This Man Knows Where You Got Your Shoes!

Plus! Calling all coffee addicts!! A weird LEGO thing!!!

Hello everyone,

Welcome to Issue #164 of CAFÉ ANNE!

I enjoy five cups of coffee every day—Café Bustelo, of course, brewed in a stovetop percolator. And as I am always looking for ways to justify a caffeine routine that some people (who are no fun) consider excessive, I was pleased to learn recently that compared to some of history’s finest writers, five cups a day is NOTHING.

Honoré de Balzac, one of my favorite novelists, is said to have enjoyed as many as 50 cups a day. He recommended straight coffee grounds mixed with water, consumed on an empty stomach, as described in his essay “The Pleasures and Pains of Coffee.” And he could really crank out the stories thanks to all that caffeine—more than 100 novels and novellas over his short lifetime. Who cares if they were all basically the same book? They are all great.

And then there’s Voltaire, who drank several dozen of cups a day at Café Procope in Paris, where all the Enlightenment thinkers got all buzzed up. Just like his fellow Frenchman, Voltaire was massively productive. According to that trusted source Wikipedia, he wrote more than 20,000 letters and 2,000 books and pamphlets.

So now I’m thinking—maybe I should be drinking more coffee, not less! I could be writing 100 newsletters a week. Oh boy!

In any case, I’d love to interview a few people who drink way more coffee than I do. Do you maintain a steady habit that is truly bonkers? Please drop a note in the comments or write me at annekadet@yahoo.com.

Also, some updates: first, the CAFÉ ANNE MATCH survey is now closed. Folks will start receiving their matches soon. I am very excited at the prospect of CAFÉ ANNE readers connecting with their new friends, sweethearts and mortal enemies.

Second, I am making steady progress on my investigation into Operative Cake, the mysterious company I stumbled upon while exploring a random block in the Bronx last month. Stay tuned for an update in the next issue!

Finally, huge Café-Bustelo-On-Sale-at-Foodtown shoutouts to new paid subscriber Melody. That’s enough $$$ to keep me caffeinated for 40 days straight—assuming I don’t up my consumption to Voltaire levels.

I am very excited for this week’s issue, of course. We’ve got a look at an Upper East Side stoop decorated entirely with LEGOs and a Brooklyn street hustler with the cutest con ever. Please enjoy.

Regards!

Anne

DEPT. OF PLASTIC FLOWERS

NYC’s $2000 LEGO Garden

Check out the photo I took last week at this Upper East Side townhouse. The flowers adorning the stoop are all made out of LEGOs.

When I first learned of this creation, which appeared on East 78th street just before Mother's Day, I got very excited. I was hoping it was the handiwork of a totally obsessive and deranged Upper East Side housewife, or a totally obsessive and deranged Upper East Side househusband, or a totally obsessive and deranged Upper East Side retiree with way too much money and time on his hands.

I was disappointed to learn, upon doing a little internet sleuthing, that it was the creation of one Kristi Hemric, a NYC travel and fashion influencer. She'd posted about the stoop on her very popular Instagam—on six different occasions.

Within days, the display had gone TikTok viral, which had some online commenters speculating that the whole project was a stunt orchestrated by the folks at LEGO, the Danish toy giant. Some suggested the townhouse didn’t even belong to Ms. Hemric.

So what was the deal? Only one way to find out!

I took the train Uptown last week on one of those days when it rained all afternoon. The flowers, which I spotted from approximately two miles away through the drizzle, were a delightful sight on a dreary day. Even in real life, it was hard to tell they were LEGOs until you got close.

The main townhouse was dark, but the lights were on behind the curtains on the property’s garden level. I let myself through the patio gate and rang the doorbell.

I waited a long time. I'd almost given up when a man in a hoodie answered the door.

"Hello!" I said. "Is Kristi Hemric home?"

She wasn’t around, said the man. But all was not lost. He was her husband, David, and he was the one who built the display! LEGO agreed to donate the sets, he told me, but it was entirely his family's creation.

David asked me not to quote him directly, and his wife was away in Thailand for the week, but he was sweet enough to pose for a photo in the rain and tell me a bit about how it all came about.

