The Winter Garden on 220 Vessey St is a large hall with glass ceilings overhead. 16 palm trees spread their leaves to the sky. Permanent green benches mingle with uncomfortable black foldable chairs and face the prominent stage. On it a piano, a drum-set, and a mic. The organizers have stretched a large canvas up to block the light coming in the from the floor to ceiling windows behind it. On the other side of the hall large windows face the World Trade Center memorial site.
The hall is an open public space in the crossroads of a large mall. Next door is the WTC, Battery Park City, and the Financial District. As a result the public represented here are a mix of nannies, blue collar workers, and white collar workers. Today, there is a fourth group of retirees, and the young who have come for the impending show. And then, of course, there is the ever present security, staff, and police who watch over the interactions of these groups. Mike and I are sitting in the middle of two blocks of chairs. In front of us is a little pathway designed to channel people from one part of the mall to another.
Close to where we sit a group of nannies have congregated with their large strollers and white babies. They chat while braiding the hair of their wards. Passerby’s stop and smile at the children and the nannies smile back. A man walks by pushing a pram while he texts on his phone. He is the first man here I have seen with a child.
There are women in heels with floral dresses and handbags. There are older women in floor length fur coats and pearl earrings. Allot of the seated women have just come for the show. The one’s who stroll through the seating area with purpose are all in business attire and off to work.
On the large steps behind us groups of blue collar workers lounge in blue denim as if they were dressing for their job status. They lean back on the stairs away from the crowd in the chairs. They speak among themselves sometimes in English but mostly in other languages I can’t pick out. They seem to be the manual laborers while the group of blue-collar workers who (not dressed in blue) sit in the main hall. They seem to be the electricians, fore-mans, and engineers. I wonder if they would be in here if it was warm outside. They all seem to eat lunches brought from home or not eat at all. Although they seem comfortable here, their position on a place of movement (the stairway) indicates their lack of ties to this place.
The concert begins and an announcer says that flash photography and video are forbidden. Suddenly, the hall does not seem so inviting and open but is taken over by the temporary ownership of the band onstage. Then, a man begins to take photo’s with a large camera. A security guard standing nearby glances over to him and does… nothing. The spell is broken the hall is free again.
The singer dedicates a song to the financial analysts. It goes “what goes up must come down…”. A few chuckles spread through the hall. Dances have appeared from one of the escalators. They perform a lavish dramatic dance in business attire and then jump on the opposite escalator when the song finishes. Two men cross in front of me. One of them reaches out to punch the other as a form of greeting. The other man jumps defensively but softens when he sees that its his friend or acquaintance.
On the stairs behind us the blue-collar workers have all gone. A few men in suits eat alone while some others eat with female co-workers. Several groups of women eat together. A man in a Harley Davidson shirt, purple converse, and a red scar over his right eye chats with a woman in business attire. He looks like he does not belong in the hall with his long hair and mustache but the woman and him laugh and talk over lunch like old friends or siblings (but not lovers because they never touch). A janitor pushes his trash can around and asks people if they are done with their food. They are mostly startled when he asks as if the intrusion of a hidden layer of the hall has disturbed their meal. He only asks a few more people.
Through large windows on the other side of the hall (opposite from the stage) you can see where the WTC used to be. Strangely enough all of the workers seem to have disappeared into the structure and nothing seems to be getting done.
On the second level, there are two security checkpoint which mark the transition from public to private space. They lead to the Word Financial Centers. They have X-ray machines, metal detectors, and three guards. Their artificial barriers extend out into the public sphere in a way that most people and I make a gigantic loop around them.
In a side part of the mall, six restaurants are separated from each other by large brass pavilion-style structures that extend up and over the seating areas. The restaurants charge top dollar for those seats and the only “free” place to sit is in a small area sponsored by AT&T. Next to this is a small art exhibit that has assorted oddities including, a Starbucks cup, and a stuffed mockup of a dinosaur.
Very few people are on computers even though there is free wifi in the hall. The inhabitants of the hall change methodically based their lunch hour. At first it was the blue collar workers from the next door WTC construction site. Now it is the financial workers. Only the concert-goers and nannies are not moved by this incoming and outgoing tide.
The public mall is clearly divided into two areas: the free public (which was most of the hall) and the paid public (which was the seating areas of the restaurants).
Photos