By Yvonne Vávra
The other day, I was sideswiped by a small existential crisis—courtesy of the Rag’s comment section. Nothing too serious, just one of those record-scratch moments when joy runs into a wall of perfectly reasonable questions: Why care? Why does it matter? What’s the point?
What set it off? An article about a 10 train pulling out of the 103rd Street 1 train subway station. Yes, that 10 train—the one discontinued in the late ’60s. I guess the city’s wild old heart wasn’t quite finished with us after all. My sense of wonder was all in—the not-supposed-to-be-there always flips the switch. My brain perks up like, 10 train? Tell me everything.
The city’s full of weird little glitches like that. Here are just a few I’ve come across in the past two months: A bra slung over the railing leading up to a Chase bank. A Croatian book—not for sale—on a CVS shelf. A man casually eating spaghetti while leaning against his car. That last one might not sound so strange at first, but take a second to picture it: a whole bowl of spaghetti, eaten standing up on the sidewalk. That’s not a beginner move—that’s a confident choice in the world of snacks-to-go.
But back to my inner child’s glee over the 10 train and the moment it took a hit. Someone in the comments asked why everyone was so obsessed with a wrong train number. Why was it worth writing about? Another reader jumped in, lamenting the waste of time and internet space on a simple error. Oof. Sudden jolt of perspective. Precious pixels, squandered. The joy had left the station.
Then it quickly rolled back in.
The comments only deepened the intrigue, sending my wonder into a fresh new direction. Because isn’t that fascinating again? Why do we care about the things we care about? One person lights up while another yawns. I’m thinking about my nephew, who knows everything about garbage trucks worldwide; my friend, the walking IMDb page; and another friend, who’s obsessed with noodles.
To me, a noodle is a noodle—however it shows up, I’m here for it. But I’d have a hard time telling exceptional noodles from mediocre ones. I just don’t have that kind of palate. Maybe I haven’t found the right noodle to blow my mind yet, but as long as something’s got a good hit of salt and comes in happy colors, I’m going to have a good time eating it.
My friend, however, keeps a list of noodle spots on his phone—linked to a map showing all the places his noodle joy has yet to take him. He goes on and on about flavor, balance, and toppings up and down Broadway and Amsterdam. Many words about hand-pulled, fermented, fried, and steamed. It’s all noodle to me. But I do love watching the passion in a fellow human’s eyes.
Meanwhile, I’m a sucker for buildings. And I’m so happy to finally have found the right moment to share this with you: there’s a hollow section in the facade of the Dorilton at 71st and Broadway. I haven’t brought myself to find out why yet—and honestly, I’m not sure I want to. The mystery of it all is such an alluring space to bumble around in. The building is solid stone until… knock knock, knock knock—it’s plonk plonk. Suddenly hollow. I get a kick out of knowing that now.
And how do I know? Because I touched the Dorilton. Why did I touch it? For absolutely no reason. I was just walking toward Broadway, minding my own business, touching the buildings—and then, by chance, knocked on a hollow piece of the Dorilton.
But every time I tell someone, I’m left a little disappointed. The hollow facade doesn’t seem to spark much excitement in my companions. No one gasps. No one seems to wonder what in the world of architectural shenanigans is going on here. If you know, please tell me. Or wait—don’t. Once I know, it’ll just be… that thing I know.
Actually, I’m kidding. I’d love to find out. No, seriously, I insist. Tell me. Kill the wonder, if you must.
Interest is wildly individual, and isn’t it wildly interesting to see what makes someone else’s brain light up? Even if we don’t get it, we get them a little more—and inch a little closer together. How fascinating that we’re all out here, caring fiercely about things all over the map. Or maybe that’s just me again. In which case, I’m sorry if I’ve wasted precious internet space. In the end, everything’s all noodle to someone—in the best or worst way.
Yvonne Vávra is a magazine writer and author of the German book 111 Gründe New York zu lieben (111 Reasons to Love New York). Born a Berliner but an aspiring Upper West Sider since the 1990s (thanks, Nora Ephron), she came to New York in 2010 and seven years later made her Upper West Side dreams come true. She’s been obsessively walking the neighborhood ever since.
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I am surprised that a reader thinks spying a misplaced No.10 train is a waste of pixels when the all time best WSR article was the line shift at Absolute Bagels!
Noodles?
