Miracle on 42nd Street (2017) - full transcript

Today New York is a center

for finance, culture, art, and

fashion.

But it wasn't always this way.

In the 1970s, many American

cities were suffering from urban

decay.

Nowhere was this problem more

obvious than in Times Square,

the home of Broadway theater.

The city was on the edge of



financial collapse.

This threat of bankruptcy forced

a chain of improbable events

that led to a groundbreaking

concept in housing.

In Hell's Kitchen, there were

these extraordinary buildings

that ran between 9th and

10th Avenue, down on 43rd to

42nd Street.

I learned to play guitar there.

I learned to play piano there.

I learned to act.

Had my first kiss there.



Played my first song that I

wrote lyrics to and played the

music to on that piano in that

apartment, in that building.

That building raised me.

It was a place that supported

you and nurtured you.

It's a real home for artists

and for their families.

Just like when Dorothy

clicked her heels, I feel like

there's no place like home.

This wasn't just a place to

live.

This was a community.

I would've had to have left

my chosen field of classical

music if it were not for

Manhattan Plaza.

For as much as I could have a

sense of community, there wasa

sense of community in

Manhattan Plaza.

You know, I've been living here,

what, how many months now?

And... Well, nobody knows.

I don't talk to anybody.

How can anybody know?

You know, and as years go by,

there's a whole new generation

of people who have no idea what

went on and what had to be

done... and what wasdone.

In cities all across America,

these events would change the

way we value the arts and

artists in rebuilding

communities.

So, our idea was attract

artists to Ajo.

It's a kind of a movement.

If you have a better idea,

offer it up.

I can tell that it's the arts.

It really started with artist

housing, and there's a hundred

examples of that all across the

country.

And so much of what went into

Manhattan Plaza was really a

labor of love.

Nobody wanted to live here

because Times Square was bad andseedy.

Manhattan Plaza revitalized

the center of the city.

It was ourbuilding.

Yeah, it wasa miracle.

Hey, dear, make sure that,

when Mia comes in, you just let

her know that this came in, okay?

Okay.

And I told you what was for

dinner.

Mm-hmm.

- Any problems call me.
- All right

Okay, sweetie. Thank you.

Okay, sweetie. Bye-bye, honey.

Bye.

I'm a neighborhood girl.

I was born and raised in the

Chelsea /Clinton/Hell's Kitchen

area.

So I lived on 29th and 10th, in

what was a dying neighborhood.

My first love was musical

theater.

I am an understudy.

I cover four roles.

It means I am there for every

performance... God forbid,

should someone get injured or be

unable to do their role.

And it's at once the hardest and

most amazing job I've ever had.

Right before I moved to

Manhattan Plaza, I was attending

college.

And I remember those long nights

when we'd have rehearsals or

whatever, and I'd be getting out

at 1:00 in the morning, 1:30,

and I had to walk those really

dark, empty streets to 29th and

10th, you know, looking over my

shoulder all the time.

It was not fun.

Back then, this was such a

horrible place to come and live.

[ Up-tempo minor-key piano

[ plays, horse hooves clopping ]

For well over a hundred

years, it's been one of the most

infamous neighborhoods in all of

Manhattan... sometimes called

Clinton, sometimes called

Midtown West, it's better known

by the more colorful name

Hell's Kitchen.

From The New York Times,

September 22, 1881...

"Just outside of the square,

bounded by West 40th and

West 38th streets on the north

and the south and by 10th and

11th avenues on the east and

west, is situated a collection

of buildings known to the police

as 'Hell's Kitchen.'

The entire locality," the

newspaper goes on, "is probably

the lowest and filthiest in the

city... a locality where law and

order are openly defied.

The whole neighborhood is an

eyesore."

[ Dramatic music plays,

[ indistinct shouting ]

We call it "Hell's Kitchen"

over there, and sometimes we

don't say the "Kitchen."

The boundaries of the

neighborhood changed over the

years, but the idea of what

Hell's Kitchen was, what it

stood for, persisted for

decades.

It was a tough area.

I mean, tough kids came from

there.

There were the Irish

mobsters, the Westies.

And the Westies were most

visible and notorious from the

1950s to about the 1980s.

The saddest of those cases was

the 1959 "Capeman" murders, in

which two teenage boys who had

nothing to do with gangs at all

were killed, and Paul Simon made

a musical out of the notorious

case.

The tough reputation of

Hell's Kitchen was further

enshrined in fictional accounts

of the neighborhood, in films like the

"Sweet Smell of Success."

And, of course,

"West Side Story."

It's where Daredevil battled

crime and where another

Marvel Comic antihero,

Jessica Jones, got her start.

Because of the neighborhood's

bad reputation, the rents are

inexpensive.

On the other hand, your cheap

apartment is just a 10-minute

walk from the Broadway theaters,

so guess who's going to live there.

Starting in the early 1950s,

Hell's Kitchen was where

performers learned their craft,

at places like

The Actors Studio, the

New Dramatists playwright

center, and, later, the Improv

comedy club.

For generations, struggling

actors, comics, dancers,

musicians, and behind-the-scenes

workers called it home, no

matter how humble.

I was living on

West 43rd Street, between 8th

and 9th Avenue when I was first

starting out doing stand-up

comedy.

It was one of those railroad

apartments.

I had to take my army boot off

when I walked in the apartment

to go on a roach hunt to kill

the roaches.

In the early 1970s,

conditions in Hell's Kitchen

went from bad to worse, as

America was plunged into a

severe economic recession.

Today we have a unique form

of economic imbalance... a lot

of inflation combined with

definite conditions of a

recession.

The recession was the result

of several factors... increased

foreign competition in

manufacturing, the Arab oil

embargo in 1973 that nearly

quadrupled the price of oil, and

uncertainty resulting from the

demise of the gold standard for

U.S. currency.

