by Alex Marshall, editor, Spotlight on the Region.
Among the many design flaws of the now ubiquitous modernist glass and steel frame skyscrapers of decades past is an inhospitality to tickertape parades. The windows don't open, so their occupants cannot dump shredded paper, ribbons and random sheets of office paper down on their triumphants' heads.
This observation came to mind Tuesday morning as I watched the newly Superbowl-winning, Patriot-stomping, New York Giants make their way up Broadway through "The Canyon of Heroes" from the Battery up to City Hall. The implacable dark glass towers stared down at the heroes, giving nothing to them.
Despite this, the falling snow of paper was thick enough around Wall Street. There were still enough old masonry buildings with windows that opened. But as the parade progressed to around Fulton Street and toward City Hall, the rain of paper all but vanished as the buildings grew more modern.
It is a note of satisfaction that the newest, most contemporary Class A skyscrapers are now being built with windows that open. I am told that windows open at the Conde Nast tower at 4 Times Square and at the new New York Times building. They probably will at the new Bank of America Tower at 1 Bryant Park, which has obtained the highest certification standard from LEEDS. Perhaps their future users will have experiences similar to mine when I visited an architect friend Ronnette Riley, whose office is on the 80th floor of the Empire State Building. I raised one of the old-fashioned windows there and stuck my head out.
It's a good thing that after an early emphasis on having hermitically sealed environments, green building design is now trending toward encouraging environments that give occupants more choice and allow the outside environment to enter into the building.
But, as Gail Collins of the Times opinion page tends to say, I digress. Getting back to the Giants' parade, it was certainly a pleasure to be there. Walking up Liberty Street after leaving the Wall Street subway station, I felt my heart speed up and I actually broke into a run as I saw bits of paper falling from the sky and heard the roar of the fans.
But how to get close enough to see it? The New York City Police, in its infinite wisdom, had blocked off all side streets leading to Broadway so that the closest you could get was a block away. "It's necessary to keep access open for emergency vehicles," a blue-capper told me when I asked why.
used my superior knowledge of the subway system to my advantage, as doubtless others did too. From Liberty Street I made my way to Fulton Street, and then ducked down into the subway and through a turnstile, luckily having a MetroCard pass so I wasn't charged an extra $2. Inside this rabbit-warren, I knew that if I followed signs to the 4 and 5 trains I would be able to pop up on the streets right beside Broadway, unless the police had blocked those exits too.
They hadn't. Just as I had hoped, I came out of the subway next to Broadway inside a thick crowd of rabid fans, many wearing Giants gear and who jostled each other for the sheer fun of it. Many seemed to have traveled in from New Jersey or other points distance. They certainly didn't look like your typical Wall Street workers.
felt like an imposter among them. The Superbowl on Sunday was the first football game I had watched in years, unless you count watching the football-oriented television show Friday Night Lights. Still, I had watched the big game Sunday, and broke into shouts and hugs as the Giants pulled off their last-minute victory, which included that amazing pass by a scrambling Eli Manning to a catch-it-on-top-of-your-head David Tyree.
I added my cheers and shouts to those around me as some of the Giants finally made their way by us. Some looked more like hulky conservative businessmen in their nice suits with their primly dressed wives or mothers standing next to them. Most of the players opted for dignified Queen Elizabeth style turn of the hand to the fans, rather than back and forth, windshield-wiper style waves.
The crowd around me got increasingly rowdy. A cop eventually hauled away a Giants-cap-wearing guy next to me, who had kept shouting obscenities at the police officer for no apparent reason.
As for me, I did not stay long, a taste being enough to satisfy my hunger to be a part of a real life tickertape parade. Among the many inconveniences of living in New York City, it is certainly a plus that one can attend a ticker-tape parade, this fan's very first.
New York City is one of the few cities in the country capable of having a real ticker tape parade, because to do so you not only need older masonry skyscrapers with windows that open but also lots and lots of people being able to assemble in one place around those skyscrapers. And for that, you need a great subway system or similar mass transit system that can bring lots and lots of people to one place, without each of them carrying a car.
The suburban teams that have won the Superbowl in recent years like Tampa Bay in 2003 must hold their ceremonies in some vast parking lot. Those past heroes must feel some bit of a letdown when they see the New York Giants regally floating by amid some floating paper, some of it perhaps actually real ticker-tape from Wall Street stock quoting machines. Or are those old devises now completely vanquished.
