Ellen Richardson, a graphic designer and Pleasant Plains resident, recently took her Craigslist hunting skills to the next level with the launch of her blog, Listed District. Listed District offers daily DC Craigslist findings of everything from Mid-Century and Industrial furniture, to bikes and the utterly strange. Growing up in north Alabama, Ellen got plenty of flea market and antique mall scouring practice – she’s drawn to the interesting histories of the unique (and strange) so, don’t expect her to post too many IKEA leftovers. Every week Ellen is going to share a roundup of some Phenomenal Finds with PoPville.

Listed District Roundup – Bakelite

This week, Craigslsit has a plethora of interesting vintage items made of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bakelite. Bakelite, in case you’ve not heard of it, was developed in 1907 by Belgian chemist Leo Baekeland. It was one of the first synthetic plastics and, once it caught on, was used to make tons of industrial, household, and recreational items – everything from cameras, jewelry, and telephones, to coffins and even machine guns. Bakelite was groundbreaking from an industrial application standpoint, and is actually still used today in several specialized industries. But the best stuff, the stuff collectors drool over, are the everyday Bakelite items that are today made from materials that are less labor intensive to produce.

And like any good success story, Bakelite has plenty of scandal and intrigue associated with it. Leo Baekeland eventually descended into epic eccentricity and his heirs didn’t fair too much better. The movie Savage Grace, starring Julianne Moore (based upon the book of the same name by Natalie Robins and Steven M.L. Aronson), dramatizes the dysfunctional life and brutal murder of socialite and Bakelite heiress Barbara Daly Baekeland by her son Antony. Antony was institutionalized and went on to also attempt to murder his Grandmother before dying mysteriously at Rikers Island…yep.

All of these items are super cool on their own – the Bakelite factor is just the icing on the cake. **Some of the radios I found are fetching huge prices on eBay!

All the listings after the jump.

$15 – “Dresser trays Bakelite and Stuff”
http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/atq/2784355954.html

$49 – “Vintage Zenith Bakelite Clock Radio”
http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/mld/clt/2824399107.html

$50 – “Antique Telephone”
http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/atq/2822877225.html

$30 – “Baby Brownie Camera, circa 1930s, with original box and instructions”
http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/pho/2778994895.html

$115 – “Vintage Fada Deco Style Radio”
http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/clt/2819112259.html

$35 – “Vintage 1950s Photo Printing Kit”
http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/pho/2828649516.html

$150 – “1920 Hammond ‘Gregory’ art deco clock”
http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/clt/2830621395.html

$120 – “Emerson Vintage ‘woodie’ Radio”
http://washingtondc.craigslist.org/nva/clt/2819114811.html

Streets of Washington is the brilliant blog covering some of DC’s most interesting buildings and history written by John DeFerrari. John is also the author of the equally brilliant Lost Washington DC. ‘Streets of Washington Presents…’ will feature some fascinating buildings and history from around PoPville.

The art of making a really good pipe seems to have died out, and many would say that’s a good thing. But if we set aside the health and social issues for a moment, we discover a business that once relied on skilled artisans to make its very finest products. In Washington, D.C., the very best pipes were made by Bertram’s on 14th Street, opposite Franklin Park, and it seems like almost every famous world leader from the early 20th century who smoked had his pipe made there.

Benjamin Bertram Goldmann was born in Leipzig, Germany, some time in the late 1870s, the son of a master pipe maker who passed the exacting craft on to his son. Bertram emigrated to the United States and had a pipe shop first in Baltimore but then moved to D.C., where he settled on 14th Street early in the 1900s. A Washington Post reporter visited the old man in his shop in 1933 and found him muttering about all the bad things that pipe owners and other pipe makers do to their pipes. Beyond not scrupulously caring for a good pipe, anyone who would paint or varnish the outside of a pipe was essentially committing a crime against humanity, according to Bertram. His pipes were handcrafted from carefully selected pieces of briar root imported from Algeria. Only the pieces with the grain just-so were acceptable. Beyond the briar pipe bowls, Bertram used amber, Bakelite, and bands of silver and gold. The pipe bowls were a light, blond color when new and would darken to a rich shade of mahogany as time went by. These pipes were veritable works of art.

Bertram passed the business on to his son, Sydney Bertram Goldman (c. 1904-1960), who ran the store during its peak years. The shop sold President Franklin Delano Roosevelt his famous goose-quill cigarette holders. It also sold only the best pipe tobacco and cigars. When Winston Churchill was in town he bought his fine Romeo y Julieta cigars, made in Havana, from Bertram’s. They sold for a dollar apiece at the time. According to the Post, Bertram’s also supplied Joseph Stalin with its best Capitol Blend pipe tobacco via the Soviet Embassy. General Douglas MacArthur’s iconic corncob pipes came from Bertram’s. Entertainers such as Edward G. Robinson and Red Skelton were also customers.

The location of the former Bertram’s store (Photo by the author).

The store moved a few doors up to 920 14th Street NW in 1947. The new building was festooned with a rather eccentric carved glass frieze of a hunting scene on its facade. When the new place opened, Sydney Goldman, who had served in the Marines during the war, made a point of hiring 49 disabled veterans to work in the pipe-making shop.