This led to an unusual

combination of economic

stagnation, rising unemployment,

but also soaring interest rates

and inflation... a condition

which came to be known as

"stagflation."

Unemployment is above normal

levels because of our...

In New York City, the urban

decay, which had been localized

in areas like Hell's Kitchen,

spread.

It was ugly. It was bad.

It was shocking even to a cop.

The crime rate was soaring, and

it wasn't only that... it was

the perception of crime because

it looked so bad.

I mean, it really looked bad.

In Manhattan, the

transformation was most shocking

in the Broadway/Times Square

theater district.

If you walked down

42nd Street on a Friday night,

you couldn't get through one...

it looked like New Year's Eve

except everybody was a bad guy.

42nd Street then and now, I

think, is the most celebrated

street in New York, and I think

everybody felt that there's

something wrong that this legend

should be living like a bum.

The lives of these theaters

was endangered.

People were shunning the area.

They weren't coming.

Something simply had to be done.

I said, "How did this happen

so quickly?

How did all these massage

parlors, and how are these porn

places, and how come all the

prostitutes are out?"

For the first half of the

20th century, you have dozens

and dozens of these

Broadway-related shops in the

Times Square and Hell's Kitchenarea.

And as those begin to close, as

those begin to consolidate, you

then have a lot of vulnerable

buildings that don't have a

tenant, that may be abandoned,

and they are ripe for the

picking in terms of criminal

uses, adult entertainment.

And so the diminishing

blue-collar world of Broadway

left Times Square vulnerable to

adult entertainment and crime.

And it helps to explain why, of

all the neighborhoods, this

Times Square and Hell's Kitchen

section of Manhattan was so

inundated.

As the recession hits,

New York City goes on an

austerity campaign, and police,

fire, and other public services

are cut.

Conditions in most of our

central cities are shameful.

Nowhere is the blight more

acute than in the heart of

Hell's Kitchen.

Between 42nd and 43rd, 9th

and 10th Avenue was kind of like

the Wild Wild West.

9th Avenue was pretty much

controlled by transvestite

hookers.

It's kind of like, "Where are

the cops?!"

I had a very vivid New York

education working from 11:00

until 7:00 in the morning in

Manhattan Plaza.

Every night when I walked

home from the Improv, I would

pretend that I was a heroin

addict so people would leave me

alone.

I'd wobble, I'd stagger

like that, you know?

The massage parlors were just

horrible, and nobody was making

any money.

And so the owners didn't really

want to own the buildings,

because who wants to own

unprofitable massage parlors?

In the early 1970s, when most

builders were ignoring the

West Side, Richard Ravitch, then

an executive of

HRH Construction, took another

look.

And he saw this property, and

it was for sale.

The property, bounded by 9th

and 10th avenues on the east and

west, 43rd to 42nd streets on

the north and south, was owned

by the Durst real-estate family.

Where most people saw tenement

apartments and a parking lot,

Ravitch envisaged something

else.

In the early '70s,

HRH Construction built

Waterside Plaza, a middle-income

high-rise on Manhattan's

East Side.

It's a formula Ravitch thinks

could work on the West Side, as

well.

A deal was made to acquire

this site with the idea of

bringing upwardly mobile people

into the area.

It's a plan without precedent

in Hell's Kitchen... a health

club, a swimming pool, a

playground, a parking garage,

five tennis courts, two towers,

1,689 apartments.

I have the privilege of

announcing the formation of the

Times Square Development

Council, which will be...

Lindsay was mayor, and they

were gonna transform the

West Side.

Eventually, a deal was made to

build middle-income housing from

9th Avenue to 10th Avenue, from

42nd to 43rd, with the idea of

bringing upwardly mobile people

into Hell's Kitchen.

Ravitch and Fischer access

New York State funding called

the Mitchell-Lama housing

program.

The program offered tax and

mortgage incentives to

developers of low- and

middle-income housing.

With Mitchell-Lama secured, the

city agrees to loan the builders

nearly all of the $95 million in

construction costs.

Soon, the development is full

speed ahead, and it has a

name... Manhattan Plaza.

The year is 1974.

The plan is for Manhattan Plaza

to be fully rented and open by

1976.

But there are doubters.

The New York Timescalls

Manhattan Plaza "the biggest

real-estate gamble in the city."

Several tenements were torn

down, and Hell's Kitchen

families were displaced to start

construction.

When they proposed this

housing, many people attended

those meetings about, "How tall

was it gonna be?

44? 48?

No, we don't want that here."

We lived on 41st Street, and

my father used to carry me on

his shoulder to go to the

bathroom in the backyard.

Bathrooms in the hallway, no

private showers, no heat.

People did say, "Why are they

building a luxury building?

Weneed apartments."

But as construction

continued, double-digit

inflation hit, and things got

more complicated.

As interest rates soar, so do

Manhattan Plaza's projected

rents.

The problem was that the

rents were gonna be much higher

because interest rates were

higher, and we had to go to the

next brackets up, and that was

not gonna be easy.

The soaring projected rental

costs, combined with the city's

insolvency, came to a head in

1975.

We're facing up to the

financial crisis confronting

this city and state.

We need your help!

I know you're going to give it.

In 1975, Mayor Abraham Beame

made a bold move to protect the

city's investment.

The change in direction

jeopardized and ultimately

revolutionized Manhattan Plaza.

Unwanted and unrentable,

Manhattan Plaza stands as a

towering failure.

Suddenly, there was no

market, and the city could've

lost $90 million, which was a

huge mortgage hit at that time,

so they proposed to make it into

a low-income project.

In a surprise move, the city

secured new federal funding.

The program provides

project-based assistance for

low-income tenants, better known

as Section 8 housing.

I didn't really know what

Section 8 was.

