I can't recall if it was the very late 70's or early 80's when I moved to the East Village. I had been living in Chelsea, on 16th between 7th and 8th, in a small but nice one-bedroom apartment that even had a wood-burning fireplace. When I first moved into that place, the rent was only $300 a month, but even then I needed a roommate, and always had one there. They were always women for some reason...a friend from school, or a friend of a friend. It didn't matter; it was always a good deal of fun. One of us would take the living room, the other would take the bedroom. But after 3 years of living with friends, I decided that I wanted to be on my own. And the only areas that were affordable were the more questionable ones, including what was then coming to be known as the East Village.
I found a place on 11th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenues, a few doors down from Venero's Pastries. 334 East 11th, I believe. It was owned by a crazy Greek man named Jimmy, who lived around the corner on 1st Ave. The apartment had originally been half the floor, but once the previous tenants had been kicked out (most likely illegally) because they were on rent control, Jimmy decided to cut it in half and make two apartments out of it. I had my choice: I could either take the half that had the bathtub in the kitchen and the old-fashioned toilet, or I could have the other half, where there was a modern toilet, and a shower unit that Jimmy promised he'd install when I moved in. I didn't like baths, and didn't like the idea of a tub in the kitchen, so I took the other unit, and although it took a while, the shower unit was eventually installed (without permits, of course).
While Jimmy called the apartment "3 rooms" in his broken English, it wasn't anything more than one large room with two arches. But I was living alone, and one room or three, it was plenty. It wasn't without it's problems; when I realized the fridge didn't work, Jimmy told me it was a great closet for folded clothes. I think I fought with him for a month before he got me a used one that worked fine. The floors were tilted, the result from cheap construction in the beginning, and years of shifting afterward. The incline was so noticable that everyone who visited commented on it. My reply was that it was good for drainage.
I found a place on 11th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenues, a few doors down from Venero's Pastries. 334 East 11th, I believe. It was owned by a crazy Greek man named Jimmy, who lived around the corner on 1st Ave. The apartment had originally been half the floor, but once the previous tenants had been kicked out (most likely illegally) because they were on rent control, Jimmy decided to cut it in half and make two apartments out of it. I had my choice: I could either take the half that had the bathtub in the kitchen and the old-fashioned toilet, or I could have the other half, where there was a modern toilet, and a shower unit that Jimmy promised he'd install when I moved in. I didn't like baths, and didn't like the idea of a tub in the kitchen, so I took the other unit, and although it took a while, the shower unit was eventually installed (without permits, of course).
While Jimmy called the apartment "3 rooms" in his broken English, it wasn't anything more than one large room with two arches. But I was living alone, and one room or three, it was plenty. It wasn't without it's problems; when I realized the fridge didn't work, Jimmy told me it was a great closet for folded clothes. I think I fought with him for a month before he got me a used one that worked fine. The floors were tilted, the result from cheap construction in the beginning, and years of shifting afterward. The incline was so noticable that everyone who visited commented on it. My reply was that it was good for drainage.