Continues after the jump.

The store began to decline in the 1960s after the death of Sydney Goldman. His widow, Mae Goldman continued to run the business, but the neighborhood was becoming increasingly seedy. The business was becoming more difficult as well: Cuban cigars, of course, were no longer available, and Algerian briar was becoming increasingly difficult to obtain. In September 1966, when burglars entered the shop through a skylight and made off with $25, Bertram’s responded by installing a metal sheet over the skylight. As if offended by this rebuke, the burglars returned a week later, pried away the metal, and this time made off with almost $4,000 worth of cigarette and pipe lighters, hunting knives, and amber figurines. According to some reports, the Bertram’s pipe factory was also ransacked and set on fire during the riots of April 1968.

By the 1970s, Bertram’s was surrounded by peep shows and porn palaces. Finally in September 1977, Mae Goldman decided to close the business, selling the building to Rodman’s for use as a discount liquor store. In a neighborhood of deadeningly uniform office buildings, the site of the former Bertram’s store, now transformed to match, stands out for its unusually low scale.

* * * * *

Special thanks to Jerry McCoy, who of course had a copy of the Bertram’s postcard before I did and who first publicized this little known Washington institution.

The following was written by PoP contributor Eric Nuzum.

French Bulldogs rarely show up in shelters and rescues. They are expensive dogs and difficult to breed. Anyone who goes through what it takes to get one usually isn’t very quick to let it go. Those that do come up for adoption are usually seriously ill or disabled.

That’s why we were so surprised to see Giselle listed for adoption. A four-year-old Frenchie, rescued from a high kill shelter in South Carolina. Besides testing positive for heart worm, she was described as good with kids and dogs, didn’t have behavior issues, and seemed otherwise perfectly fine.

More than a hundred people applied to adopt her, but we were the ones told she would be coming home with us on December 3rd. The only thing we really knew about her history was that her previous owner gave her up for financial reasons.

I was instructed to pick her up at a transport drop–where rescue volunteers bring more than 40 dogs in stacked crates, bungee corded together in the back of a large cargo van for the ten-hour drive from South Carolina.

Giselle was one of the first dogs off the van and almost immediately I could tell that her time in the shelter had not been good. She was caked with dirt, had a mangled ear and scabs on her face from a fairly recent attack by another dog, had infections in both ears, and was constantly straining to poop, probably from stress. She was disoriented and nervous, yet still desperate for any comfort or affection. I placed her head in my hands after putting her in the backseat of the car. “Don’t worry little girl,” I whispered to her. “The worst part is over.” She licked my nose and we drove home, already pretty much bonded.

Continues after the jump.

The next morning we took her to the vet for a check-up and almost immediately the doctor noticed something unusual: Giselle’s gut was rock hard. As she examined the dog, the expression on Dr Rusk’s face got more and more serious. An x-ray confirmed her fear–Giselle had a distended colon. A section of her colon had lost its motility and stool had been backing up there for weeks.

Dr Rusk also said Giselle was nowhere near four, but more likely at least nine or ten-years-old. The colon issue was more than likely the result of a neurological disorder, arthritis or some other age-related complication. It might be treatable with medication, but for now she was in immediate need of treatment to remove the hardened stool.

Giselle was admitted to the hospital and received multiple laxatives and four enemas over two days. She had racked up a two-thousand dollar hospital bill with little sign of anything actually helping her. Dr. Rusk said we were running out of options, our choices for our new dog were suddenly limited to a six-thousand dollar surgery or euthanizing her.

And all this for a dog we’d had for less than three days.

Though we had nothing to prove it, a probable narrative for Giselle started to emerge in our minds. We knew that this colon issue had been going on for some time before she was given up. More than likely her previous owners had learned of her situation, pained over the same dilemma we were now facing, were unable to make a decision, and decided to turn her over to the shelter. Little did they know that by doing so, they were condemning her to the living hell and misery in that shelter.

Regardless of the true story, there was little doubt that this can had been kicked down the road a few times and had landed squarely with us.

We’d been wringing our hands over the situation we were in and which terrible option to chose when Dr Rusk called. Giselle had pulled off an eleventh hour miracle and was starting to pass the old stool. We weren’t out of the woods yet, but at least she’d have a chance to come home. The doctor told us that, even with medication, this would eventually catch up with her again, but it could be months or years–nobody knew.

Now we faced what felt like an even bigger challenge: knowing how this would end up, did we want to let this dog into our lives? She was sweet and personable. If you didn’t know what was happening to her, you’d never even guess this dog was sick. She had every reason not to be, but she was a trusting, affectionate dog who obviously yearned for love, safety, and belonging. We were already in love with her, but pretended we weren’t.

We really didn’t make a decision, if there was ever was a decision to be made. We just went to the hospital and brought her home. She was obviously feeling much better than when we first picked her up. She was calm, relaxed, and immediately made a place for herself in our family. She got along well with our other Frenchie and our two-year-old son quickly fell in love with her just as much as we did. Even though she was on eight different medications, she seemed to get perkier and stronger every day. She started learning the routines of our household and was even picking up a few commands and tricks. It started to feel like things were going to be okay. Her days were filled with belly rubs, long walks, treats, and the sounds of laughter.