Well, I remembered from the

army, a Section 8 was something

that, if you were insane or

mentally disabled, that was your

discharge.

So, I called up a lawyer who

was very, very active in housing

in the federal government, and I

asked him what Section 8 housing

was.

Well, he says, "It's the lowest

form of subsidized housing, and

the record is it always turns a

neighborhood down."

There was a lot of fear.

There was a feeling that it

would bring down the real-estate values.

They were down pretty far.

I don't know how much further

they could've gone.

Broadway theater owners

confronted Roger Starr, the

city's head of housing and

development.

I said, "If you want to

convert this to Section 8

housing, we're gonna sue you."

He said, "You're jeopardizing

the city's $95 million mortgage,

and the city is broke."

I said, "You're gonna destroy

this area."

The abandoned building was a

financial disaster.

Every day, it cost the city

$16,000 in interest.

Something had to happen fast.

Some neighborhood residents

called for the building to be

torn down brick by brick.

You're gonna destroy this area!

This is discrimination!

Faced with mounting

opposition from local residents

and theater owners, the city and

Manhattan Plaza's builders seek

out the help of the

Settlement Housing Fund, a

nonprofit that specializes in

affordable housing.

They asked us if we would

recommend how to rent the

buildings out, and I said,

"Yeah, come on.

We got to have some fun."

So we said yes, we would form

this committee, and a lot of

people came and made

suggestions.

And I would pass this

building when it was being

built, and I'd say, "Geez, it

would be wonderful if we could

get one or two apartments for

actors on the lower floors,

where nobody wants to be that

close to the traffic."

In Times Square,

Gerald Schoenfeld confers with

another Broadway producer,

Alexander H. Cohen.

I went out for dinner with

Alex Cohen, and the subject

drifted into Manhattan Plaza.

"If it's going to be for the

poor," Cohen tells Schoenfeld,

"let's make it for ourpoor."

He said, "You know, that

should be 'the actors'

bedroom.'"

I said, "Alex, that's the

answer.

Now, you keep your big mouth

shut and leave it to me."

Broadway producers became

quite the supporters of saving

the project and directing it

towards housing for artists.

We formed a board committee.

A lot of people came and made

suggestions, and one of them was

to dedicate the building to

performing artists.

It was Dan Rose.

"Oh, wouldn't it be great to

have movie stars living there,

Broadway stars.

Make this a class act."

I don't know who came up with

the idea.

It might've been Schoenfeld.

It was my idea.

We got performing artists

into Manhattan Plaza.

Nobody really knows for sure

whose idea it was, but there are

a lot of people who take credit

for it.

And that's fine, too, because it

was a good idea.

They had to come up with a

group of people that could be

poor but yet socially acceptable

to the community board.

We have all kinds of people

of all kinds of backgrounds

working in the theater.

And we found out the incomes,

and, lo and behold, Equity

members had no money.

Theater is such an on-and-off

business, you know?

People don't know from one week

to the next whether their show's

gonna close, and yet the public

need to be entertained.

Research showed actors are

good fits for Section 8

financial requirements.

They were actors, and they

were poor.

They were low-income.

Good grief, you can't earn a

lot of money all the time.

One year, you could be on

Broadway, make a lot of money,

and the next year, you were

unemployed.

A plan was proposed.

"Manhattan Plaza will remain a

Section 8 project, but its

subsidies will go to qualified

actors, singers, dancers, and

behind-the-scene members of the

entertainment community.

They would never have built a

building like Manhattan Plaza

from scratch for actors.

♪ We have all that jazz

A Midtown business group

wages a legal fight, arguing

Section 8 housing will doom the

area, with or without actors.

The idea kept getting

hammered.

The community was outraged.

"How could you have this

subsidized housing and not

include us?"

Housing activists say the

city should spread the

Section 8 subsidies around, it

should benefit more than just

one neighborhood, and the people

of Hell's Kitchen demand to be

included, also.

These people have to live!

They've got to have a home.

And they're not gonna have a

home if you're gonna do what

you're doing.

To me, 9th Avenue has always

been my home, so the store

owners and the people who lived

here got involved and said, "We

can't have this."

We went to the

Board of Estimate hearings.

We agreed that some portion of

this had to go back to the

community, and it included

people who had lived here for

many, many years... 40, 50

years.

So then was all this

negotiation... at

Holy Cross Church one night, a

meeting with everybody screaming

and ranting and carrying on.

It'll be a disaster.

Order! Order!

February 4, 1977...

the fate of the building was

determined.

It did hang by a thread.

Everything was so tenuous, and

the city was in a very tenuous time.

Mr. Chairman, Mr. Chairman!

Actors rallied support for

the revised plan... among them,

Oscar winner Estelle Parsons.

We're gonna sue!

My family needs help more

than actors.

We need...

"Everybody is always getting

something out of the society

they live in except for the

performer.

And all that the performers are

really asking for with

Manhattan Plaza is an

opportunity to live on campus.

Broadway is our turf.

You know, without a

performing-arts community,

New York City would be like five

Clevelands.

Gentlemen, if you want to keep a

rosy glow on The Big Apple, do a

little something for the

performing arts.

It will come back to you a

thousandfold."

That's it.

A deal was made to allocate

the apartments... 10% for

Mitchell-Lama middle income,

then 70% for performing artists

and mixed incomes, 15% for

neighborhood elderly, 15% for

local residents living in

substandard housing.

And the federal government

provided the funding which saved

Manhattan Plaza, which saved the

city's $95 million mortgage.

And it was the beginning of the

renaissance of Times Square.

And that's how it became that

us guys got the place.

June of 1977,

Manhattan Plaza opened its

doors.

But the timing couldn't have

been worse.

[ Disco music plays, indistinct

[ cheering and shouting ]

When lightning strikes,

New York is paralyzed... no

lights, no trains.

