hit the button for my floor and up we went.  The guy in the leather jacket had apparently slept through his floor the first time he went up, and had ridden back down to the lobby.  Now he remembered what he was doing and hit his button: 4.

“Sorry, man,” he apologized again, seeing the coffee slopped out on my jacket.  “I just forgot what I was doing.  I’m really forgetful sometimes.  I just woke up and I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” I said.  “I know what you mean.”

“It was one of those senior moments,” he said, laughing.  He was probably in his mid-thirties.  “It could happen to anybody,” he said as he got off.

Yeah, anybody who shoots heroin.
Copyright 2006 Ed Hamilton

Mapping the Chelsea

Any lit blogger worth his or her salt should be able to come up with a fictional character that resides at the Chelsea.  This proved to be more difficult than I thought.  I wanted to identify a character from a big literary work and submit it to Randy Cohen for his mapping Manhattan project.  After spending an afternoon searching through Thomas Wolfe’s Look Homeward Angel, which I thought would be my best bet, I consulted a person who knows more about the Chelsea than anybody – a high placed knowledgeable individual (HPKI). 

After I explained the project to HPKI he exclaimed, "In Ethan Hawke's "Chelsea Walls" all of the characters live in the Chelsea."  I didn't like that suggestion.  After I saw the movie, I wanted to move out of the Chelsea.  The movie is very loosely based on Dylan Thomas play "Under Milkwood."  The characters in "Under Milkwood" do not reside in the Chelsea. 

We need a big literary work to get the hotel on the map, I explained.  "Well, what about Sparkle Hayter's book The Chelsea Girl Murders. The female detective lives in the Hotel."  At least that's a better suggestion than Chelsea Walls.  However, that was my obvious fallback plan.  Finally, after giving it a bit of thought, HPKI said "In Saul Bellow's Herzog the main character's father-in-law lives in the Chelsea."  That gave me something to work with at least.

I went and bought a copy of Herzog and spent several evenings scouring the book. Here is what I found.  A description of Madeline's apartment.  "...The fixtures were old-fashion in this place. These had been luxury apartments in the 1890s... The tiles were a faded cherry color, and the toothbrush rack, the fixtures, were ornate, old nickel."

I went back to HPKI and explained that I didn't find squat about the Chelsea in Herzog  beyond the previously mentioned reference to an old, elegant apartment building.  "That's it," the HPKI screamed, "Madeline, Herzog's lover, lived in the Chelsea."

Blogger Rodney Welch has considered the same question and taken a different approach to the answer.  He suggests "Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowland,"  a character in a song written by Bob Dylan while he was living at the Chelsea.  I don't think Sad Eyed Lady qualifies since she is clearly based on Dylan's wife Sara.   Two other songs written by Dylan, "Leopard Skin Pill Box Hat" and "Just Like A Woman," were reputedly inspired by Chelsea resident Edie Sedgwick.

Unless something newsworthy happens I’m not going to post over the weekend.  I have to catch up on my reading.  I have two non-Chelsea related titles at the top my list.  First up is Stuart: A Life Backwards by Alexander Masters, which has received acclaim in Great Britain.  I visited several independent bookstores in Manhattan trying to locate a copy, but was ultimately forced to order a copy online.  My second pick is Yongsoo Park’s Las Cucarachas, a portrait of a young boy growing up in a NYC housing project in the 1980s.

Everybody Is an Authority

The Chicago Tribune sheds light on the death of Dylan Thomas courtesy of a waiter at the White Horse Tavern. 
"No one, for example, seems to know exactly what happened to Dylan Thomas on that July night in 1953 when the poet stepped out of the White Horse Tavern at Hudson Ave. and 11th Street and dropped dead.
Some accounts say Thomas downed 18 or 19 whiskeys at the bar and declared, "I believe that's the record" just before he succumbed.
Others claim he died of undiagnosed diabetes.
"He didn't die here; he died in his room at the Chelsea Hotel," a young White Horse Tavern server says.  She spoke with absolute certainty."

