My Fashion Week: Day Four

Today was probably the day where I did the least amount of traditionally Fashion Week related things.

I told people that I was on a very important mission on behalf of my Grandpa. But really, I think it was moreso for me.  Grandpa (government name: Gerald Christensen) is my mom's dad. He is 88 and has lived in the Bay Area since he was fourteen. He was born in New York and grew up primarily in Queens. (He still has a very recognizable New York accent). Grandpa has many fond memories of his New York childhood, including playing hockey on roller skates, handball, and visiting his own grandpa in Manhattan.

Grandpa's Grandpa was a Norwegian immigrant. He lived on East 67th Street between First and Second Avenue, in the penthouse apartment above the 67th Street Branch library. He was the custodian of the three-story building, and at the time, the custodian lived above the library (there was a dumbwaiter, but no elevator) as part of his employment package. Every Sunday when the library was closed, my Grandpa would come over to Manhattan by himself to visit his grandparents, wander around the library, and play on the roof.

Grandpa told me all of this a couple weeks ago when I mentioned I was coming to New York. I decided then and there that I had to see if this library was still there. It was.

I thought I could just sort of sneak in quietly and enjoy the library for what it was. My plan was to just climb the chalky marble staircase and see how high it went. But pretty early on, a librarian caught me and asked in the nicest of ways what it was exactly that I was doing. I said I was hoping to get to the top floor. She said that no one was allowed up there.

"I'm sorry," I said, "But let me just tell you why I'm here." I explained that I had come from San Francisco, and I told her about Grandpa's magical childhood. Her face changed. "Oh," she said. "Come with me."  We climbed to the very top of the staircase and arrived at a door.

At this point the librarian produced a key. "I'm not supposed to let people up here," she said, "but this is definitely a good exception." She pushed on the knob and in we went.

We walked around the crumbling, empty space. Three bedrooms, a kitchen, lots of small closets. I couldn't tell what any of the rooms used to be, as all the appliances had been ripped out. The librarian knew, though, and she gave me a tour of each corner of the apartment. A custodian had always lived in the building, she said, up until eight years ago when every floor of the library was renovated.

Every floor except the top one.

I felt like a ghost haunting my Grandpa's New York youth. As a child, over seventy years ago, he walked these very floorboards. How could it have happened that one of his nine grandchildren now traced his footsteps? I was on the verge of tears.

I am so thankful for being able to walk around that apartment. I don't know what will happen to it, but a tiny piece of my heart will always feel at home there.

After that I had to sit down and collect myself. This was a major moment in my personal history in relation to my family. My grandpa moved to San Francisco when he was fourteen. He never returned.

On my way out of the neighborhood I encountered this vintage bicycle chained to a wrought iron fence. Notice the SPOKIE DOKIES. Childhood converging with adulthood yet again.

And then it was back to the fashion. Later this afternoon it rained very hard. By the time it stopped, dusk had fallen.

I think this photo is my favorite that I have shot so far during my stay. Two totally random girls skipping down the sidewalk. I had but a few seconds to get my dinky little point-and-shoot out.

The night ended with a seat at Stacy Lomman's show. I sat across from Jennine. Later on, her, Christina, Tony and I went out for Thai food and then Pinkberry for dessert.

Tomorrow I venture to Brooklyn and the Temperley show. It's 2:30AM and I'm still wide awake. I wonder if tonight I will dream of libraries. If it happens, you'll be the first to know!