We saw bits of her personality start to emerge. She loved to chase and tease, as well as snatch the baby’s toys so he would run with her. She spent every evening sleeping in my wife’s lap. Here is a dog that should have no reason to trust any human being, yet she was so accepting of any love or attention anyone gave to her. She was not just a survivor, but a survivor with grace.

Then a week later, I was walking the dogs when I noticed Giselle was straining to poop again. Over the next two days, she stopped pooping entirely. A visit to Dr Rusk confirmed our worst fear, that Giselle’s colon was starting to back up again. It had probably been backing up since we left the hospital.

Now we were faced with a third terrible choice–do we hospitalize her again, knowing the cost and chance that it will only be another temporary fix?

Dr. Rusk loaded her with fluids and laxatives, and we decided to give her another day to get things moving. Despite now being on ten medications, Giselle’s colon just wasn’t cooperating.

We believed that God had given Giselle to us because others had not been able to make the right choice for her. Our job was to make her feel safe, loved, and part of our family. We also had to admit that part of loving her was being able to say enough was enough. It was our job to prevent any more suffering.

After one last game of chase with the dogs and baby, plus a long extended belly rub and fistful of treats, we took her back to Dr. Rusk.

We both wanted to be there with her when she was put down. She felt just as much a part of our family as any other member. The last thing she felt was our hands petting her. The last thing she heard was us telling her how loved she was.

At times, when I think of Giselle, I feel a little silly. I mean, we’ve been mourning her longer than we had her. Isn’t it a bit ridiculous to grieve over the loss of a dog you had for ten days?

My wife plans to spread her ashes in Rock Creek Park, along a trail that she regularly jogs along. Not only so that she is reminded of the sweet little French Bulldog who so easily convinced us to love her, but also as a reminder of what this taught us.

When hearing this story, people understandably ask if we regret adopting Giselle. They often are surprised when we quickly answer “no.” Many people, including us, idealize the concept of “rescuing” a dog. We romanticize our role as saviors, bringing a dog back to its “furever” home. With Giselle, that obviously worked out a bit different. We were called to make a decision that no one else could or would make for her. We also could have never imagined we’d have the strength to make it through that two-week gut-wrenching ordeal, and yet still willingly give ourselves over to falling for a dog we knew was not going to make it.

In the end, we did rescue her, just not in a way we ever thought we could.

Vivi Mazarakis is the author of Forking DC. You can read her previous columns here.

Pork and Ramen Noodles

This recipe was inspired by my recent trip to the Atlas District’s Toki Underground, a Taiwanese noodle and dumpling shop inspired by Japanese ramen houses. (Read my review of Toki here). Ever since slurping noodles there last weekend, I just couldn’t stop thinking about the Hakata Classic (ramen with pork loin). So, I turned to one of my favorite chefs, “Iron Chef” Masaharu Morimoto, and his book “The New Art of Japanese Cooking” to feed my obsession. Sitting on my couch, I leafed through the colorful images of Chef Morimoto’s beautifully plated food looking for a recipe I could try.

I will admit that many of Morimoto’s recipes are a bit intimidating. They call for either complicated cooking techniques or many exotic ingredients that most local grocery stores don’t sell, or don’t sell for a reasonable price. (Yes, I’m referring to the grocery store commonly referred to as “Whole Paycheck,” with whom I have a love-hate relationship.)

When I came across Morimoto’s Za Jan Noodles recipe, I thought: bingo! It would satiate my craving for both noodles and pork, and it seemed relatively easy to prepare. Below is my slightly modified version of this recipe. For vegetarians, swap out the pork with tofu and skip the egg. Tofu is a great substitute since it will soak up the flavor-packed sauce.

Most of the ingredients can be found at your local grocery store. As for the red miso, you can find it and any other Asian specialty items at one of my favorite stores in DC – Hana Japanese Market at the corner of 17th & U St. NW. This place is a real gem and the owners are nice and very helpful. As for the sake, you’ll find that many liquor stores these days carry it. For example, you can find it at the liquor store across the street from Hana or De Vinos, a great wine store in Adams Morgan. Otherwise, cooking rice wine, which you can find at any grocery store, will work just fine.

Continues after the jump.

Ingredients
(Serves 4)

1 tbsp vegetable oil
½ lb ground pork
1 tbsp minced fresh ginger
1 tbsp minced garlic
¼ c julienned bamboo shoots
1 ½ c chicken or vegetable stock
¼ c red miso
¼ c low-sodium soy sauce
2 tbsp sugar
2 tbsp sake
1 tsp cornstarch, dissolved in ¼ c cold water
1 ½ tsp sesame oil
12 oz dried noodles (ramen or lo mein)
½ cucumber, peeled, seeded, and julienned
1 hard-boiled egg (optional)
1 scallion, thinly sliced on an angle
Sriracha sauce or Chinese chile sauce (to taste)

Start boiling water for your noodles. Combine the sugar, soy sauce, stock, and sake in a bowl. Mix in the red miso. Set aside. Note: Red miso is salty. I found that ¼ cup bordered on too salty, so I recommend adding a little red miso at a time and tasting the mixture as you go until you find the amount that’s right for you. Remember that the salty flavor will only intensify as the mixture cooks down later.