That summer, New Yorkers were

terrorized by the serial killer

David Berkowitz, also known as

"Son of Sam."

The city was in the grips of a

record-breaking heat wave, and

on July 13th, a lightning strike

caused a two-day blackout over

the entire region.

There is some sporadic

looting.

Ironically, it was also the

summer New York premiered the ad

campaign "I Love New York."

♪ ...love New York

♪ I love New York

Manhattan Plaza has 1,689

apartments.

It has a thousand-car garage, 15

commercial tenants.

It take up a city block in

New York City.

It is a very, very big place

with about 3,500 people living here.

And we hammered out the

regulations for the community

and what meant being a

performing artist.

The requirements were

very, very strict.

And I was wondering if

comedians fit that bill because

I never really considered myself

that, but I was told, "Yes, they

do fit.

You could apply."

You didn't just get in here

because Ithought you were a

performing artist.

A committee of your peers had to

review the files.

Not many people realize this,

but the first hundred or so

apartments that were rented here

were rented on the basis of live

auditions.

So...

I moved in November 1977.

I was paying $57 a month, and

this was in November... I moved

in November 1977.

That was my rent... $57 a month.

Even then, we had trouble

convincing people to move here,

as great a deal as it was.

Many people would not even

come and look at the apartments.

I said, "Oh, really.

Well, where is it?"

And they said, "43rd and 9th."

And I said famously... you know,

we always laugh about it... I

said, "I'll never live there."

We had to pound

Actors Equity.

SAG people didn't want to move.

People would not traverse

7th Avenue to walk over to

9th Avenue.

Nobody wanted to live across

the street from those massage

parlors.

So, it took about a year to

rent up all the units, little

over a year... all the 1,689.

Slowly, you know, they did,

and the word spread.

And then we got something

like 10,000... we had 10,000

applications.

Under the Section 8 program,

a resident's rent is adjusted on

a sliding scale as their income

fluctuates, which fits actors'

lives perfectly.

We had heard about this place

called Manhattan Plaza, where

actors could actually only pay

one fourth their gross income,

and our income was as gross as

you could possibly...

I remember thinking like,

"Cupboards like they have in

real houses, like, with doors

that aren't, you know, bathed in

50 layers of paint, that don't

close."

Now, I moved in the building

in 1979.

The 9th Avenue building was just

about full, and the 10th Avenue

building was beginning to be full.

My doorman at the time was

Samuel L. Jackson.

My first jobjob... the first

and only job I ever had outside

of theater.

My grandmother lived there

with my great-grandmother,

Minnie Gentry.

Minnie Gentry played my

mother in so many different

plays and just a really

wonderful, wonderful actor...

grandmother of Terrence Howard.

And when she became ill with

cancer, she looked me in the

eye, and she said, "Take care of

my boy."

And I said, "Oh, Minnie, come on.

You know, I love this boy."

And Giancarlo Esposito, he

was, you know, a big star.

Who told you to buy a

brownstone on my block, in my

neighborhood, on my side of the

street?!

And I used to come up to his

apartment at 15 years old and

knock on his door just because

he had said hi to me on the plaza.

And I would ask him, "Will you

read these lines with me?"

I'd say, "What are you doing up?

You should be sleeping."

He said, "Well, I couldn't sleep

'cause I don't know my lines."

I said, "Well, that's the firststep.

Know your lines, and then we can

work."

He showed me the value of an

artist by his willingness to

help a young artist who had

never even had a job.

I'm definitely a

Manhattan Plaza baby, and my

mother was a single mother and a

struggling actress trying to

figure out which way to go, what

to do.

I lived there from the age of

3 to 22.

I believe my brother Dade was

the first kid born in

Manhattan Plaza.

I was the first desk guy at

the 10th Avenue building...

overnight.

Philip Seymour Hoffman was a

counselor.

He was the dude that took the

kids and hung out with the kids

and stuff like that.

I remember certain people

moving in.

I guess I saw Terrence when he

was a little bitty kid.

I used to see Alicia Keys in

the Ellington Room, messing

around on the piano with little

bucked teeth, you know?

And she was just trying, just

trying... 7, 8 years old.

The whole Faison family was a

big part of my growing up.

They would put on shows and

perform Jackson 5 songs in the

Ellington Room.

But it's kind of cool to be

like, "I grew up in the same

building."

During the course of

rehearsals of "Sweeney Todd,"

the word came out that there was

this extraordinary building down

on 43rd to 42nd street in

New York City.

There was, I think, 10% that

they were allowed to lease to

prospective renters who would

pay the full tilt.

You got people from

New York City Opera, you got

people from New York City

Ballet, you got people from

Metropolitan Opera, you got

people from Broadway.

Gaffers, electricians.

Got filmmakers, dancers,

choreographers.

Wardrobe people.

Designers, casting agents.

A lot of writers.

Tennessee Williams once

patted my ass on the elevator,

and I liked it.

If that's not quintessential

Manhattan Plaza...

Within the housing community,

there's a lot of difficulty

because there are the ones who

say, "Only the poorest of the

poor," and there are those of us

who say, "You need mixed-income

housing, integrated

economically, ethnically.

You need a mix."

It's better than low-income

housing, where you create a

ghetto.

You create a mixed community

here, and that's the strength of

Manhattan Plaza.

I built a lot of city housing,

and I watched it get destroyed

because they didn't have a total

system.

We don't have a graffiti

problem.

We don't have a vandalism

problem.

We would not tolerate it.

If your child was guilty of

vandalism, you were read the

Riot Act, and if you can't be

responsible, we're gonna move to

evict you.

It's a very idealistic

approach to housing for people

who work in our business, in the

theater.

I came in as a performer, got

blown up on a film, so that

totally, completely paralyzed my

right side.