The train wasn’t “misplaced “. Had it been misplaced then it would have been worthy of an article.
This isn’t 1999, and we aren’t going to run out of Internet tube space. Let people enjoy the simple things because we live in a world where those simple things are getting hard to find. You are a (presumably) grown adult; if you aren’t interested, click the “back” button.
You write like I think. Thank you!!
I first came across The Dorilton a year ago when I was looking at a rental apartment in the building across 71st Street from it — which does not have a name. To me, the Dorilton ranks as the best looking building on the UWS.
A broad range of opinion on the Dorilton from various critics is quoted at https://daytoninmanhattan.blogspot.com/2010/08/flamboyant-1902-dolimar-171-west-71st.html, including this: “Although the Dorilton has not always been one of the city’s most prestigious residential addresses, it is one of the most spectacular architecturally.”
Might the building across 71st Street you mention have been 160 West 71st Street? If so, the problem isn’t that it has no name but rather that it has too many: the Alamac Hotel (or Hotel Alamac) when built in 1923 — though “Alamac” was sometimes typoed into “Almanac” — and today called the South Pierre for whatever reason. Back in the early years, it was touted as the nation’s first hotel to hire women as bell-hops.
“Noodle joy”!!! ❤️
The Dorilton always makes me think of diner chocolate cake with lots of frosting.
🙂
Hi,
I love this article. I also am fascinated by the city’s weird glitches. This was a delightful article to read this morning. Thank you!
Another façade-feeler — I’m not alone!
For years I’ve yearned feel the texture of The Astor’s gray brick walls (https://photos.zillowstatic.com/fp/b2d8f37505e3812b1be0701e86b673e6-se_extra_large_1500_800.webp), which I fancifully imagine as being similar to that of manila paper. Inconveniently, though, the gray brick doesn’t extend to the ground floor.
Perhaps the hollow-sounding section of the Dorilton marks some long-ago repair? Anyhow, thanks for yet another charming essay.
I wonder whether your friend has been around long enough to remember Hunan Royal, once at 2519 Broadway and home to the tastiest cold sesame noodles in my experience.
Recently discovered this new writer n I think it’s been a great addition to the west side rag! Yvonne is funny, reverent n a super talented writer. Her passion n love for the west side is evident in every word, paragraph n article she writes.
Want to read more of her work! Please make it happen west side rag!
I was just walking toward Broadway, minding my own business, touching the buildings
I love you for this sentence and sentiment. Sometimes I need to jump up and touch canopy edges, like an ebullient Mary Richards without a hat to toss. Sometimes I need to interact with the sidewalks on my own terms, maybe one step per square of pavement or balance-beam it for a block of curb. As to the leaning spaghetti: where is it written, no one’s the boss of me, and it’s an old shirt anyway.
An architect friend also touches buildings, can’t help himself, and always has some observation that helps me see what’s right in front of me but I would have passed by. Those small moments of wonder are not to be dismissed but to be enjoyed! I’ve started a journal for my daily walks around the UWS; it could be entitled, “Huh, would you look at that?” If someone else is bored by the #10 train chugging down the tracks, I hope they find other aspects of the city to respond to.
I asked ChatGPT: “Why does the Dorilton at 71st and Broadway in NYC have a hollow section of facade?
The ground floor on Broadway was altered to storefronts after 1919, replacing original masonry/window configurations; a formerly recessed areaway was also infilled later in the 20th century. Storefront systems are typically light, framed assemblies—often sounding “hollow” when tapped.
Historic guidance confirms that early-20th-century metal cornices/ornaments are sheet-metal or bronze shells over framing or trusses—i.e., non-solid.
If the “hollow” spot you tapped is at pedestrian height along Broadway, the most likely cause is modern storefront/cladding infill (metal/wood studs behind thin stone or metal panels), not the original solid rusticated limestone piers. This aligns with the documented post-1919 storefront alterations.
Sources:
National Park Service
Wikipedia
This is what I assumed from the start. Facades are changed/filled in/etc.
https://i.imgur.com/SJfVcko.jpeg
Or, the AI is hallucinating.
“But I do love watching the passion in a fellow human’s eyes.”
Great line.
Keep doing what you’re doing and ignore the people that don’t love watching the passion in a fellow human’s eyes. It is their loss.
Yes
Wonderful gem of an essay. Thank you!
We readers of the WSR are lucky to have Yvonne Vavra’s voice in print. Delightful reading. Thank you.