In a large skillet, heat oil over medium-high heat. Add the ginger and garlic and cook (stirring often) for about 1 minute. Add the ground pork, breaking it up into smaller pieces with a wooden spoon. Brown the pork for about 5-6 minutes or until there is little to no liquid left in the skillet. Add the bamboo shoots and then add the red miso mixture. Bring the contents of the skillet to a boil and then add the cornstarch mixture. Cook until the sauce thickens and reduces. Remove from heat and stir in the sesame oil. For some heat and additional flavor, add Sriracha (or chile sauce) to taste. Cover to keep warm until noodles are ready.

Drop noodles in boiling water and cook according to package instructions (usually about 4 minutes). Drain noodles and divide among four bowls.

Spoon the pork mixture over the noodles. Top each bowl with cucumber, chopped egg, and scallions. Enjoy!

It was a sad day in Washington in August 1981 when The Washington Star ceased publication after more than 128 years of service. The Star’s tenure had stretched back before the Civil War, an amazing run that witnessed the historic sweep of the city’s development from small town to sophisticated metropolis. “The Rock of Gibraltar in Washington journalism is The Washington Star, one of the world’s really great newspapers,” historian Fred A. Emery wrote in 1935. The rise and fall of this bygone institution has its own grand sweep, with its greatest achievements occurring when it was quartered in the majestic marble building at 11th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, NW, that still bears its name today.

The Star began inauspiciously enough in December 1852, one of dozens of newspapers that sprang up for limited runs in 19th century Washington City. In fact, two other D.C. newspapers had already used the Star name, the Columbian Star from 1822 to 1827, and the first Washington Star in 1841. The third Star, the one that would matter, began as a four-page broadsheet with a run of 250 copies, printed on a hand press in a small office at 8th and D Streets, NW. The paper’s first owner, Captain Joseph Borrows Tate, sought to distinguish the Star from all the other rags published throughout the city by striking a tone of impartiality: “The Star is to be free from party trammels or sectarian influences…devoted in an especial manner to the local interests of the beautiful city which bears the honored name of Washington.” The paper’s neutral stance and focus on local news became its trademark and, in time, gave it broad appeal and commercial success. It also led at times to overly innocuous reportage, as in this oft-quoted remark by reporter William Tucker that appeared in the paper’s first edition: “Our courts are sitting, but the business with which they are engaged is not of a very interesting character.”

Tate sold the paper within a year to William Wallach (1812-1871), an aggressive Texan who worked hard to build up the business, moving its office to the southwest corner of 11th and Pennsylvania in 1854. Wallach hired a promising young reporter, Crosby S. Noyes (1825-1908), in 1853, and Noyes quickly became the Star‘s star. One of his many assignments was to report on the hanging of John Brown at Harper’s Ferry, WV, in 1859, which he did in flowery, dramatic prose. The Star maintained an anti-slavery stance in those days and, once the Civil War began, was decidedly pro-Union, despite the strong Southern sentiments then common in Washington.

Crosby S. Noyes (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

The paper grew in prestige during the war years, aided by its exclusive connections with an early incarnation of the Associated Press. Through the AP, the Star‘s vivid coverage of the war’s impact on Washington was relayed across the country. The New York Times often reprinted war reports from the pages of the Star, and the paper’s prestige increased. Supposedly, as soon as Abraham Lincoln finished delivering his second inaugural address, he handed the text to Crosby Noyes so that it could be printed in the Star.

In 1867, Wallach retired and the paper was bought by Noyes and four other investors: Samuel H. Kauffmann (1829-1906), Alexander “Boss” Shepherd (1835-1902), Clarence D. Baker, and George W. Adams. Shepherd, who would become governor of D.C. in 1873, sold his share of the enterprise within a few years, as did Baker, and Adams remained a behind-the-scenes investor. That left Noyes and Kauffmann to establish a family dynasty that would preside over the Star for another 100 years. Noyes exercised editorial control, while Kauffmann served as publisher and handled the business side.

Continues after the jump.

The Star‘s new home in 1881 (Source: Library of Congress).

In 1881, the Star was forced to move from its quarters on the south side of Pennsylvania Avenue to make way for construction of the grand Post Office Department building, so well-known now for its iconic clock tower. Kauffmann and Noyes decided to move directly across the street to a narrow, four-story building on the northwest corner of 11th and Pennsylvania. The paper was steadily growing during these years, and the new building was almost immediately too small. The company gradually acquired adjacent properties on Pennsylvania and 11th until it had a large enough plot to build a monumental skyscraper of a building.