If I wasn't here, I would've

been out on the street a long

time ago.

Number one, it's the greatest

place to have children and raise

them, but, number two, if you

have a disability, which I

do... I have one leg... it's the

most accessible place.

It's so wonderful to be able

to come in my building, go down

my hall, open my door, and go in

and have no fear.

No fear.

Mwah!

You looking lovely.

Happy birthday.

Happy birthday! Thank you!

Hello, Larry. How are you?

Right there, shoulder to

shoulder, sharing the elevator,

sharing the lobby, living in the

same community... actual

economic diversity.

I mean, it was a wonderful

sociological experiment.

When Daniel was performing in

"Mamma Mia!" he would always

say, whenever we paid the rent,

"I want to pay the maximum

because it means we're working,

we're doing well."

But then, when he got sick and

we didn't know what was going to

happen, we didn't have to leave

our home, because our rent was

adjusted.

We could stay.

"I used to think..."

You know, I found out gradually

that it was terminal.

Friends from our floor organized

amongst themselves to prepare

dinners.

We had the community close to

us.

Everyone helped.

The goals were to create a

vibrant, supportive community,

and we didn't have a blueprint

to follow.

And so the blueprint was

created.

In the most innovative move of

all, Fischer hired an Episcopal

priest with no experience in

building management to run

Manhattan Plaza.

Nobody would've hired

Rodney Kirk to be the managing

director of 1,689 units of

housing.

"What are you, out of your mind,

'Irv'?"

And he said, "You know, I'm

gonna go with it."

I did not want anyone who had

preconceived notions of what

this housing should be.

Rodney Kirk, the

Reverend Rodney Kirk, really had

a vision.

I mean, I think he saw this as,

"I'm gonna have a parish.

Here we go."

And that's exactly what

happened, and we all learned on

the job."

Richard came along at the

same time as Rodney Kirk.

Rodney and I were both from

small towns in North Carolina.

And when you moved

into a small town in

North Carolina, somebody showed

up at the door, you know, a

person from the "welcome wagon."

So we had a welcome wagon.

The unique thing was that I

visited every floor of this

building and I visited every

apartment.

Each floor was willing to say,

"We would like to be a

community."

Rodney was determined that it

was not gonna be like another

building here in New York.

In New York City, before

Manhattan Plaza, there was

Westbeth, affordable live/work

space for artists in the

Far West Village.

In Lower Manhattan, the SoHo

neighborhood, too, was pioneered

by artists, but quickly became

so desirable that artists were

priced out.

When people complain about

gentrification, they always

point to SoHo as an example of

where it went off the rails

because there probably aren't

that many artists who live there

anymore.

As a sense of community

started to take hold at

Manhattan Plaza, new challenges

arose.

It's believed more people

have died from AIDS at

Manhattan Plaza than on any

other residential block in the country.

But rather than tearing this

community apart, what that harsh

reality has done, in fact, is

bring it closer together.

One day, Rodney woke up, he

says, "This is happening.

People are dying."

Probably we had the second

diagnosed case of AIDS.

It was here at Manhattan Plaza.

We would have, for a number of

years, anywhere from 90 to 100

people a year who would die.

And Rodney Kirk created this

organization that, to this day,

is still active.

What other apartment complex

had an AIDSProject?

Nobody, nobody.

We provided the medical

support, the food... everything

a person needed to live with

this disease.

How are ya?

Good.

I lost about 10 people in the

building.

Mercy Hinton...

I left my job.

I was teaching at the

university.

And I left my

job to take care of him when I

found out he was sick.

Matter of fact, he died in my

arms.

We went to Juilliard together.

I'm the only one left.

This community has said,

"We're not afraid to care, and

we're not afraid to love, and

we're not afraid to hold people

who have AIDS."

Rodney retired in '97... had

lung cancer, and he had

emphysema.

When Rodney died, the

Stay Well Center was renamed in

Rodney's honor.

The charter was expanded to

include anyone who was

terminally or chronically ill.

Neighbors helping neighbors.

That's really what it's about.

Rodney was given a gift, he

would say, and he just wanted to

work it and make it special.

And he did.

Outside of Manhattan Plaza, a

neighborhood began raising

itself up.

Right from the get-go, the

word "community" was really

important.

You know, we had a lot of folks

from this community, and there

was a sense of wanting to invest

in it.

In other words, "We got to make

this work.

We're the experiment."

I mean, I don't think anyone was

oblivious to that, that this was

an experiment and, "We hope it

works, and we're gonna make it

work."

As the Manhattan Plaza

community took hold, the

nonprofit 42nd Street

Development Corporation began

purchasing derelict properties

across the street.

Then we started this company

to see if we could rescue the

west end of 42nd Street.

We were able to acquire all the

properties on the south side of

42nd Street, between 9th and

10th Avenue.

And Bob Moss, who started and

ran Playwrights Horizons, he

said, "Well, what are you gonna

stick in them?"

And I said, "Whatever we think

will trigger a renewal over

here."

And he said, "Make them

theaters."

And that's how Theatre Row got

started.

On the other side of

42nd Street from

Manhattan Plaza, strip joints,

massage parlors, and porn shops

were displaced by six small

theaters, including one named in

memory of Rodney Kirk.

Playhouses replaced sex shops,

and a new kind of nightlife

emerged.

Good users push out bad

users, and so Manhattan Plaza

gave off signals to the

investment community and the

real-estate community that

things were gonna be better.

And instead of people renting

out to massage parlors, they

started renting out to local

little stores.

When we came here, there was nothing.

There was absolutely nothing.

What happened as a result of all

of these energetic young and old

and this wonderful mix of people

moving into this building, it

was the rebirth of this

neighborhood and this community.

I moved to Manhattan Plaza in

the early '80s.

