If your idea of New York comes from action flicks or film noir, then you might think shadowy, mysterious alleys teeming with criminals lurk all over the cityscape.
The criminals, that’s a different story. But the reality is that Gotham never had many alleys, and the ones that escaped the bulldozer over the centuries are almost entirely below Canal Street.
Why so few alleys? It all comes down to the exorbitant value of New York City real estate.
In 1811, when city officials established the street grid that would guide the expansion of Manhattan, they maximized the amount of land available for development by leaving out space for alleys. The surviving alleys that still exist actually predate the street grid.
Because of the dearth of alleys, it’s something of a thrill to come across one on a random walk through Lower Manhattan. That’s how I felt when I encountered the entrance to a slender drive called Edens Alley off Gold Street, in the middle of the former cow paths and cart lanes of pre-Revolutionary War New York.
Bordered by unremarkable buildings, Edens Alley is a sliver of asphalt leading to a dumpster. It then makes a sharp angle and ends at Fulton Street, where it takes the name Ryders Alley.
The Ryders Alley end of this elbow-shaped lane is longer and more cinematic, with Belgian block paving and a lone streetlight. (Apparently Belgian blocks existed on Edens Alley until they were recently paved over.) On my late afternoon visit, both ends looked abandoned and dreary.
So what’s the backstory of this two-name alley—a forgotten remnant of ye olde New York or pointless waste of real estate, depending on your view—hidden amid the skyscraper canyons of the financial capital of the world?
What became Ryders Alley appeared on maps as early as the 1740s; the map below from 1799 has it by name as Rider Street. Its namesake might be British-born lawyer, John Rider, according to Robert Sullivan in his 2004 book Rats: Observations on the History and Habitats of the City’s Most Unwanted Inhabitants.
Rider Street and Rider Alley made it into city newspapers in the early 1800s. The Evening Post announced in 1804 the sale of three lots of land “with a dwelling house on each” situated “in front on Gold Street, in the rear by Rider Street, by one side on a lane called Rider Alley.”
At this post-Revolution time, Rider Alley was likely an appealing place to live. “When called Ryder Street, Dr. James Hardie and several of our most respectable citizens lived in it,” stated the 1885 book, The Old Merchants of New York City.
But development and population density began to change the face of downtown New York. An 1825 Evening Post ad notes that a corner lot was for sale at Fulton and Rider Streets. By 1850, Rider’s Alley has become Ryder’s Alley on at least one Manhattan map. The distinction of a separate Rider Street seem to disappear from city records.
Wait, what about Edens Alley? Though I couldn’t find any maps using this name, references to an Eden’s Alley in the exact location as Ryders Alley go back to 1799—with newspaper articles listing the names of Eden’s Alley residents killed in the yellow fever outbreak at the dawn of the 18th century.
Before yellow fever felled thousands of New Yorkers, Eden’s Alley got its name from Medcef Eden. Born in Yorkshire UK, Eden brewed ale on Gold Street. He’s recalled in this 1920 New York Times real estate article as “a visionary figure among the great landowners in the city following the Revolution.”
The Times article listed all the property Medcef Eden purchased across Manhattan before his death in 1798. The Eden Farm occupied today’s Times Square; Eden also owned land in Harlem, on John Street, on Bowery Road, as well as several houses and lots on Rider’s Alley.
The Times seems to clear up the confusion about the name of the alley. (Above photo from 1932, with the light on the left coming through the crack that is Ryders Alley)
“This latter and smaller section of the tiny alley appears in the early directories, and as late as 1833 as Eden’s Alley,” reported the Times. “It led into Riders Alley, but the two sections are now known by the latter name.”
So Riders Alley, and then Ryders Alley, became the name of the entire crooked passageway. Not even useful as a pedestrian cut-thru, the alley became a real-estate afterthought.
A “genteel eating house” opened on the corner of Fulton Street in 1837; a tin plate concern took up residence in 1900. A deli currently occupies the corner at Fulton Street, with a comics store upstairs
Seemingly forgotten as office towers rose in the early 20th century and a revitalized South Street Seaport in the 1980s brought in tourists, Ryders Alley did get a contemporary upgrade: The Downtown Alliance installed new black and white street signs indicating its landmark background.
The Alliance also split the alley into its historically accurate two sections—with the Edens Alley sign on the corner of Gold Street and Ryders Alley sign at the Fulton Street end.
No residences or stores have their front doors on either leg of the alley. But that doesn’t mean it’s uninhabited. In his book about New York’s rat population, Sullivan nicknames this passageway “rat alley” and notes the numerous rats who roam the alley during his visits.
I didn’t see any rats on my trip. But if you decide to check out this humble remainder of colonial-era New York City, watch out! Instead of film noir bad guys, you’re more likely to encounter New York’s longtime rodent enemy.