The project began in 1897 with many of the leading architects of the day participating in a competition to design the Star‘s new home. James G. Hill, architect of such prominent buildings as the Bureau of Engraving and Printing and the Stoneleigh Court Apartments, submitted a proposal, as did the firm of Hornblower & Marshall, designers of the Smithsonian’s Natural History Building, and Glenn Brown (1854-1932), an influential secretary of the American Institute of Architects and author of the landmark History of the United States Capitol. The winner, however, was William J. Marsh (1864-1926). Marsh had just started an independent practice with Walter G. Peter (1868-1945), whom he had met while they were both working at Hornblower & Marshall. Marsh may have had the inside track on this competition since he had previously designed homes for Crosby Noyes and two of his sons.

The Evening Star Building prior to 1918. The tall building to the left is the Raleigh Hotel. (Source: DC Public Library Commons)

Marsh designed an ostentatious, marble-faced office tower in the then-fashionable Beaux-Arts style. The shining white structure was a powerful statement of the Star‘s position of power and pre-eminence. In comparison, the Washington Post‘s smaller grey-granite building up the street, done in the Romanesque-Revival style, looked out-of-date. A postcard of the new building unabashedly proclaims, “The Evening Star Building of white marble is the most beautiful newspaper building in the world.”

The Star’s business office, circa 1921 (Source: Library of Congress).

The building was completed and opened for business in June 1900. As described in great detail in the rival Washington Times, its interior held many wonders. Inside the Pennsylvania Avenue entrance, one passed through a marble-clad lobby to the richly-decorated business office. The walls were clad in exquisite white Paonazzo marble from the famous Carrara quarries of Italy and carved into elegant Renaissance Revival arches and pilasters. Frederick Dielman (1847-1935), a celebrated painter who had recently produced murals for the new Library of Congress building, was commissioned to prepare seven great allegorical paintings of the newspaper industry for the lunettes in the upper portions of the walls. The effect was of being in a Renaissance church or grand library rather than the business office of a newspaper.

Editorial offices were on the seventh floor, with a commanding view of the city from the windows to the west and south. Editors (the news editor, city editor, telegraph editor) had their desks along the windows, all equipped with telephones, electric bells, and pneumatic tubes for sending messages around the building. The open space in the middle of the room was filled with roll-top reporters’ desks, a typewriter on each. On the other side, a row of telephones stood at the ready, providing instant communications with the Senate, House of Representatives, City Hall, and District Building. It was the height of modern journalistic efficiency.

On the eighth floor was the composing room, in a double space that extended through the ninth floor to provide a cavernous, skylit working space. It was outfitted with 18 of the latest Morgenthaler linotype machines, sophisticated devices that set lines of type in cast bars of lead for use on the two enormous printing presses down in the basement. The equally large basement printing plant included not just the presses but also electric generating equipment capable of independently supporting all of the building’s needs.

Management of the paper passed to a new generation with the deaths of Samuel Kauffmann in 1906 and Crosby Noyes in 1908. Two of Noyes’ sons took over, Frank taking Kauffmann’s place as president in 1906 and his brother Theodore becoming editor in 1908. Under the Noyes brothers, the Star’s greatest period of expansion took place, and it became one of the most profitable newspapers in the business. It continued to focus on local news and printed only the safest of opinions on its editorial pages, thus ensuring that none of its many advertisers were offended. Meanwhile, its competitors languished. The Post had sullied its reputation by seeming to incite the race riots of 1919. According to Constance McLaughlin Green, “Newspapermen despised the Washington Post, a ‘poison sheet’ without moral integrity.” Of the other two major papers, the Times had “swung far to the right,” according to Green, thus marginalizing itself, while the Herald “offered a bland diet only occasionally spiced with biting, politically loaded comments.” With such anemic competition, the Star could afford to be arrogant.

The Star Building circa 1921, after construction of the 1918 annex (Source: Library of Congress).

In 1918, the company built a large annex next to the original building along 11th Street, and it became the industrial heart of the expanded business. The new space was equipped with no less than 34 Morgenthaler linotype machines and four presses in the basement. On an average day, 890 4-pound ingots of lead were melted down to make the day’s press plates. (The metal was melted down and re-used each day.) A typical print run in 1927 was 100,000 copies of a 32-page paper, requiring 38 massive rolls of newsprint, or 596 miles of paper. The finished papers were loaded on to 17 trucks for distribution across the city each weekday afternoon and Sunday morning.

Everyone seems to agree that the real turning point for the newspaper—from rising star to falling star, as it were—came in 1954, when the Post absorbed the Times-Herald. (The Times and the Herald had merged in 1939.) The Times-Herald had had a slightly higher circulation than the Star, although the Star‘s advertising volume far outpaced any of its competitors. But the acquisition of the Times-Herald put the Post well ahead of the Star in circulation for the first time—over 380,000 by 1955 compared to the Star‘s 250,000. By 1959, the Post pulled ahead in advertising volume as well, and the Star never caught up. While the Post had taken over the spot as the city’s newspaper of record, having come a long way from its “poison sheet” days of the 1920s, top management of the Star seemed oblivious to the sea-changes. Insular and used to longstanding success, they thought their paper was invulnerable. Instead, it was doomed.