Among the many design flaws of the now ubiquitous modernist glass and steel frame skyscrapers of decades past is an inhospitality to tickertape parades. The windows don't open, so their occupants cannot dump shredded paper, ribbons and random sheets of office paper down on their triumphants' heads.
This observation came to mind Tuesday morning as I watched the newly Superbowl-winning, Patriot-stomping, New York Giants make their way up Broadway through "The Canyon of Heroes" from the Battery up to City Hall. The implacable dark glass towers stared down at the heroes, giving nothing to them.
Despite this, the falling snow of paper was thick enough around Wall Street. There were still enough old masonry buildings with windows that opened. But as the parade progressed to around Fulton Street and toward City Hall, the rain of paper all but vanished as the buildings grew more modern.
It is a note of satisfaction that the newest, most contemporary Class A skyscrapers are now being built with windows that open. I am told that windows open at the Conde Nast tower at 4 Times Square and at the new New York Times building. They probably will at the new Bank of America Tower at 1 Bryant Park, which has obtained the highest certification standard from LEEDS. Perhaps their future users will have experiences similar to mine when I visited an architect friend Ronnette Riley, whose office is on the 80th floor of the Empire State Building. I raised one of the old-fashioned windows there and stuck my head out.
It's a good thing that after an early emphasis on having hermitically sealed environments, green building design is now trending toward encouraging environments that give occupants more choice and allow the outside environment to enter into the building.
But, as Gail Collins of the Times opinion page tends to say, I digress. Getting back to the Giants' parade, it was certainly a pleasure to be there. Walking up Liberty Street after leaving the Wall Street subway station, I felt my heart speed up and I actually broke into a run as I saw bits of paper falling from the sky and heard the roar of the fans.
But how to get close enough to see it? The New York City Police, in its infinite wisdom, had blocked off all side streets leading to Broadway so that the closest you could get was a block away. "It's necessary to keep access open for emergency vehicles," a blue-capper told me when I asked why.
used my superior knowledge of the subway system to my advantage, as doubtless others did too. From Liberty Street I made my way to Fulton Street, and then ducked down into the subway and through a turnstile, luckily having a MetroCard pass so I wasn't charged an extra $2. Inside this rabbit-warren, I knew that if I followed signs to the 4 and 5 trains I would be able to pop up on the streets right beside Broadway, unless the police had blocked those exits too.
They hadn't. Just as I had hoped, I came out of the subway next to Broadway inside a thick crowd of rabid fans, many wearing Giants gear and who jostled each other for the sheer fun of it. Many seemed to have traveled in from New Jersey or other points distance. They certainly didn't look like your typical Wall Street workers.
felt like an imposter among them. The Superbowl on Sunday was the first football game I had watched in years, unless you count watching the football-oriented television show Friday Night Lights. Still, I had watched the big game Sunday, and broke into shouts and hugs as the Giants pulled off their last-minute victory, which included that amazing pass by a scrambling Eli Manning to a catch-it-on-top-of-your-head David Tyree.
I added my cheers and shouts to those around me as some of the Giants finally made their way by us. Some looked more like hulky conservative businessmen in their nice suits with their primly dressed wives or mothers standing next to them. Most of the players opted for dignified Queen Elizabeth style turn of the hand to the fans, rather than back and forth, windshield-wiper style waves.
The crowd around me got increasingly rowdy. A cop eventually hauled away a Giants-cap-wearing guy next to me, who had kept shouting obscenities at the police officer for no apparent reason.
As for me, I did not stay long, a taste being enough to satisfy my hunger to be a part of a real life tickertape parade. Among the many inconveniences of living in New York City, it is certainly a plus that one can attend a ticker-tape parade, this fan's very first.
New York City is one of the few cities in the country capable of having a real ticker tape parade, because to do so you not only need older masonry skyscrapers with windows that open but also lots and lots of people being able to assemble in one place around those skyscrapers. And for that, you need a great subway system or similar mass transit system that can bring lots and lots of people to one place, without each of them carrying a car.
The suburban teams that have won the Superbowl in recent years like Tampa Bay in 2003 must hold their ceremonies in some vast parking lot. Those past heroes must feel some bit of a letdown when they see the New York Giants regally floating by amid some floating paper, some of it perhaps actually real ticker-tape from Wall Street stock quoting machines. Or are those old devises now completely vanquished.
@RegionalPlan
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