Back in the late 90s, the photographers James and Karla Murray settled on a project: to catalogue New York’s most compelling storefronts with a 35mm camera. What began as a personal mission became an epic five-borough endeavour – and a race against time.



New York storefronts: what a difference a decade makes Read more

The couple’s method of discovering stores to photograph was simply to comb the streets and follow the curiosities. “We could just tell when we got off the train,” James says. “Things may be active and busy, but there hadn’t been this push toward conformity or modernisation.

“It was like a treasure hunt,” Karla agrees.

“We treated it like a photo safari,” James says. “New York never let us down.”

The Murrays’ new book Store Front II: A History Preserved, the Disappearing Face of New York is the concluding part of a trilogy. It’s their second “daytime” book; the first was published in 2009 – with New York Nights (2012), chronicling Big Apple facades after dark, sandwiched in between. Another volume is unlikely, given the commercial quicksands undermining these businesses. There is a sense of urgency to the images: one-fifth of the stores in the current book have since closed; while two-thirds of the stores featured in the first book are no more.

Golden Gate Fancy Fruits & Vegetable Flatlands, Brooklyn (2009). Photograph: James and Karla Murray

Most of the businesses have been killed off by the real estate market. When the owners don’t possess the entire building they are located in, Karla says, “that’s already the death knell.” Astronomical rents are unmanageable for stores with a small profit margin.

There are generational issues too: either children not wanting to take over the family business, or their parents, having experienced how hard it is, discouraging them from doing so.

The subtitle “the disappearing face of New York” doesn’t simply refer to the waning of small-scale commerce, but also the vanishing of the businesses’ idiosyncratic visual imprint. Reading the book, New York’s miscellany-filled past seems precariously close to vanishing.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Ray’s Candy Store East Village, Manhattan (2013). Photograph: James and Karla Murray

True, stores with long legacies thrive throughout the city – but their buildings don’t often reflect their history. “We like that these businesses maintain something about them that is original,” Karla says, whether a pressed-tin ceiling or aged wood panels. “The whole sign-making element – hand-painted, neon – is a craft that, unfortunately, is dying.” The permits to own and maintain these signs are costly, say the Murrays, but moreover business owners no longer take the same care in presentation as their predecessors, with their plastic awnings and generic fonts.

The Murrays don’t have an underlying activist goal, per se, although they would be happy for the project to instigate changes in urban strategy. “In the long term, we would love for the city to institute policies. San Francisco has some laws in effect, and Paris is more considerate in terms of recognizing historical value. That hasn’t really taken place in New York,” Karla notes.

However, the books are ultimately about the store owners, their work and aesthetics. “We always thought of our books not as a political statement, but more of a celebration of these businesses,” Karla says. “We want to bring awareness to their struggles, and for people to go there and buy things.” (Fittingly, each venue’s address is cited.)

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Landi’s Pork Store Flatlands, Brooklyn (2009). Photograph: James and Karla Murray

James concurs: “It inspires people to do a little grassroots activism, online and in person.” The grassroots approach is reflected in the Murrays’ own habits. The release of the book will be celebrated with events at small, independent bookstores – including Three Lives & Company, a Manhattan bookstore featured in the tome.

Toby Cox, the owner, says about his store: “I feel like I am a caretaker of this space.” The fondness for this “caretaker” role echoes throughout the book. Many shops are narrow in their specialties, whether providing bras or tropical fish or special cuts of meat. Being niche is a lover’s game as much as a connoisseur’s.

The oral histories accompanying the photos reveal differing points of view about the future. Some owners remain adamant that they want to do things the same way the always have, with recipes and techniques dating back for centuries. At Liebman’s Delicatessen in the Bronx for instance, manager Arthur Rabin says: “If you were a customer 50 years ago and come in today, things would pretty much taste the same … We are not about having better ideas. We are about being a time capsule.”

Morscher’s Pork Store Ridgewood, Queens (2009). Photograph: James and Karla Murray

Other businesses, while not changing their products, have expanded their reach. Economy Candy doesn’t try to compete with Costco’s bulk packaging, rather providing specialty offerings via its website in addition to the LES brick-and-mortar. Landi’s Pork Store in Brooklyn has pivoted to accommodate its clientele: they make individual prepackaged meals customers can easily heat up, taking into account the fact that few people now want to buy a whole pork shoulder.

Moreover, the hipster reverence for all that is artisanal and handmade has boosted some of these old-school places. With the slow food movement gaining ground, and the surge of foodie culture, there is a desire to reconnect with past practices that require patience, care, and expertise. Caputo’s Bake Shop in Carroll Gardens used to cater to the local Italian community, who would buy multiple plain loaves per day for their large families. Today, Caputo’s lard bread with pieces of prosciutto – which used to be an Easter-exclusive specialty – has turned into a bestseller.

House of Oldies Greenwich Village, Manhattan (2010). Photograph: James and Karla Murray

For places that make their own sausages, the nose-to-tail approach is creating a renaissance for butchers. “That used to be the poor man’s thing; now you have Anthony Bourdain championing this style,” James remarks. This new-found appreciation for heritage trickles beyond food: the comeback of vinyl is making the House of Oldies – which has exclusively sold rare records since 1969 – viable again, thanks to a new wave of teenage zeal.

There are endless gems amongst these collected stories and photos. The owner of Veselka recounts how the attention from a positive review for cheese blintzes in the Village Voice helped turn around their near-bankrupt business in 1980. Regulars at The Stonewall Inn, when raided by police in 1960s, boldly retaliated, sparking the modern gay rights movement in the process: “Two drag queens somehow got a parking meter out of the ground and used it as a battering ram,” recounts a long-term bartender.

Ray’s Candy Store on 7th Street still makes eggs creams at the authentic soda fountain counter. Reliance Cleaners, faithful keepers of all never-picked-up clothes, were recently solicited by a customer about a wedding dress dropped off 20 years ago, and neglectfully never picked up. It was still there: it had been saved all these years.