The Flattening of Fleischer’s

The weather was awful in New York last Wednesday–it was one of those days when the rain not only turns your umbrella inside out, but destroys it. But I had good reason to brave the storm: I was trying to visit the site where the Fleischer studio stood for fifteen years, starting in 1923.

For years, I’ve been visiting New York. For years, I’d known that Fleischer had made its home somewhere near Times Square, at 1600 Broadway, and that the Van Beuren studio had been across the street at 729 Seventh Avenue. But I’d never bothered to locate the buildings or pay my respects–even after Jerry Beck reported that the building was about to be demolished. On Wednesday, I had a little spare time during a business trip, and realized it might be my last chance.

I was startled to realize that I’d walked by 1600 Broadway dozens of times without realizing I was outside the building where some of the greatest cartoons of all time were made. But now, I couldn’t quite tell if it was still there–which was not a good sign. There was a structure, shrouded in black fabric, but it wasn’t clear whether it was the old building or the start of a new one:

As I got closer, I could see that the original building was there, but just barely–workmen were in the process of dismantling it, and there wasn’t much left other than the frame and a giant pile of debris. I wondered just what was in that debris, and if there was any chance that the wrecking crew might still find a safe full of Fleischer artwork in the basement. Did any of these guys know what they were knocking down? If so, did they care?

Looking around, I was stunned to find that the Fleischer hadn’t just been across the street from Van Beuren–it was also kitty-corner from the Brill Building, where much of my favorite music was composed. Once again, I’d passed many times without noticing that this building was no ordinary New York office building:

In fact, I’d been inside the Brill Building without realizing it–its ground floor is home to the historic Colony Records. Which is one of those landmarks that you always expect is going to close someday, although at the moment it seems to be alive and well, albeit undergoing refurbishment (nice to see that they’ve replicated their “happy girl” sign on the construction enclosure):

As for 729 Seventh Ave., it’s still there, and shows no signs of being in immediate danger. Van Beuren isn’t the only bit of animation history that transpired within its walls–the building was also home to Columbia Pictures’ Scrappy Franchise Department (no, I’m not making that up; stay turned for more details). And Jerry Beck recently told me that he’d worked in the building himself for several years, when he was at United Artists.

The worst thing you can say about 729 Seventh’s fate at the moment is that it has two giant Jackie Mason signs on it:

729 Seventh’s ground floor contains one of those omnipresent New York gift shops; like all of them, it was full of Betty Boop merchandise–so I bought a vase in the shape of Betty as a memento, wondering whether any of the employees knew that the character had been invented across the street. (I also picked up a replacement for my busted umbrella.)

Stepping back, I could see both 1600 Broadway and 729 Seventh Ave. (along with a poster for a Jenna Jameson X-rated movie; what happened to the new family-oriented Times Square?). A lot of animation came out of those two buildings–great, good, indifferent, and downright bad.

The signage around the 1600 Broadway demolishment says something about how the construction company is building the future of New York. That may be true, but they’re also tearing down its past. I’m glad I got there before they eradicated this piece of it.