I had just come back from doing

a play in Italy.

I called my agent, and my agent

said, "Arnold who?"

And that kind of let

me know that I didn't want a

theater career anymore.

So I decided that even though I

understood myself as a creative

person, that I could be creative

in other areas of my life.

And Arnold started baking his

grandmother's apple sour cream

walnut pie in his apartment, and

he burned out three ovens.

I knew that, at one point,

the building was gonna say

something.

So I called Arnold, and I

said, "Arnold, you can't keep

doing this, okay?"

We were able to work with him in

getting the store, building it

for him on 43rd Street, and that

was the beginning of

Little Pie Company.

When neighborhood kids who

were just sitting out on the

stoop would come in, it was fun

to give those kids an

opportunity, give them

responsibility, and see them

turn their lives around.

The climate of change in

Hell's Kitchen spreads eastward.

In Times Square, new tax

incentives and zoning changes

spur development.

There's no more startling

turnaround of any urban

environment anywhere in America

than is happening right here on

42nd street.

Times Square never looks

back.

Businesses, economic activity

follow people, and they

particularly follow people like

artists.

So if you bring artists into the

center of town... and this is

true in a lot of very challenged

and difficult neighborhoods all

across the country... you bring

artists in there, and those

places start to transform.

Everyone's investing money in

all these classic, deteriorated

neighborhoods.

You know what?

If you invest in people, you

will be rewarded.

Our mandate, self-imposed,

was to create a climate

conducive to the renaissance of

Times Square, which is what we

did.

1, 2, 3.

Lay out.

And Manhattan Plaza comes

roaring into the void and

supplies at least the homes of

the artists and the

craftspeople, at least the

rehearsal studios of the

musicians, but the fact that

they gave people a place to

live, a place to live

affordably, I think is one of

the vital reasons why Broadway

stayed so strong even through

the rough-and-tumble '70s and

'80s.

I think Manhattan Plaza was just

crucial for the survival of

Broadway as we know it, for live

theater, for skilled

craftspeople, skilled musicians.

They deserve a lot of credit

with that, Manhattan Plaza.

If you don't have to spend

all of your resources and all of

your energy just to make your

rent, then all other parts of

your life can improve and grow.

You were free to do

everything.

The whole reason I can play

piano is because of the woman

we found in that building.

A woman was leaving and couldn't

take the piano, and she said,

"If you can move it, you can

have it."

And it was an upright piano, an

old brown upright piano.

And so we dragged it across the

Manhattan Plaza ourselves.

One of the first songs that I

wrote, I remember specifically

rushing home.

My mother and I went to go see

"Philadelphia" the movie, and I

was really moved by that movie,

and it just made me cry.

And I remember sitting at the

piano... it was late at night...

and writing my first song on

that piano in that apartment, in

that building.

People would say "good luck"

when I had an audition rather

than, "Hey, who's gonna guard my

building.

Come back!"

It was a healthy environment.

It was a great learning

experience.

I'm still kind of using some of

that stuff when I work

sometimes, just the freeness and

the wildness of New York in the

'70s.

I had started auditioning

when I was living in

Manhattan Plaza, and I remember

I had auditioned for "Clueless"

like four or five times at this

point, and it was the final

callback.

All my friends from the building

and my mom, we went into the

staircase, and I ran lines for

like two hours.

Excuse me, Ms. Dionne.

It was my first big job that I

ever got in Hollywood.

I remember crying in front of

the building to move out to

Los Angeles.

I remember looking at the

building and being like, "Eh,

peace."

In the late '70s, there were

maybe 30 stand-up comics in the

country, and 12 of them lived in

Manhattan Plaza.

Where else could you get to meet

somebody like Larry David?

One night, after I had moved

into the building, they had a

talent show, and Kenny Kramer

was running this talent show for

people in the building.

Everybody I called, I called

them up... "Hi.

I'm Kenny Kramer.

I'm a fellow comic.

Building's putting on this

talent night.

How would you feel about doing

10 minutes of your material in

front of your neighbors for 100

bucks on a Tuesday night?"

Everybody's going, "Yeah, count

me in, yeah!" till I get to

Larry David.

He wanted me to perform at

the cabaret, and I was deathly

afraid that, if I performed and

bombed, they were gonna throw me

out of the building.

And so I came over, and I

said, "I don't know what your problem is.

You're very funny.

Do the show."

He says, "You know, okay, I'll

do the show."

Day of the show, like 3:00 in

the afternoon, he calls me up.

He says, "Yo, Kramer, I can't dothis.

I changed my mind.

I'm not gonna do this."

I said, "Look, I don't know what

your problem is, but if you

don't show up and do this gig,

we will not be talking again."

And then, a few expletives

later, I hung up on him.

So, 9:00 at night, his time

slot... shows up.

Please welcome Larry David!

I was very reluctant to do

this tonight because I felt

that, if anybody from

management, uh...

...saw my act, I would be thrown

out of the building.

"You're a performer?

Get the fuck out of here, pal.

Come on. Beat it."

I had a party for all the

cast of the show afterward, and

he was the hit of the party, and

the next day, he shows up at my

door unannounced.

"Hey, you want to go get some

breakfast?"

And we started hanging out, and

we became best friends.

He was constantly coming in

and out of my apartment, and I

was going into his apartment all

the time, as well... opening

each other's refrigerators,

eating each other's food.

When Larry was approached by

Jerry Seinfeld to create a

television show, he based the

character Kramer on me.

Hey!

Hey.

Jerry and I wrote the pilot

in my apartment.

I went from like an obscure

comedian to an international

icon like that.

And "Seinfeld" was sold while

I was living in Manhattan Plaza.

Creativity plus affordable

housing plus a dash of psychosis

equals "Seinfeld."

That's who was at the plaza,

these people that were just

sharing and dreaming.

