Evening star., 1903-07-11
Gothamite Complaint Of Want
of Places to Go.
SUPPLY Is OVERRATED
ONE OF THE BOTHERS THE WAR
LEFT BEHIND.
Triumph of the Manicure Girl In
Contrast to Her Less
Gifted Sister.
Special Correspondence OF The Evening Star.

Special Correspondence OF The Evening Star.
NEW YORK, July TO- 1903.
Here is q greater New York. grandilo-
quently so-called. community that will ere
long embrace a population Of five millions
of souls. that yet has fewer resorts-resorts.
that is to say. that are possible-for an af-
ternoon's or an evenings airing in the good
old summer time than many third-rate In
land American cities. There is no need to
say that the waters around New York are
beautiful and inviting. No need. either. to
say that those waters are cluttered with
excursion craft Of every sort and descrip-
ton. There are thousands of trains, too,
every day. offering to convey you to duly
mapped and charted places that are called
summer resorts. But you must be OF q
patient and enduring makeup II you set
out for any of them. You carry your tenn
per, II not your life. in your hand when
you take a boat or train for any OF the re-
sorts within a reasonable hitting distance
of this town. OF Saturdays and Sundays.
as matter OF course, you remain indoors.
with the shades drawn-nobody with
gnat's appreciation of that state of calm
called sweetness and light fares forth on
pleasure bent on these two days In New
York. But the remaining five days Of the
week are almost equally bad. There is no
stick your pencil In the map Of New York
and its environs There Is no getting away
from the juxtaposition of fash men and
flasher women. toughs OF the III don't
go dey amt a-gofn' t be no Scursion" type.
jabbering hordeS not long released from
Ellis Island and hailing from lands where
bath tubs are the friv0lities OF the enor-
mously rich. drunks and disorderlies OF
Of the sunless slums whose quarters or
half-dolfars for the afternoon Of riot are
Just as good as yours. It Is simply idle,
worse than futile, for you to become crafty
imagine. until you have found experience,
the crowds win be minus
We shall take sail up to West Point
on the Hudson" you foxily determine
bound in that direction. and we shall be
able to take look at the palisades and
the Catskill foothills in peace and quiet
And then you find that the West Point
Coney Island boats-the scrambling hordes
who are unable to fight their way on board
the steamers bound down the bay. In
every direction 1t is the same. You de-
eide for example. to cross to Jersey and
take train on the Erie road for Green
wood lake. that not inaptly termed Swift
zerland Of America in the heart of the
orange mountains OF New Jersey. You
reflect. self-natteringly. There will be a
peaceable little expedition for a dav of
ozone-the tads and beer-guzzlers assured
ly must give a wide berth to a place that
has little to offer to holiday makers ex-
cept scenery. and Bill and Liz no doubt
want spelling. not scenery. on their days
OF the East Side Of New York, with an
admixture Of the least nkabIe regions of
the West Side Of the town. and then you
mournfully wonder II there is balm in
Greater New York. Half of one sum
mer's experience more than teaches YOU
that there is none
You have always that Hobson's choice
between Coney Island and Manhattan
Beach. Everybody reading this knows
what Coney Island Is. It is a place where
the curfew bell tolls, f1guratively at 2:3O
In the morning, which Is about all that
need be said. It is the worlds midway
in extenso 1t is swept by ocean breezes "
as the advertisements tell us. The adver-
t1sements tell nobody. however, that its
pavements are swept by the feet and skirts
or the worlds scum. Coney Island Is the
oeI1rium tremens made manifest and
wrought in brick and stone and clapboards
by some modern and vulgar Merlin II
you are normal and possess a mind in a
state of health. two hours of Coney will
NIX upon you nostalgia for the deepest
and darkest woods that still await the
exploration Of man. All of the castaways
on Times pitiless sea seem to be pitched
up on Coney's shelving shore. A sad. mad
sort OF place. Coney, filed with hideous
SOUNDS and hefnous sights. Yet 1t is one
Of the two great" places to which New
Yorkers painting for a breath of air must
repair whose occupations REQUIRE them tn
remain within striking distance of the
town. '-A'
Manhattan Beach is~the other. Manhat-
tan Beach is a sun-baked little stretch OF
asphaltum walks, on which there are some
Denches, band stand. an eating pavilion
and and a bathing establishment. No single
pleasure" spot on the globe has been
more absurdly overrated than this same
Manhattan Beach. It is shadeless. and
the sun beats mercilessly upon it as ff
the rays were focused through vast
magnifying glass. The eating establish
ment Is an institution to gain a table in
which you stand in line for hours, only. at
sne end OF your weary vigil. to sit down
food by bullet-headed waiter who openly
sneers at. reviles and curses those who do
not give him at least 81 bill as a tip.
The bathing pavilion is a plant in which, IL
you hanker for dip in the sea. you are
thrust into tiny and dirty bath room
with two or three other persons whose in
stinctive hatred for you on general prin-
ciples Is only equaled by the natural and
tain toward them. The band stand Is a
garish sounding board whence Under the
Bamboo Tree" "Hiawatha' and "Ef Time
was Money, A'd Be Uh Millionaire" blare
horribly all the time and make the mono
tone Of the nearby sea seem a mockery
New York's resorts are arranged and de-
SiSCO lOE tHo CTOWUS, OF course, and the
makers Of them have done their work upon
the natural presumption-which is none
out OF the way-that New Yorkers, for the
most part. so far as the holiday makers are
concerned. love above all things to throw
base ball at sure enough '1ive niger
heads" to flop around in the unspeakable
mechanical contraption called the Barrel
o Love-" and to get their tintypes taken
at the rate of three for 10 cents-one dime.
II that isn't your idea Of q lovely time,
then you can stay away and enjoy your
seclusion behind the drawn shades-which,
after all. isn't so bad. Even the visible
waves of heat rising from the superheated
streets of New York are better than the
gulps of befOuled air that you must in
hale when you try to get away from New
York for an afternoon or evening.
Polly Still Wants the Cracker.
And now a pest of parrots and parokeets
has been tackled onto the other manifold
and multitudinous Affections wherewith the
fiatters of New York are afflicted. The rag
time piano Founders. the cornet practicers,
the wives who scold husbands and hus-
bands who bulldoze wives, the merrymak-
ers holding chase-the-can fiestas, the weep
Ing dogs, the shrieking children, and the
hundred and one other bedevilments with
which the tenants Of flats of about the con-
formation OF vestibuled trains had to put
up, were not enough, and so now the fiat
ters who long for the quiet life have to add