Astor Place

This is an article, written by me and edited by Alex Marshall, recently published in Spotlight, Regional plan Association's weekly column.

Coming Into Being
For such a large physical space, Astor Place has a surprisingly low profile in Manhattan. It is mostly known for the Kmart, Cooper Union and, of course, Tony Rosenthal's Alamo sculpture, better known as “The Cube,” around which the intersection seems to revolve.

In other cities, a square where two subway lines meet and three major streets overlap would probably be a vibrant downtown core, with a gravitation felt for blocks around. In Manhattan however, it is an in-between space. It is devoured historically by the Bowery to the south, Greenwich Village to the west, Union Square on the north and the recently-renovated East Village to the east. It has a foot in each of these places, and has not quite managed to emerge on its own feet, as its own place.

It should be said that Astor Place is different things to different people. For some, it is essentially just a subway stop, a small traffic island within some busy streets. But for me, and I believe for many others, Astor Place is the relatively large trapezoidal-shaped area that runs from Broadway over to 3rd Avenue, and 4th Street to 9th Street.

I walk twice daily through Astor Place, on my way to Union Square and back, usually through a sea of Ipodded fellow travelers. I notice that Astor Place is changing, and quickly. As buildings rise and fall, and streets and sidewalks are re-carved, Astor Place may continue to exist as a non-space defined by the places around it, or it may coalesce into a place whose boundaries define other places, rather than being defined by them.

On my daily trips, I notice changes in and around the square the way I might notice flowers budding or leaves falling from trees. Recently the luxury condominium tower, designed by architect Charles Gwathmey, was built with a lot of hand-wringing. Its form of wrap-around mirrored glass was a mystery to locals until the water tower had been completed and covered. Back in March 2005 the Cube was removed temporarily, prompting Internet accusations of a fate similar to the Tompkins Square band shell, which was “removed for cleaning” in 1992 and never returned. In response to the cube’s absence, residents quickly, and hilariously, replaced the empty space with a PVC pipe version of the sculpture. The Cube was reinstalled late last year, prompting a sigh of relief. But just last week the statue of Peter Cooper was removed without explanation. In typical New York fashion, people take these changes in stride with a dash of resignation and humor. “Maybe he’s in the bathroom,” a friend said about Peter Cooper’s disappearance.

Around this changing square, titans of American consumerism are growing up like deep-rooted oak trees. We live among the essentials here. We have Starbucks (two! one east, one west), Barnes & Noble, Kmart, The Gap, McDonald’s and Chase all circling the Cube. We also have Cooper Union and McSorley's, Collonade Row and Grace Church and all the undeniable history that comes with them being piled on top of one another. And we also have the stretch of 8th Street known as St. Mark's Place. What we don't have is a neighborhood.

The districts that surround Astor Place are coming into their own, and this in turn can help Astor Place form its identity. Nearby St. Mark’s Place is one example of this. It is changing rapidly, even while it retains its intimate and parochial flavor in the best sense of the word. Cars travel slowly down its length, limited by the street’s narrow width and overflowing sidewalk traffic. Pedestrians cross in the middle of the street. The stores articulate themselves into the sidewalk with abandon. The old Astor of crime and punk rock has shifted itself into history. Now, new Japanese restaurants and markets open up every month. Chain stores, though, wither and die, crowded out by the local commercial foliage. Quizno’s failed because the little market right next door makes tastier sandwiches. It all adds up to a better experience.

Helped along by its vibrant neighbors like St. Mark’s, I feel a guarded optimism that Astor may actually live up to its name, and become “a place.” But it’s contingent on the city making the right public improvements to guide private investments in the area. More defined edges, more pedestrian scale, more sidewalks, more places for humans as opposed to cars, is the way to go. Helped along when it is needed, Astor Place can emerge as an invigorating hub around which equally vibrant parts of the city swirl.