LEGO master David Hemric

A few years ago, a construction crew installed scaffolding on the building next door, he said, blocking a section of their front patio. It looked terrible, so Kristi decorated the scaffolding with real flowers and extended the display to the stoop. The neighbors loved it, so the family began decorating the staircase with new live floral displays every season. She featured them in her Instagram feed, of course, and folks started coming from all over the city to gawk.

Kristi also designed the LEGO display, but she travels a lot for work, so David got the job of building the installation. While he got good at assembling plastic flowers pretty fast, the chore still took him two weeks. And their kids didn't help at all—the oldest is five and assisted mainly by trying to eat the stems.

Just eyeballing the display, I estimated it included more than 70 LEGO Botanical sets, which would cost at least $2000. Weren’t they worried about thieves? But David said people had been very respectful of the display—and mindful of the family's privacy.

Me being the exception, I suppose!

When David went back inside, a couple came by to snap pictures. Sue Caputo and Alex Alvarez said they were neighbors who live down the block.

"This is the first time we've gotten close enough to take photos," said Ms. Caputo. "I walk by with my dog many times a day, and there have been so many people here—children, adults, elderly people all enjoying this—that I could not take one picture. Mother's Day, there had to be a line of thirty people at least!”

This confirmed my long-held suspicion, that New Yorkers secretly love any excuse for waiting in line—tickets, brunch, sample sales, product drops, weird desserts…

"She's just lovely," Ms. Caputo continued of Kristi. "She's brought such joy to this block and the community."

"And him, too," said her husband, referring to David.

"Him too!" agreed Ms. Caputo. "He works like a dog."

The flower displays change with every season and holiday. "But this was really cool with the LEGOs," she said. "There's always crowds, but this was the biggest crowd I've ever seen."

The whole thing reminded me of the late, great, Bed-Stuy Aquarium—only in reverse. While the sidewalk goldfish pond was a neighborhood project that captured the internet, this was an internet creation that captured the locals. It works both ways, I suppose.

David told me he’d be taking the display down by the end of the week, so it’s too late now to go see it. But who knows what’s next for the stoop? I’m proposing a WW2 Dinky Toy battle scene for Memorial Day. USA! USA!

STREET TALK

This Man Knows Where You Got Your Shoes!

Larry aka “Shoe”

I was cycling along Altlantic Ave. last Tuesday evening when, just as I hoped, I spotted a man sitting out on the sidewalk in front of a community residence, greeting passersby. I stopped and locked my bike to a nearby street pole.

"Oh sir," he was calling to a fellow strolling past. "We gotta talk about those shoes. We got to talk about where you got them."

When the passerby ignored him, the man turned his attention to me.

"I can tell you where you got those shoes," he said pointing out my knee-high boots.

"Where?" I said, approaching. He was sitting on his walker and had a shoe shine box in front of him.

"Baby girl, I need your undivided attention," he said, smiling. "I been shining shoes for 37 years. Listen carefully. Those there, I can tell you the street where you got 'em. I can name the town, city, state, zip code, where you literally got them."

"Okay," I said.

"Now pay attention," he said. "If I am wrong about any of those five, about where you got those shoes right there, any mistakes, I will give you five. But if I get all five of those right—one try, no mistakes—will you give me five?"

"Okay," I agreed.

"I'm not talking about no high-five either," he said. "Five American bucks. Is that a deal, baby?"

"Yes," I said.

"Woman of your word?"

"I am.”

I knew what was coming.

"You know, I do believe you, sis," he said. "And I got news for you also, and it's not good. I told you to pay attention. I shine shoes. I'll tell you where you got them. Look down! Where you got 'em? On your feet! And I'll tell you the street: Atlantic Avenue, Brooklyn NY, zip code 11217."

I couldn’t help but laugh.

"I'm shoe shine, not a psychic!" he crowed. "If I knew where you bought them from, do you really think I'd be sittin' out here on the street? And you are a woman of your word. If you can make my day, make my day."

"What's your name?" I asked, pulling a $5 from my wallet.

"I'm Larry," he said. "They call me 'Shoe'. I shine shoes."

"My name's Anne," I said, shaking his hand.

"But seriously," he said. "Tell me where you got 'em."

"Online."

"Where you got em?"

"Online!" I repeated.

"Where you got ‘em?"

"Oh! On my feet!" I said, feeling a little foolish.

