Manhole Cover Lady Gives Offbeat NYC Tour
N E W Y O R K, Sept. 12 -- The sun pounds down on Manhattan, sending some tourists into air-conditioned restaurants and museums; others are giving vendors fistfuls of cash for bottled water and hats.
But despite the heat, a small group of out-of-towners forms a circle on the edge of Washington Square Park and huddles over a manhole cover, cameras clicking. They "ooh" and "ahh" softly, wiping beads of sweat from their faces.
At the front of the pack stands Diana Stuart, a slight but feisty woman who knows the streets of New York backward and forward. Armed with laminated maps, a book, and loose-leaf pages of highlighted notes, the self-described "Manhole Cover Lady" tries to steer the group away from the park, promising that the cover that has caught their attention is the least of what awaits. There is a treasure trove, she insists, of old iron artwork that lies at the feet of unwitting passersby.
True, Sinatra never sang about manhole covers. But that doesn't mean they shouldn't make the cut on New York City's long list of attractions, Stuart repeats throughout the tour. The "exhibit" is, after all, free and open round the clock, as it has been since the late 1800s.
As Stuart winds the group through the quiet back streets of the West Village, her favorite manhole-cover haunt, she is quick to point out the ones that hark back to the days when "they executed these designs lovingly." When she stops to point out a particularly small and ornate sidewalk cover, one of her favorites, she shakes her head.
"They cared about design then," she says wistfully, pointing out the swirly intricacies that symbolize a bygone era.
Manhole Photographer Laments Dying Art
Timothy Etinger, a participant in the tour, has been a manhole- cover enthusiast since he first discovered the iron artwork of the streets years ago. He has photographed them ever since, and he and Stuart make a quirky duo, sharing an enthusiasm for what they lament is a dying art.
At one point Etinger stoops down, camera in hand, to point out with sudden interest a newer model, a simple zigzag design. Stuart's response comes quickly, her tone hovering somewhere between diplomatic and disapproving: "This doesn't have the finesse and the class and the style of the 19th-century ones," she says.
