(Notes by Roving Rube, 5/13/02)

The Rube remains half-convinced by this photo that the top half of this sign (showing the new tower top planned for 640 Fifth Avenue) is a 3D model, even though a gust of wind showed it to be a flat sheet of fabric. He is also very puzzled by the different proportions the side seems to show in Rollovers 2 and 3.

In Context shows the current top of the building, with the classic "wedding cake" setbacks. Since these setbacks were originally determined by zoning limitations, one wonders if the increased air and floor space provided by the square tower was obtained by purchasing the rights from a neighboring building, or if zoning regulations have changed and we might expect to see this happening to other buildings. In this instance, it will merely screen the blank side of the tower next to it.

A couple of nights ago the windows of the third level setback story will filled with the ghostly light of welding sparks, and since he could not figure out why the welders would start disassembling a building on a lower floor instead of at the top, the Rube worried that it might be terrorists who were counting on no one reporting them to the doormen. But perhaps the existing supports are being left in place, and new ones will be added on the outside edge.

Besides the increased floor space, the floor-to-ceiling glass windows will give tenants great views of St. Patrick's Cathedral and the Channel Gardens.*

The first sign that something was happening to this building was the unusually tall and strong-looking scaffolding, which View 2 and View 3 show were needed to keep the view of the H&M store windows unobstructed.

Remaining somewhere on this site, perhaps, is a single hair of the word's richest man, William H. Vanderbilt. As set forth in "Fortune's Children: the Fall of the House of Vanderbilt", by Arthur T. Vanderbilt II, William was derided by his father, Commodore Vanderbilt, as a "beetlehead", "blatherskite", and "sucker". He nevertheless proved his own worth by doubling his vast inheritance in record time. Then he was badgered by his daughter-in-law, Alva, to build a suitably grandiose mansion at 640 Fifth Avenue, next to hers.

"But it soon became apparent to William Vanderbilt that the life Alva and Willie were leading was not the life for him, nor was this palace the home for him. He spent more and more time in a tiny corner of the library of the fifty-eight-room mansion, sitting in an older rocker that had come from his Staten Island farmhouse ... During the week a wagonload of milk, produce, and flowers from the farm arrived at the service entrance at 640 Fifth Avenue to remind him of the home he loved. ... ' The care of $200,000,000" is too great a load for my brain or back to bear,' he confessed to his family. ... 'I have no real gratification or enjoyments of any sort more than my neighbor on the next block who is worth only half a million.' ... Suddenly, without a sound, William Vanderbilt toppled to the floor, struck dead by an apoplectic stroke.

This story reminds the Rube of a "Real McCoys" show that changed his life -- the Real McCoys, in this sitcom of the early '60's, being a family full of homespun wisdom, especially concentrated in Grampa McCoy. In one episode some of the McCoys had gotten caught up in stock market speculation, and when Grampa was asked why he didn't join in, he said: "You see this apple? I could never enjoy eating this apple if I was always worried about how my stock was doing!" To this day when the Rube eats an apple he thinks of Grampa McCoy.

Which bring us finally to Detail, a relief on the side of 640 Fifth, perhaps at the spot where William's flowers from Staten Island were delivered. This relief invariably reminds the Rube of a stunning short story he heard on NPR's Selected Shorts, "Bullet in the Brain". The story, by Tobias Wolf, is set in a bank, which was the primary tenant in this building, which replaced William's mansion.

In it, the main character is a sarcastic art critic, embittered by the stupidity of the human race. He is impatiently waiting to make a deposit when there is a holdup, and the critic can't resist making a wisecrack to the robber. Warned to shut up, his eyes drift up to the ceiling, where unfortunately he spots what seems an unbearably stilted and mediocre allegorical relief, and he can't resist making one last little comment, which causes the catastrophe of the title.

The rest of the story catalogs all the key events of his life, which he does not remember at the moment of death, followed by the one thing he does remember: playing "flys and grounders" in a sunny field, with his friends, when there was no rush to do anything and plenty of time to relish the sound of a word, and the feel of the sun and the breeze.

The Rube remembers this field too, and his best friend standing out there next to him, the best friend who he is worried is too much like this art critic guy.

*Steve Cuozzo, NYPost.com article, April 2, 2002.