As if to symbolically punctuate the Star‘s decline, the company decided in the late 1950s to abandon its venerable home on Pennsylvania Avenue and construct a new building at 225 Virginia Avenue, SE. The move gained key logistical advantages for the paper’s printing operations; the soon-to-be-constructed I-395 freeway would provide direct access for speedy afternoon distribution, and a railroad spur offered equally direct access to newsprint and other raw materials. In addition, the new building boasted roughly three times the floor space of the old one. Nevertheless, the company had traded an elegant structure at a prestigious address for a hulking, utilitarian box in an out-of-the-way, run-down area.

Postcard rendering of the new building (Author’s collection).
The demise of the Star was a long and drawn-out affair. Circulation actually continued to increase throughout the 1960s, although advertising revenue steadily dropped off. The afternoon format became more and more of a liability, no longer fitting the daily routines of a changing culture and also posing distribution challenges. “Realistically, it was probably hopeless by ’65 or ’66,” a former executive was quoted as saying in the Star‘s final edition. As the paper relentlessly lost money, the Kauffmann and Noyes families began to look for an outside buyer. In 1974, a wealthy Texas banker, Joe L. Allbritton, took control of the paper, eventually buying out the shares owned by the Kauffmann and Noyes families.

Allbritton wanted to turn the paper around, but he faced insurmountable odds. A key part of his strategy was to leverage the income from the company’s profitable WMAL broadcasting stations to cover the paper’s losses while fixes were being planned. However, the Federal Communications Commission balked at Allbritton holding on to two different mass media outlets in the same market. Tense times at the paper ensued, with staff accepting pay cuts and a reduced work week to keep the business alive. In 1978, four years after taking over, Allbritton sold the Star to Time Inc. The media giant made more changes, bringing in new editorial leadership, changing the physical design of the paper, and switching to morning delivery. It didn’t help. After just three more years, Time closed the Star for good in 1981.

Meanwhile, the old Evening Star Building endured quietly on Pennsylvania Avenue. Initial plans, after its namesake had moved out, were to convert it to a 330-room hotel. Instead, it was converted to generic office space, and much of it was rented to the federal government. As various “modernizations” were undertaken, nothing of the original interior decoration was preserved—the Carrara marble, the mahogany trim, the Dielman murals—all vanished. In 1981, the owners proposed a massive renovation and enlargement of the building, a project that was finally carried out 9 years later. The 1918 addition on 11th Street was torn down in 1987, as were smaller structures abutting the building on Pennsylvania Avenue, and a large new addition, designed in a style sympathetic with the original, was put up in their place.  The Evening Star Building is now one of the most valuable properties in downtown Washington.

The 1959 building in Southeast was sold to the Post, which used it as a printing plant for many years. The D.C. government leased the building in 2007 with the intention of using it as a new police headquarters but subsequently determined that that option would be too expensive. The city bought the building outright in 2009, and it is currently being extensively renovated to house several other D.C. government agencies.

Thanks to Kim Williams, D.C. Historic Preservation Office, for her assistance with this article. Sources included Fred A. Emery, “Washington Newspapers” in Records of the Columbia Historical Society (Vol. 37-38, 1937); Merrill E. Gates, Men of Mark in America (1906); Constance McLaughlin Green, Washington: A History of the Capital, 1800-1950 (1962); John Clagett Proctor, Washington Past and Present: A History (1930); Pamela Scott and Antoinette Lee, Buildings of the District of Columbia (1993); Washington Board of Trade, The Book of Washington (1927); a draft National Register of Historic Places nomination for the Evening Star building from 1990; and, of course, numerous newspaper articles from the Star as well as its chief rivals.

I’m happy to introduce Adventures of the 35 Year Old (Alcohol) Virgin. Since I personally had my first beer at 15 years old I was fascinated by Ben’s premise – “At 35 years old, I had never tasted, tried or drank an alcoholic drink of any kind. During 2012 that all changes drink by drink.” You can read more about the background here. For the first Vol. on PoP – AV will tackle Bud Light. If you have a drink you think he should try let us know in the comments. Follow all of his adventures here.

Bud Light

At first it was so much nicer than I expected it to be, almost enjoyable. But by the fourth sip I wanted to be f’ing done. I wanted a Sprite.

So the evening was all set. Joe and I headed over to our weekly dinner at our cousin’s Chris & Natalie and they were prepared to make dinner for my first beer—a classic starter beer—Bud Light. We had rustic grilled cheeses with several different cheeses to choose from, spinach, bacon and a few choice breads. And there was homemade tomato soup and some salad.

But I’m guessing you’re still stuck on “Bud Light”. Yes, yes, I know.

Let me quickly explain.

This journey, this Adventure, is a process. I will be trying at least 25+ beers on this little experiment during 2012 and so for me, it made sense to start with one of the most popular and common beers available to kick off my beer experience.

I had no regrets in my choosing, while many of you had several before I even had my first sip. And now I know why.

Continues after the jump.

In contrast to my recent experience with champagne, I liked the first sip or two of the beer. It wasn’t dry. It was crisp and watery, kinda light and tangy. It even had this kinda—try to follow me—floral quality that reminded me of how older potpourri smells: musky, light, flowery, dusty.

