Clayton Patterson has been documenting life on the Lower East Side in videos and photographs for more than 25 years. His subjects have evolved over the years from skinheads, druggies, and drag queens to yuppies, Thug Lite (not to be confused with Thug Life), and longtime residents who’ve watched the neighborhood change along with him.
Saturday night, TBID and I went downtown to the Millennium for a screening of Captured, a documentary that compiles Patterson’s footage, climaxing at the Tompkins Square Park police riot in 1988.
The film is as much a celebration as it is a cry of anguish. What happened to New York City? I moved here in 2005, so the most vivid version of this city for me equates to mostly clean sidewalks that are safe almost any hour of the day. Subways are generally drowsy places. Downtown tenements the size of a bar bathroom rent for over $2,000 a month.
But when I set my eyes on New York City at thirteen, it was different. Times Square hadn’t yet been plastered with MTV, Disney, and Hershey signage. It was a collection of peep shows and adult content, loose women and cigarettes. As I grew up in Texas, my beloved cesspool got cleaned up. Guiliani gave New York every cosmetic procedure possible, save a tummy tuck.
Things aren’t dull now, but it’s less vibrant. The melting pot is available in pre-packaged neighborhoods and various portion sizes. The thing about Captured is that I realize it indicts me. Here I am working 9-to-5 in corporate America, doing my part to gentrify a lower-income neighborhood. I can appreciate the flava and raw energy of city life, but I very much enjoy walking down the sidewalks unafraid of being accosted. Well, except by those Jehovah’s Witnesses that hang out on Central Park North.
Two weeks ago, I was in my old neighborhood. TBID and I wanted to rent a movie - something I hadn’t done in a long time, since before Britney Spears was exorcised - and Kim’s Video was closed. Permanently. The independent video store has been replaced by yet another Ricky’s.
The situation had me lookin’ sad and feelin’ angry. How could the first place I ever belonged to in New York just shut down? I didn’t even get to say goodbye, nor do I have a place to get my film on. Blockbuster doesn’t really carry movies older than me, and Netflix seems so impersonal. I like going to video stores and getting heckled or high-fived by a pretentious minimum wage worker. Some chain beauty and accessories store is not going to do that for me. I don’t care if they have cheap Halloween costumes.
What’s next to go? That hole in the wall pub I like where there are still ugly, middle-aged guys at the bar? (No doubt, one of the few of its kind left). The people selling churros in the winter?
The tiny piece of Manhattan that I’ve made my home looks more and more like a strip mall. I don’t like it. It’s not the stuff of Clayton Patterson footage, but I do feel like less of a yuppie.
