The Curious Case of Two Potato: From Humble Beginnings to a West Village Landmark

Manhattan, a tapestry woven with threads of history, each building a silent storyteller. Today, we delve into the captivating narrative of a seemingly unassuming structure in the West Village, a place that once housed a blacksmith, later a saloon, and ultimately, the infamous gay bar, Two Potato.

From Wheelwright to Watering Hole: An Evolving Identity

Imagine a time when Christopher Street was a world away from the vibrant hub it is today. Back in the mid-19th century, two red brick buildings stood, pragmatic and unadorned, their "vernacular" style speaking of function over flourish. One housed the industrious clang of a wheelwright and blacksmith, while the other served as a humble stable. Above, working-class tenants eked out their living, their lives intertwined with the rhythm of the city.

But time, as it always does, brought change. By the late 19th century, the stable had transformed. Peter Hagen, a shrewd businessman, leased the space and, despite the paperwork stubbornly clinging to its "stable" designation, established a saloon. Its proximity to the Hudson River piers and modest overhead likely fueled its success. Were the longshoremen and dockworkers who frequented Hagen's establishment aware of the building's future notoriety?

A Will Contested and a Neighborhood in Flux

The story takes a detour, a fascinating glimpse into the life of Dr. Thomas Broadway, a man successful in business but less so in matters of the heart. A messy divorce, a quick remarriage, and a complex relationship with his granddaughter, Fannie L'Hommedieu, set the stage for a dramatic legal battle. Upon his death, Broadway bequeathed his entire estate to Fannie, a decision that ignited a firestorm among his relatives. Was it undue influence, as they claimed, or the final act of a man haunted by visions of his past?

The ensuing trial, splashed across the pages of The Sun, captivated the city. Meanwhile, back at the Christopher Street building, life continued. John J. Coogan took over the saloon, expanding it to encompass the entire ground floor and even branding it a "hotel." Prohibition, however, threatened to derail his enterprise. Ironically, decades earlier, John J. Mitty was born upstairs. The threads of history, both grand and mundane, continued to weave together.

Two Potato: A Beacon in the Gay Village

Fast forward to the late 20th century, and the Christopher Street neighborhood had undergone a profound transformation. It had become the epicenter of New York City's gay community, a haven of acceptance and self-expression. In this vibrant landscape, Two Potato, a gay bar, emerged as a popular destination. But its location, nestled beside St. Veronica's Roman Catholic Church, sparked controversy. The pastor, Father Delaney, even took legal action to have the bar closed, citing "loud language" emanating from its walls. A judge, in a Solomon-esque decision, ordered the bar to be moved away from the rectory wall. What does this struggle tell us about the complex relationship between community, faith, and changing social norms?

Two Potato thrived for years, becoming a beloved fixture of the gay community. But the shadows of the AIDS epidemic loomed large, decimating the gay population and plunging the neighborhood into decline. Did the bright lights of Two Potato offer a fleeting sense of solace amidst the gathering storm?

Tragedy and Turmoil

The story takes a dark turn. In the 1990s, violence and crime plagued the neighborhood. One fateful night, a patron of Two Potato, Brown, was stabbed outside the bar during a confrontation with teenagers. The incident, shockingly, was not classified as a bias attack. Months later, another regular, Fitzroy Green, was murdered in his apartment. These tragic events cast a pall over Two Potato, fueling calls for change.

The renewal of Two Potato's liquor license in 1997 ignited a fierce dispute. Accusations of gay-identity politics clashed with claims of racism, as neighbors decried the drug dealers and prostitutes who allegedly frequented the bar and spilled onto the sidewalk. The bar briefly rebranded as Chances Are, but the controversy persisted. Was Two Potato a symbol of a vibrant community under siege, or a source of the neighborhood's woes?

A Bit Careworn, But Still Standing

Today, the little building on Christopher Street stands, a bit careworn, bearing the marks of time and the weight of its history. The apartments above remain, a reminder of the working-class roots of the neighborhood. While Two Potato is long gone, its legacy lingers, a testament to the ever-evolving story of Manhattan and the struggles and triumphs of the communities that call it home. What lessons can we learn from the story of Two Potato, a seemingly ordinary building that played an extraordinary role in the history of New York City?