If that was kind of the

energy of the entire building,

then I do feel, in some way of

osmosis... poof!

By the early 2000s, the wait

list for apartments at

Manhattan Plaza seems to run as

long as the towers stand tall.

There are presently eight

different waiting lists for

Manhattan Plaza.

On this list, I have 630 people.

I have to juggle all these

categories, all these people,

all these applications.

That's my performing arts.

I'm a juggler.

But, soon, Manhattan Plaza

reached a crossroads.

Initial reaction was a bit of

panic, like, "What's gonna

happen to our home?

What are these people gonna do?"

When you ask the question,

"What's the future bring?" how

do you protect yourselves and

how do you protect your

constituency?

I got a phone call from

The New York Timesthat was

doing an article about the

building being sold, did I have

a comment.

And I said, "What?"

"It's being sold?"

Now that the people had

pioneered this area, suddenly

the property values are going up

surrounding Manhattan Plaza.

And a lot of people, I think,

were fearful that, now that the

artists had done their... task,

let's say, like certain bacteria

in nature which devour the

rotted material of before, that

it's now time for others to come

in and reap the rewards.

In 2003, the real-estate

investors that owned

Manhattan Plaza informed

Irving Fischer they wanted to

sell the building and take their

profit.

We have been under a lot of

pressure.

The big fear was that we would

do what other people were doing,

which was get out of the

Mitchell-Lama program and the

Section 8 subsidy program and

convert this to market-rate

apartments.

Irving Fischer announced the

future plan for the building to

Manhattan Plaza residents.

At the time of sale, I think

that everybody was so anxious

about, "Was the building in

jeopardy?"

Yes, because what if

Irv Fischer who sold to someone

who had no interest in

Manhattan Plaza and maintaining

the community, and what was

going to happen?

Related Companies, a leading

developer of affordable housing,

made a push to buy the building.

Is what Related...

At that resident meeting, we

knew we were gonna stand up

there in front of a whole bunch

of people who were passionate

about their homes.

The issues of maintaining the

quality of the housing are very,

very important.

Is there anything that you do

plan to change?

We are responsible for the

revitalization of Times Square.

Don't let anyone bullshit you.

People don't trust you, and

you have to earn it, and Irving

had so much vested personally

and emotionally.

He was the builder of it, he had

watched it grow, and he

literally wanted to make sure

that whoever bought the building

would see it as more than real

estate, but more as a social

asset.

The Related company purchased

Manhattan Plaza in March of

2004, so, yes, I think it was in

jeopardy, and I think that

Related turned out to really

want this and to really

understand what they were buying

and have worked hard to maintain

it.

Well, I think that city's

impoverished if they don't have

artists living there.

I think most cities want them

and make arrangements to have

them in one way or another.

But you don't want artists to be

priced out of your neighborhood,

out of your community.

Around the country,

forward-thinking communities are

trying experiments in

artist-based housing.

Far away from Manhattan Plaza,

Ajo, Arizona, is one such

community.

Ajo is a tiny, remote, rural

town in the middle of the

Sonoran Desert.

It feels like you're in the

middle of nowhere.

The copper mine closed in the

mid 1980s as the result of a

bitter strike that divided

families, and that was

economically devastating.

In 2000, when I came here, there

was very little recovery.

At the opposite end of the

country, AS220 rose from the

ashes of downtown Providence,

Rhode Island.

Providence in the mid '80s,

it was at its lowest point of

its entire 300-something-year

history.

AS220 is a nonprofit

organization started in 1985

with literally $800 that I had

in an illegal loft space.

250 miles away, the mayor of

Rahway, New Jersey, tried a

different approach.

I was the mayor of Rahway

from 1991 till 2011.

I got involved in trying to turn

the town around.

The theater at that point had

gone XXX, and

"Sex With a Teenage Cheerleader"

was the marquee read.

The story of live/work artist

housing in Ajo began with the

Curley School, a building that

was built in 1918.

It was crumbling.

There was a group of artists in

town.

We got together and decided we'd

try to save the building.

I had known Artspace from

Minneapolis and had seen their

live/work projects.

We decided to see if the

Curley School could be converted

to live/work artist housing.

The real hope is that we would

attract artists who would do the

sort of thing that happens in

inner cities... create an

economic vitality that would

result in other spin-off

businesses.

As we evaluated the assets of

the community for redevelopment,

right in front of us was the

deteriorating Union County

Performing Arts Center.

That became the base of looking

at the arts as a stimulus.

You open a theater in a

neighborhood, it's not just the

administrators and the actors

and the ushers that get

employed.

It's the parking-lot attendants

next door and the restaurants

and the hotels.

It is a very leveraging and

powerful economic force.

Fast-forward 28 years...

we're a $4 million budget with

three buildings and 60 staff,

about 100,000 square feet of

space, about 50 artists that

live in the spaces... affordable

live/work studios, commercial

tenants.

So they're truly mixed-use

developments... the youth

program that serves about 150

youth, four or five spaces that

we use as galleries, our media

lab, our fabrication laboratory,

our print shop, our own

restaurant and bar, two

performance spaces.

I think that kind of covers it.

Yeah, it's pretty remarkable.

These visionary leaders are

sometimes nationally known as

"creative placemakers."

They make dedicated homes for

the arts, culture, and

creativity, sometimes despite

tremendous obstacles.

AS220 is on a mission, and it

only is meaningful if it can

influence other people.

You're educating kids.

You're growing families.

What better way to do that than

to embrace the arts?

Around the country, derelict

communities have been pioneered

by artists, then transformed.

Places like SoHo and

Lower Manhattan, Venice Beach in

Southern California, and the

Lowertown neighborhood in

St. Paul, Minneapolis, are a few

prominent examples.