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Beloved Public Art Piece in Battery Park City Will Be Demolished
Upper Limit
Ned Smyth’s sculptural art piece, Upper Room, has been deaccessioned and will be removed in the coming weeks.
Battery Park City’s first public art piece, “Upper Room,” has been closed and is slated to be demolished soon. The sculptural court at the intersection of Albany Street and the Hudson River esplanade debuted in 1986 and has long been a favorite venue for birthday parties, chess games, and impromptu potluck suppers.
The Upper Room was the vision of sculptor Ned Smyth. He created it as part of Battery Park City’s renowned public art program, a central element of the overall design of the neighborhood. Mr. Smyth recalls that the art panel advising the BPCA “selected my proposal because they thought would be more than an object. It might become a destination where people would hang out. It was meant to be more of an environment, rather than a single sculpture.”
Upper Room has been a favorite venue for impromptu potluck dinners.
Perched on an elevated platform, 70 feet from east to west and 40 feet along the esplanade, Upper Room was indeed an environment unto itself. Surrounded by 20 columns of cast concrete inlaid with mosaics of pink stones, the salmon-hued fantasia evoked Roman, Greek, Egyptian, and Byzantine architectural motifs, while exuding the ambience of an ancient ruin. Along with tables and benches, it featured a miniature pyramidal temple at its center, sprouting a stone palm frond.
Soon after its unveiling, Upper Room was described by The New York Times as “one of the city’s most popular works of public art. A magnet for Wall Street brown-baggers, it is also a favorite resting place for strollers along the esplanade, one of the choicest waterfront walks in the city.”
Mr. Smyth, who lived for many years in Tribeca, would regularly stroll to Battery Park City to view his handiwork and the reactions it inspired. “There were small kids, pretending and performing,” he recalls. “Once a woman who lived nearby came out and told me, ‘I hate this sculpture.’ I asked why and she said, ‘because the Hell’s Angels, whose clubhouse is on the Lower East Side, come here every weekend and play loud music and I can’t stand it.’ And I said, ‘really? The Hell’s Angels like it? That’s so cool.’”
Local resident Rosalie Joseph recalls, “when my nieces were young, they always wanted me to take them this make-believe palace where they could pretend to be a princess and a queen. During all my years here, before September 11, 2001, and since, I’ve probably hosted dozens of spontaneous group dinners there. I would just call friends and say, ‘everyone bring something to the stone tables.’ And we would share the space with families celebrating birthdays and anniversaries.”
Ms. Joseph says that with the onset of the Covid pandemic in 2020, Upper Room became even more important, even in the coldest months. “When we couldn’t gather indoors, that became the communal table and an outdoor dining room where friends stayed connected with each other, and the community.”
In 2019, when the BPCA appraised its public art collection for insurance purposes, Upper Room was valued at $1.5 million. Recently, however, planners for the Authority’s North/West Resiliency project designated the western end of Albany Street as the location for a large underground tide gate, which would have to be buried directly beneath Upper Room.
Mr. Smyth says, “they called me in and said, ‘we’ve got to put in flood gates and these have to go right where the steps come down.’ I asked why they can’t move it to another area. To me, it is shocking that they are going to get rid of it.” When the BPCA announced a public farewell ceremony for Upper Room last week, Mr. Smyth declined to attend. “I’m not satisfied with information they’ve provided about this, because they’re not telling people it will be torn down,” he says.
The BPCA responds that Upper Room was built in a way that makes relocation impossible without extensive damage, and its large size severely limits other sites that could hold it. The Authority says this is the only piece in its collection that will need to be demolished.
A spokesman for the agency says, “Upper Room unfortunately must be removed for flood mitigation work necessary to protect lives and property in Battery Park City and beyond, about which we’ve been in discussions with the artist and community for more than a year. We thank Mr. Smyth for such a meaningful contribution to the public art of Battery Park City, and will continue to keep the community updated as we proceed with this vital construction work.”
Abby Ehrlich, who retired in June after decades of service at the BPCA, most recently as the director of community partnerships and public art, said, “Ned Smyth’s Upper Room is the foundation on which all the public art that has followed and flourished in Battery Park City for 40 years was built. It was commissioned by BPCA through a committee of New York City visionaries, such as Agnes Gund, Amanda Burden, and others, who had championed an open, full-throttle embrace of the essential role in healthy communities and society of art and artists. Upper Room literally opens to the heavens and the Hudson River, connecting people with earth, water and air, with a sense of quiet grandeur. This is why anyone of any age who experiences Upper Room feels its grace and power, and is reminded of our own.”
Matthew Fenton
Credits
THE BROADSHEET
Though I do not live or work in BPC, I am sad to see this artwork gone in the name of resiliency. I have always admired the promenade and art at BPC and am sad that this favorite piece will soon be dust. Judith Berdy
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated THIS PUBLICATION FUNDED BY DISCRETIONARY FUNDS FROM CITY COUNCIL MEMBER JULIE MENIN & ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE FUNDS.