Spaghetti was/is a street food in Naples. Check this out.
https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/spaghetti-eaten-by-hand-naples
That hollow section in the Broadway side of the Dorilton facade “stone/s” is there because they are fake stones added after Weber’s closed. And nearly the entire Broadway side was “restored”.
I put restored in ironic quotation marks because the Dorilton went up circa 1905, so that space on Broadway was likely first an horse-carriage drop-off zone, then perhaps later a gas station. One would have to go to the city building department and look at original drawings (not the marketing ones on the LPC commission website) to find out what the exact use for that space was in 1905.
Also, the plinths below the fake limestone facade ashlar blocks are boxes made out of granite (real) panels.
Love this, Yvonne — I’m with you re: these fascinations! In fact, there’s another one in your photo at the bottom of the page. Behind the rock with the little plant in it is the Miller Highway Remnant — a little stub that’s left of the old fully elevated West Side Highway that was originally named the Miller Highway (named after the Manhattan borough president at the time). Today only the the 13 blocks south of 72nd Street are elevated, but it was at one time elevated all the way to the Financial District. (Probably some WSR readers remember it!) The little stub that sticks out (and then goes nowhere) at 72nd Street was to be a southbound exit ramp, but it was never finished.: https://www.loc.gov/pictures/item/ny2021.photos.385117p/
P.S. I love buildings too! Look forward to more of your writing.
Actually I would love to know the what and why of the hollow in the facade of the Dorilton. Have you thought of asking Landmarks West or maybe the super at the Dorilton.
Now I have something to obsess about.
Gnocchi too has become an “on the go” snack. There is that place on Columbus that sells it in a to go container, with a fork, so you can gnocchi and stroll.
“ That’s not a beginner move—that’s a confident choice in the world of snacks-to-go” – excellent writing! Always enjoy your essays, Yvonne!
Speaking of the Dorilton, it’s my favorite building on the Upper West Side. I love it and always make a point of showing it to my guests, who are equally impressed.
While I appreciate the overall message of the article—essentially, to each their own—I have to respectfully disagree with dedicating entire pieces to topics like misnumbered trains. It’s one thing to have varying tastes, but another to be flooded with articles about everyday mundane things such as an unusual train number or the latest on Absolute Bagels. Sure, these subjects bring joy to some, but do we really need a full article, for example, on pizza sauce tasting a bit different lately?
I hope your kids are less entitled than you! There’s a very easy method when you encounter an article in a free community news source that doesn’t interest you: stop reading and move on.
Is…is someone forcing you to read such articles?
Yes. You read the headline, you click on it hoping there’s some news- or amusement- worthy article there.
Speaking of eating spaghetti as a snack to go – I recently witnessed someone eating a container of spaghetti and meatballs on a bus. The person was taking up two seats and making quite a mess on the floor. When I politely pointed out the mess, the person snapped “ this is a public space and it is my right!”
Must have been a 10 Train!
ah, the new ‘American Way”.
Now I can’t wait to touch buildings. I’m inspired!
I find these random finds and musings wonderful. We all do it. Keep it up Yvonne!
Shhh! That’s where they hide the spare key.
First of all: wonderfully observant writing and observations, and a reminder to always look up and around. You never know what you might miss. Second: what you might miss could be the revelation of the week, and not merely a “meh” moment. Third: the Dorilton is a crazy treat for the eye, and joyously over-the-top bit of design. Those happy figures all over it! Thanks for this article!
I really enjoy your writing Yvonne…please keep the articles coming!
I love reading your articles. thank you for making me wonder!
Buildings like the Dorilton will never be built again not so much because that architecture has gone out of style, or even because those building materials have become increasingly expensive. It is because no developer would “waste” that much “empty” frontage when they can build out to the building line a create revenue-generating space.
That is why so little modern architecture is as “beautiful” as older architecture (even if that is “in the eyes of the beholder”), and why we can’t have “nice things” where architecture is concerned.
Fun piece! I’m always delighted with my own strange enthusiasms and passions and get a kick out of hearing about those of others. Passion is contagious and being around those who get excited for even small (and often stage) details and oddities adds lots of fun and flavor to life. Those of us who respond this way have a lot in common, even if our quirky joys don’t even remotely overlap Thanks for sharing yours!
Jimmy Hoffa in the Dorilton?