I should note that my husband and cousins were kind stupid brave romantic enough to each share a frosted mug’s worth of Bud Light with me for this first drink.

They thought my “floral” mention was comical in both explanation and reality. But I’m sticking to what my palate was telling me.

Maybe it was the beechwood chips placed in the ageing vessel which, according to Anheuser-Busch, creates a smoother taste during the lagering. Hey, a virgin does his research.

Anyway, by the fourth or fifth sip I was picking up other notes. Sour notes, muskier notes. Sweat sock, limp wet leather, bits of dried old fruit rind qualities that with every subsequent sip was grossing me out.

I should mention that while I am a virgin to drinking alcohol. I am not however, a virgin to being around it while others drink it. That is to say, I have heard many a friend and family member cry “this beer tastes like ass” when drinking Bud Light or any of the others in this category.

[remember to casually mention that I might know what ass tastes like, so that in this rare occasion I might have a point of reference. Addition note: do not forget a well crafted sentence or two suggesting I’m joking. Family and friends might read this and find that uncomfortable.]

By the middle of the journey to the bottom of the glass, I wanted to quit. I had no reason to quit. I promised myself that unless it made me physically ill, I would finish every first drink, but this was clearly a test of my resolve. If you follow me on Facebook, you’ll see that I did a little chronicling of last night’s tasting to that conclusion.

I will say that I had two different grilled cheeses. One with havarti & sharp cheddar and one with swiss & sharp cheddar. The h&c sandwich and beer was much nicer than the s&c with beer. The mixture of the beer and quality swiss was almost intolerable. And honestly, that was fun to discover.

So I didn’t love this first beer. And look, I’m not shocked. As I’m sure neither are you. That said, I’m really, truly loving this adventure. I had my doubts. But even not liking some of the drinks, I’m exploring tastes and qualities I’ve absolutely never experienced before in my 35 years.

And that’s exciting as hell.

So onward! Next up will be a classic vodka drink tonight at a friend’s Russian Christmas party—blog to follow on Sunday. And (drum roll please) in preparation for a bigger announcement/blog tie-in news coming up mid next week, I’m planning a happy hour with friends of Tuesday to try yet another new first drink adventure.

So yes, my first beer, devoid of Spuds MaKenzie, Bud Light Girls or even three crazy frogs, but it’s one I can confidently say that I’ll never forget.

Cheers, Ben

The following was written by Lina Khan with photographs by Alison Klein. If you have a show you’d like to see reviewed send an email to princeofpetworth(at)gmail

With a sound so distinctly urban, Phantogram‘s small-town origins come as a surprise. The self-described “street beat/psyche pop” duo has earned a reputation for hipness since the 2010 release of their debut album Eyelid Movies, recorded in a barn by their very rural Greenwich, New York hometown.

Back on tour with Nightlife EP, the band played to a full house at Black Cat Wednesday night. A smooth mix of electronic loops, synth beats, and hip hop evocations, Phantogram professes an eclectic range of influence – old soul, French pop, shoegaze – that fuses subtly on their recordings. Live, though, that range flattened, producing a sound highly energetic but rarely powerful.

Keyboardist Sarah Barthel’s cool, breathy croon briefly came through on “16 Years,” a catchy electro-pop track, but remained mostly overpowered by percussion. “Mouthful of Diamonds” brought out the band at its strongest: Barthel’s confident vocals, guitarist Josh Carter’s tender riffs, and a pulsating backdrop of synth beats that roll unremittingly. The casual synthesis was lent depth by the single line “I wish I could believe,” repeated with a simplicity that verges on hypnotic.

Continues after the jump.

It took till “Don’t Move,” with its bouncy stutter, for the audience to actually get moving (why does nobody dance at shows in DC?), the upbeat magnetism breaking to thumping rhythm that then resurges to full force. “All you do is/Shake shake shake,” Barthel sings, “Keep your body still/Keep your body still,” a delivery that undoes its own fulfillment.

Much of the set collapsed into a continuous semi-mesmerizing groove. A few moments showcased the moody edginess that hovers around some tracks – the paranoid and uneasy “Running from the Cops” – but the sultry syncopations mostly maintained a softer disinterest. Phantogram may evoke urban lure and pavement stagger, but there is little grit to be found. Their enigmatic allusions rarely rise above the innocuous – something a live performance can sometimes overcome, but of which the band fell short. There is little energy spent building and sustaining sound so that it takes you somewhere, a lack of intensity that isn’t in itself bad, it’s just that nonchalance only carries so far. No doubt, these sonic loops are magnetic, but unlikely to stay with you. You’ll enjoy grooving to them when you hear them, just might forget to look them up when you get home.

Lina Khan is PoP’s new music editor. She will review a monthly concert and in the near future provide a weekly agenda of who the local spots are featuring per readers requests.

A few songs into his set, Zach Condon made a confession. “I’ve been told we’ve played here
before, but for the life of me I just can’t remember,” he half-chuckled. For a musician whose
sound plays like an ode to hazy remembrance, the comment captured what Beirut best kindles: a
potent nostalgia for a time you can’t quite place, an undeniable gesture to memory without totally
detailing it.