"Appreciate you, love," he said. It was sort of a dismissal.

"Actually, I have to be honest with you," I said. "A friend told me about you."

I told Larry that I spend a lot of time at the meditation center down the block. A teacher there told me about Larry’s hustle and suggested I interview him for my blog.

"Can I ask you a couple questions?" I asked.

Larry started shining shoes in the late 70s (which would mean he's been at it far longer than 37 years). "I used to live up in Kingston, Upstate, Ulster County," he said. "I came down to the city, looking for work, stopped into this shoe repair shop. Mr. Young, an Oriental guy, he had a sign, you know, 'Help Wanted.' I knew nothing about shining shoes. So he taught me about that."

He started working in the lobby of a Midtown office building, then moved to shining shoes outside Grand Central Station a coveted spot.

"I had a shoe shine stand. Someone built it for me. Cost me $700. That was back then, would be a lot more now," he said. “This is back in their early 80s. I had to fight to get a spot there. Very bold, very daring. And the guys who were out there for years, they allowed me to be there. So I started shining shoes there for years. And then someone stole my stand. Every night when I go home, I would lock it up down in Grand Central Station, down in the tunnels or whatnot. Track 103. I'd chain it up, way in the back. Came back one day and the stand was gone."

He moved his business up to 116th Street in Harlem. And that's when a friend who had just gotten back from New Orleans told him about the city’s shoe shine kids who were calling out to passersby, "I know where you got them shoes!"

Larry adopted the line for himself and started challenging people to a $1 bet. He soon started upping the stakes: "I'd bet people double-or-nothing. If I get this right, you pay me double. If I'm wrong, your shine is free."

He remembers one fellow coming out of a hotel on 95th Street with a beautiful woman on each arm. Larry knew the man would want to impress the ladies, so he challenged him to a $100 bet.

"When I told him where he got his shoes, that n— turned red as hell," Larry recalled, "But he gave me that $100."

He's shined the shoes of celebrities including JFK Jr. and Alec Baldwin, and has a few stories about famous folks who were terrible tippers.

Larry moved to his current home, a supportive services residence on Atlantic Avenue, about two years ago. "It's a nice place, you got your own room," he said of the residence behind him. "Most of the people are handicapped. Maybe a little disoriented, but it's okay, it's alright."

At age 67, he no longer shines shoes because he can't bend over. But he's still hustling. He's sits out most nights starting at dusk. His best targets are folks leaving the Hollow Nickel—the bar down the block—and patrons leaving the comedy club across the street who have had a few too many.

"It takes a little charm, a little finesse," I observed of his hustle.

"You have to know how to talk to people," he agreed.

At times, folks who play the game won't pay up—many don't even carry cash these days. But Larry keeps it friendly and upbeat; sometimes those people will come back later and slip him a $20: "They remember, 'Hey, that guy put a smile on my face. You made my day!'“

"It sounds like you enjoy yourself," I said.

"I do," said Larry. "At my age, I really enjoy life, and meeting all types of people, basically from all over the world. It's just being kind to people. I mean, some people will want to curse you out. But as long as you got that peace within your heart, ain't nothing phase you. Keep that peace. That's why the world is so f—ed up now. People have no peace within themselves."

With Larry’s permission, I took a few photos. "You're not wearing shoes, you're wearing sneakers," I noted of his white Nikes.

Larry’s Nikes—and his shoe shine box!

"I used to be married okay?" said Larry. "I'm not trying to impress no woman. I've had my share. When you meet a woman, you got candy, flowers, shined shoes, socks and everything. I'm getting too old trying to impress a woman. I'm retired."

"But life is so easy, if you love to laugh at life," he continued. "Well, not laugh, but you know, don't be so serious and worry about things that you can't fix today. What you can't solve today, there's always tomorrow. God gives us another chance. Each day. So why worry about things? Keep it simple."

I thanked Larry for chatting, and we said our farewells.

"But now seriously," he said, as I headed back to my bicycle. "Tell me where you got those shoes?"

"Steve Madden," I said, naming the brand.

"Where you got ‘em?"

"Steve Madden!" I repeated.

"Where you got 'em?"

Suddenly I realized—I'd done it again. "On my feet!" I said.

He laughed with delight. "Pay attention, baby girl!” he said. “Pay attention to the simple things.”

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