The Waterbury Democrat., 1934-07-28
In New York
Bv PAUL HARRISON

New YorK.-All around the town: The night club people are trying to find new term for their establishments, and they don't like cabaret. But Broadway calls a spade a spade, so it won't easily get out of the habit of designating clubs as clubs I know many a spot which could be termed an unrest-aurant.
 In a lot of ways it's just nick village. On Thirty-fourth street there's an arrowed sign reading:
 ITO Penn Depot" .. Along Broad way there is more gossip than is carried on over all the backyard fences between here and Emporia. People meet arriving liners with the same interest they used to display back home by strolling down to the station to watch the express come in Though not a
 very neighborly town, it's disci- plined to be cooperative. I know lazy fellow who lives on the twelfth story of an apartment house, and when he wants to mail letter he just throws it out the window. Five times out of six tries, some passerby has picked up the letter and put it in a box.
 Catch to This Dinner!
 There's one restaurant, Leone's, which has gone bucolic to the eX- tent of installing a trout stream in what used to be an automobile
 parking lot, and letting the cus- toners catch their own fish. Sev-
 eral of the cafes have gardens where the mint for juleps is pick
 ed fresh for every drink.
 New York is one place-per.-
 haps the only place-where not ables are more noticeable when they're absent than when present. That's. because of the boarded-up
 mansions along the swankier streets some houses closed for the summer are occupied by caretakers and their families.
 They sit out on the front stoops of an evening, the men smoking
 pipes and wearing shirt sleeves, the women exchanging pleasant
 ries from door to door. Gives a ding facades of society's winter palaces.
 Oddly Enough
 Just as in any other place there
 are characters" and eccentrics who attract amused or pitying at- tention. Take Fifth avenue: Of a morning, in the St Patrick's Cathedral region, you're likely to encounter an elderly Beau Brum- mel wearing cutaway, striped trousers, button shoes, a greenish old derby. waxed mustaches and
 a cane. He speaks to everybody who looks like lady or a gentle
 man .. Up in the Eighties there's a spry old fellow, very well dress
 ed, who orders himself around in
 elaborate military maneuvers. Sometimes he walks the cracks in the sidewalk, or skips along the
 wall bordering Central Park Somewhere in the same neigh borhood lives a man who like to play traffic cop. If he sees a wo-
 man waiting at the curb he'll charge gallantly in front of on-
 rushing cars, bring them to a halt with screaming brakes and scrap ing lenders, and wave the pedes- trian across with a low bow On lower Fifth avenue strolls a
 man who wears long green.feath-
 CT in his hat and twirls an ebony
 cane encrusted with brilliants. He'll tel lyou, if you look inter- ested, that the cane cost $100,000. Of women, there's mumbling
 crone who dresses in a kitchen ap-
 ron over which is draped an old lace curtain. A policeman told
 me she owns uite a lot of real estate east of Greenwich Village.
 Down to the Sea
 A few years ago, when I lived in the neighborhood. nice old gentleman took a Fourteenth street
 crosstown street car every Monday.
 morning to a Hudson River pier. A conductor told me that for at least ten years he had seen the passenger, always chipper and
 beaming at everybody in the morn ing, always downcast when he re-
 turned in the early afternoon. All
 the carmen were curious about
 him, until finally one of them en- gagged him in brief conversation. T went to the pier to meet the
 white-haired gentleman. "But I found she won't dock until next Monday. I went to. meet my wife and son; they're coming in on the Bourgogne."
 The next Monday, and the next
 and the next for hundreds of Mon- days, he went to meet the ship, telling people on the way that he soon was to see his wife and boy. Finally somebody looked up the vessel in the marine records, and there was the answer to the mys- tery. La Bourgogne was lost off | the New Foundland Banks in 1898.