Most biographies that I have read indicate that Thomas died at St. Vincent's hospital after consuming all of that whiskey and falling into a diabetic coma.

If you are in NYC you can catch the one man show "Do Not Go Gentle."

Cowboy Doc

We used to have a doctor in the Chelsea.  I needed a flu shot one fall, and, since I had seen his fliers in the elevator, I went to his office, on the first floor.  It was eleven in the morning.  It took him a long time to answer the door, and when he did, a cloud of pungent, exotic smoke wafted from the room.  The doctor wore army pants and a t-shirt, and spoke in a southern drawl.  Classic rock was playing on his stereo.  Though his office hours began at nine, he said he had just got out of bed.

I believe I must have been one of his first patients, and he showed me around the office proudly.  He had remodeled the place to look like an old-time doctor’s office, complete with antique equipment, like apothecary cabinets and examining tables from the fifties, all very cool. (There’s a particular Chelsea aesthetic that many residents seem to share: grandly trashy, worn chic, whatever you want to call it, and he had that down.)  I was impressed.

            I told him I was a writer and he said he’d written a novel: a sort of combination of star wars and the occult, and I lied and said I’d like to read it.  I got the flu shot, and he called me back several times afterwards to make sure I hadn’t had a bad reaction.

Soon after that, somebody took to defacing the fliers he had put up in the elevators, writing “Cowboy Doc” all over them, among other things.  I thought that sucked.  (There’s a dark side to the Chelsea: wherever you have a lot of creative people, there are bound to be some who are bitter about their careers not quite panning out.)  The flu shot worked, however: I didn’t get sick all winter.

I kept meaning to go back and visit him, but I never go to the doctor unless I absolutely have to, and so it wasn’t until the next fall that I ventured back to his office.  He wasn’t there, but the door of his office was open and movers were carrying out all of his antique doctor’s equipment.  He just never got enough business.  Though to my mind he fit right in, probably for a lot of people he didn’t really inspire confidence as a doctor.

I remember our conversation the day I got the flu shot.  He said he had been trained as an all-purpose doctor by the army, and he gave me a long list of specialties in which he had attained competence.  The one I remember was “Emergency Psychiatric Intervention,” and I told him that sounded like it should go over pretty well at the Chelsea.
Copyright 2006 Ed Hamilton

His writing is childlike, surprising on occasion

In a recent review, Robin Schroffel of the Edmonton Sun calls Legend of a Rock Star: The Last Testament of Dee Dee Ramone, "heart-wrenching."

Carrie Bedsore always stays at the Chelsea

Carrie Bedsore's worldwide tour has brought her to the Chelsea. Check the Fickle Finger of Fate blog for a list of performance venues.

Eating Well

Courtesy of the New York City Public Library's digital collection of more than 5,000 restaurant menus from 1851 – 1910 I now know that the following menu was offered to the Pratt Institute Graduates Association in the Hotel’s grand dining room, which is now El Quixote, on March 8, 1900. Oysters, Puree of Peas, Olives, Baked Codfish, Chicken Croquette, Lima Beans, Roast Lamb, Mashed Potato and Mint Jelly.

JOHN STEINBECK's first book wasn't that good, you know?

Excerpted from the Daily News.  Actor-turned-author ETHAN HAWKE refuses to let the critics' unkind words about his first two novels dampen his spirits as he works on his third literary offering.

The 34-year-old tells the NEW YORK DAILY NEWS, "JOHN STEINBECK's first book wasn't that good, you know?   

"I don't think it's up to us to decide if our things are of quality or not. I know that sounds a little pretentious. I don't remember any day in any age when people were talking about how supportive critics are."   

So, I'm supposed to believe that Ethan has read Steinbeck's Cup of Gold.  If he has, good for him.  Maybe he'll make a movie out of it.

$10.00 for typewriter ribbon?