You have abandoned housing or

houses that can be bought for,

you know, $3,000.

Who are occupying these places?

Well, generally, it's artists,

and when they're there, other

people follow, and suddenly you

get a neighborhood again.

Anytime you want to use

public money to create a public

benefit, you have to determine

why, and that's the value

proposition, right?

Young artists need support,

but I don't think it's written

anywhere that performing artists

should be supported for the rest

of their lives.

Why should they be?

I'd be surprised if some

people aren't resentful at sort

of special treatment that

artists are getting.

Some people see the arts as a

luxury and not essential.

Artists are very often good

investments.

First of all, some of them

become very rich and successful

like Alicia Keys or Larry David.

Manhattan Plaza is a great

place, and I think there's a

part of me that is really glad

that I got out.

When you only have to pay a

percentage of your income as

your rent, you have that sense

in the back of your head, "I

don't want too much success.

I don't want to move to the next

level."

To say to you that nobody

here is lazy would be an

out-and-out lie.

This program allows you to

become lazy.

You can become lazy because your

rent is based on your income, so

if you're not working, you're

not paying a big rent.

However, that's not what this

was designed for.

I believe that most of the

people that live here really and

truly appreciate what they have.

Does it stifle you from

wanting to work?

No, it just made me not afraid.

It gave me that security to know

that I could take that chance.

It was one thing when you

were at the low end of the

spectrum on the sliding scale of

the income, and, for years, I

was at that low end, and that

was fine.

I'm paying very little rent.

I got the one-bedroom with the terrace.

But then I started making

some money, and then I was at

the higher end.

And I remember having this

conversation with Rodney.

He looked at me and said,

"Giancarlo, you're gonna have to

make a decision."

And I said, "Well, what's

that, Rodney?"

He said, "Well, now you're at

the top of the scale.

You want to pay the fair market

price or not?"

And I thought about it.

I said, "It's only fair, right?"

And he said, "Now you got it."

So, for years after that, I was

at the top of the scale, paid

the top rent.

I deserved to pay that, because

I was supported in that way

for so long.

So, in that way, it taught me

how to not only take

but to give back, as well.

One of the reasons I don't

think we see a lot of artist

housing is that it's hard to

create a value proposition

that makes sense to a voting

electorate.

It's not a broad-enough

constituency.

The value isn't meaningful.

We don't want just, you know,

hedge-fund managers and rich

people populating our city.

We want a certain mix, and that

mix has to include artists.

Okay, you wait for Mommy and

then you do it, and then we see

what it sounds like, okay?

A lot of the reasons that we

don't have political clout is

that by making ourselves

special, we separate ourselves out.

This person over here shouldn't

be special... more special than

this person.

Why should artists be singled

out as a class, as opposed to

any other class of people?

I think the answer is because

of what they contribute to the

aesthetic fabric of our society,

of our culture.

And I think that's very... very,

very important.

What is the title of

Manhattan Plaza now?

It's Manhattan Plaza: A Miracle

on 42nd Street.

A Miracle on 42nd Street.

A Miracle on 42nd.

Listen, this could have been,

you know, the biggest housing

project, okay?

And it could have been just

awful.

It could have been impersonal,

it could have been dirty.

The people that moved in,

they brought a new freshness and

an artistic quality to the

building, which I've never seen

anywhere else.

At Manhattan Plaza, what

happened was a fluke.

Out of something bad

came something very good.

It wasn't planned that way.

It just happened.

♪ Happy birthday to you

♪ Happy birthday

♪ Happy birthday to you

I always said that it was a

mixture of possibilities and

darkness, all right there.

And so you could choose the

darkness, or you could choose

the possibilities.

It's all your choice.

Artists create products...

artistic products.

If it's a play, if it's a piece

of sculpture, if it's a

painting, that goes into the

economic system of the country.

It's not like you have this real

economy out here that's

manufacturing things, and that's

the real economy.

And there are other people, over

here, doing "art," which is

somehow peripheral or somehow...

you know, something elite.

Not, the arts are integrated

into the economy.

They're part of the real

economy.

Affordable housing can

actually be a growth generator,

as opposed to some sort of, you

know, drain on public services.

Then... Then Manhattan Plaza has

served a broader purpose.

At one time, this was the

neighborhood you were able to

find an apartment that was

affordable.

It's not that way anymore.

You stuck it out through the

tough years.

You made it wonderful for

everyone else.

And now, thank you very much,

your job is done, "Ciao."

How much are those

apartments?

Across the street?

Yes.

It's gonna be expensive,

isn't it?

Yeah, oh, absolutely, it's

gonna be a luxury build.

That's what I'm talking about.

We're being threatened.

If they're paying a

million and a half dollars for a

studio across the street, we're

the undesirables.

The question as to whether or

not Manhattan Plaza will survive

and what the future holds for

Manhattan Plaza is one that,

of course, I've thought about

a lot.

What happens in the future?

Probably gonna be negotiated again.

I'd love to say things are

permanent, but there are very,

very few that are.

What could happen?

The federal government could

say, at some point in the

future, because they no longer

can afford to, possibly withdraw

the subsidy.

Some people call

Manhattan Plaza

the Miracle on 42nd Street, and

I couldn't agree with them more,

because the odds were totally

stacked against this ever

happening.

It's 30-something-odd year

later, and we're still a vibrant

community.

So, here we are, and my

mother was able to raise me in a

building that's a great

building, a nice building, a

good place to live.

So I think that is an amazing

concept, and I think that that

should happen more often in

places like this, you know, for

people like me to have an

opportunity.

I've had people come from all

over the country to

Manhattan Plaza.

They're looking for a blueprint.

There is no blueprint.

It's the people who manage and

operate and the people who live

here.

Manhattan plaza is the type of

place to live that has to be

duplicated throughout the major

cities in this country.