Playing to a swarming crowd at Black Cat on Tuesday night, Beirut took the stage as a six-
member band with no shortage of brass, with two players alternating between trumpet, trombone,
and tuba, and Condon frequently joining them on horn. They opened with “The Concubine,” a
mix of humming accordion and playful percussion, before segueing to “Elephant Gun,” a crowd
favorite that gets Condon gently plucking his ukulele.

With three albums that span a staggering range of influence — Balkan and gypsy, electronic,
folk, early pop, and mariachi, to name a few — Beirut played a broad retrospective, with the
welcomed inclusion of pieces where the sweeping brass narrates songs, developing storylines
with unexpected crescendos and quickening tempos. Early in the set, “The Shrew” encapsulated
the part-drunken waltz, part-majestic fanfare into which a piece can ascend, as Condon, eyes
closed, stomps and claps.

In addition to sampling some newer tracks — “Santa Fe” and “East Harlem” — the band did
justice to timeless pieces like “Postcards from Italy,” whose hauntingly simple ukulele, layered
with a collection of horns, enacts a gorgeous hymn to a more sincere, uncomplicated past,
nascent young love, and a musky yearning for it all. “Those were our times,” Condon crooned
with his textured lilt, soaking in the memory, an elegy both triumphant and wistful.

Continues after the jump.

Even with plenty of exultant highs where thick instrumentation soared to the deafening, little
could beat Condon’s plaintive voice, whose raw power and impressive inflections induce
chills. With lyrics little more than sparse fragments and snapshot imagery, you get the sense
that Condon’s vocals just happen to take the form of words, incidental vessels whose precision
surrenders to their dense sound. “What can you do” Condon lulled solemnly, “when the curtain
falls,” drawing out the line enough to let each heavy intonation hang poignantly, before upbeat
percussion transforms the piece into a jovial dance. Though the more poppy interpretation
was a fun take on the weightier recording of “After the Curtain,” the additional percussion felt
excessive on other songs, at times overpowering a more soulful accordion riff or Condon’s slurs.

A generous encore captured both the rich sense of dwelling and lighter delight in chance that
Beirut skillfully balances. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the band offered an experience that mimics its
sound: the details might go unremembered, but the feel of it lasts.

Gold pinkie ring on one hand, sunglasses in the other, and pocket square neatly folded,
the grey pin-striped prince waves to Shaw residents upon his arrival at the Shaw
neighborhood’s Common Good City Farm. Farm Executive Director Pertula Clark is on
his immediate left and volunteer Dana Bryson is next.

Go-Go Band. Washington’s signature pop music, go-go, greeted the prince courtesy of a live band.

Pertula George escorts the prince around the farm, where he viewed a cooking
demonstration and helped plant a redbud tree.

The following was written by PoPville reader, Gabby who won the tickets to the festival.

Sweetlife Festival 2011 was an excellent fusion of cross-genre musical performances, fresh food, and great people! As I made my way through DC to meet up with my oh so lucky concert going guest du jour at his house on U street, I saw the sidewalks filled with groups lugging coolers and sporting their finest music fest worthy threads towards the different shuttle pick up locations throughout NW. Note to self for next year, sign up for the party buses!

As this was my first time at the Merriweather Post Pavillion, I was pleasantly surprised by easy layout of the venue tucked away in a beautifully green space in Maryland. We made some stops at the various tailgates going on in the parking lot before making our way towards the stage. Without hesitation I made a bee-line to the pit for one of the acts I was most excited for, Theophilus London!

Continues after the jump.

Theophilus London

Do yourself a favor and give him a youtube search. An up and coming artist from NYC, his performance was full of energy and his unique sound is just begging to be put on your summer ipod rotation. The acts that followed, Ra Ra Riot, Cold War Kids, Crystal Castles- all did not disappoint! Between enjoying the bands I wandered around the field and snacked on some of the fest fare. Perfectly paired with an ice cold beer the options included barbeque, wraps, burgers, boardwalk fries, sweetgreen salads, and my personal favorite – the Burrito Bar! After refueling, sweetlifers could make their way towards the mural wall that was open to all to leave their mark. This area also lent itself to an excellent face painting opportunity! A big thank you to the new friend I made that agreed to paint me – I couldn’t pass up the chance to get a swirl design just like hers.

You will also see from the photos that we did have some rain throughout the afternoon. Surprisingly this didn’t seem to faze the crowd very much at all! The smart ones came prepared with ponchos and umbrellas, where as I opted for the impromptu reusable grocery bag as my hat of choice. By the time Lupe Fiasco hit the stage, the rain had subsided and I planted myself on the lawn for the remaining three headliners. Hands down Lupe Fiasco was my favorite performance of the day. A great mix of old and new songs that are undeniably catchy and fun to sing along to was a great segway into what I would say ended up being the crowd favorite – Girl Talk. Biggest dance party I’ve ever been a part of, it was a blast! I then committed the biggest concert-going faux pas I possibly could, I left before The Strokes took the stage to close down the night. At the mercy of my driver’s plans I bid farewell to the Sweetlife Festival, I can’t wait to see what the line up will be next year!