I’ve added some rather interesting links to the site lately. For example, an image of a check written by Thomas Wolfe to the Hotel Chelsea on May 7, 1938 in the amount of $10.00.  I can’t read the notation on the check, but I don’t think it was for rent.    I e-mailed the proprietor of the site that is selling the check to inquire how they came to own this “extremely scarce” item.  So far, no comment.

Ten dollars didn’t go very far in NYC in 1938.  Two days later Wolfe cashed another check for $10.00.  “Check: The Chase National Bank, 48th St. Branch, N.Y.C., May 9, 1938, $10.00; to Hotel Chelsea” is listed as part of the Alexander D. Wainwright collection at the Princeton University library. 

Do you still want to move to Canada?

One of the CBC’s best-known radio broadcasters is leading a campaign to have Leonard Cohen receive this year's Nobel Prize in Literature. Not that I don't want to see a former resident receive such a great honor, but Leonard Cohen would not have been the first person to come to mind. Read the article to learn why Paul Kennedy thinks Cohen should be a candidate and/or visit  the “Ideas” website to cast your opinion.  Former Nobel Prize in Literature winners.

Run

The ancient, groaning elevator is one of the best places in the hotel to meet interesting people.  In fact, you may get to know them better than you’d like to, if, as occurs with some frequency, the elevator breaks down between floors.  One day last week I was in the elevator with Maurice, a classical pianist.  We had just gotten on in the lobby, and the door was nearly closed, when an arm shot into the small crack, and the door sprung back open again.  A young man bounded onto the elevator.  Tall and muscular, he was dressed in an expensive track suit, gold jewelry.  His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated, and he was manic, hyperactive, gesticulating wildly as he spoke in a non-stop stream: “I’m looking for Walter in 536.  I really need to talk to him.  I’m supposed to be staying at his place, and he knows this but I don’t know where he is.  He was supposed to let me in.  I’ve been looking for him all day and I can’t find him.”  Despite his crazed aspect, I thought I detected a note of cunning in his eyes.

“I don’t know him,” I said.

“I don’t either,” Maurice said.

“A short, balding man, with glasses.  Room 536.  You couldn’t miss him.  Have you lived here long?  You look like you have.  You must know him.  I’ve got to find him. It’s very important.”

We assured him once again that we didn’t know Walter.

“If you see Walter, you’ve got to give him my message.  It’s very important, please see that he gets my message.”  He got off on the fifth floor, apparently to wait for Walter.  I noticed that somehow, for all that, he had forgotten to say what the message was.

When the door had closed and we were safely underway, I laughed and said, “Well, I guess if I ever meet Walter, I’ll give him the message.”

“Oh, I know Walter,” Maurice said.

“You do?”

“Sure.  He’s a poet.  Room 536, like he said.”

“So are you going to give him the message?”

“Yeah, I’ll give him the message: Run.”

Copyright 2006 Ed Hamilton

Jane Found Solace

From Jane Fonda:  My Life So Far

...I was Henry Fonda's privileged daughter, who appeared to be thumbing my nose at the country that had provied me with those privileges.  More than that, I am a woman, which made my sitting there even more of a betrayal:  Barbarella become their enemy.

I had spent the past two years working with GIs and Vietnam veterans, listening to them, supporting them.  Now by mistake I appeared in a photograph to be their enemy.  I carry this heavy in my heart.  I always will.

The next day, departure day, Quoc said to me, "I think you need to prepare yourself. There are some US congressmen who are asking that you be put on trial for treason."  It was my broadcasts on Radio Hanoi that had triggered the charges.

Tom was waiting for me at the airport in New York City when I landed.  He whisked me downtown to the Chelsea hotel, where we holed up for the night like two refugees.  Both of us realised that it had been a mistake for me to go alone.  But I never felt that he was responsible.  I hate buck-passers.

As we lay in bed in our funky Chelsea hotel room, I told Tom that I wanted us to have a child together as a pledge of hope for the future.

We held each other and wept.

Jane was not the only activist to pass through the hotel.  Click here to read an excerpt from Country Joe's testimony at the Chicago Seven Trial.