Today’s selection of New York City history has nothing whatsoever to do with Greenpoint. As of the writing of this post I am listening to Magic’s pile driver pound away precariously close to the old bathhouse on Huron Street. The chair my fat white ass resides in is vibrating from the construction being conducted downstairs. Had I awakened in a different state of mind I might have exploited the latter, but the fact of the matter is I didn’t. And won’t. Suffice it to say I am a turd of a mood and today’s selection from the December 21, 1933 edition New York Times was picked because it amuses me.
Here’s a little background information on today’s subject. Her given name was Mary Louise Cecilia Guinan but she was better known as simply “Tex”. Her moniker arises from the fact she was born in Waco, Texas. Just like me. In January, no less. Once again, like me. We both had the horse sense to get the fuck out too; her, to a career in vaudeville later to become one of the most notorious speakeasy proprietresses in New York City and me, well, to whatever it is I am doing nowadays. Wikipedia has a very nice entry about her. I highly recommend recommend reading it.
Hers was a life that was interestingly —if not well— spent. The auction of her estate bears witness to this fact.
Speaking for myself, I find the synagogue chair of particular interest. As it would happen, I own a 19th century prayer bench. I haggled aggressively with the priest who consigned it too. Now it is one of the many very odd pieces of bric a brac that fill my apartment. The mirrored headboard that graces my boudoir isn’t broken though. Quarter inch thick glass is pretty resistant to wear and tear. I take great pride in my very practical approach to deviancy.
Those of you whose are interested in paying respects to Ms. Guinan can do so at Calvary Cemetery.