(In honor of Luigi Pirandello)

In reading a novel, it has always seemed to be an added attraction if you are familiar with the locale in which the story is set.  A book that I read recently and immensely enjoyed, call Netherlands by Joseph O'Neill, revolves around the game of cricket in New York City, but the beginning of the tale takes place in the Chelsea Hotel in Manhattan.

Given that Susan and I were in New York last week, it seemed to be an opportune moment to go there with our son's girlfriend, Sallie, who was attending a teachers' conference on creative writing for children.  All three of us had read the above-mentioned book and considered it quite good, so why not take a jaunt over to W. 23rd St. and check out the place?

Adding a dash of irony before entering the hotel, I noticed a plaque on the outside wall, indicating that one of the previous residents had been Dylan Thomas, who just happens to be one of my favorite poets.  In fact, my son's middle name (same son whose girlfriend was with us) is Dylan, in honor of the Welch wordmeister.

Chelsea Hotel has a rather checkered past (Nancy, of Sid Vicious and the Sex Pistols notoriety, was murdered there), and throughout the years, there have been any number of eccentric characters living in the hotel.  While this is a place that provides tourists a room and bed away from home, it is also a permanent home to others.  In times of yore, such luminaries as Bob Dylan, Arthur Miller, Tennessee Williams, Thomas Wolfe, Jean-Paul Sartre, and even Robert Oppenheimer have taken up residence among these ten stories.  Apropos of the subtitle for the blog website of the hotel, “The Last Outpost of Bohemia,” also walking the halls have been the likes of Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Jack Kerouac, and Janis Joplin.

Even more small coincidences linked the hotel and its history to my own life:  Mark Twain lived there for a bit, and my second son’s middle name is Twain.  Joni Mitchell wrote one of my favorite songs named “Chelsea Morning” in reference to the hotel, and my daughter happens to be named Chelsea.  No two ways about it; we had to make an entrance into this edifice with so many personal connections.

This hotel is certainly imbued with a quirky atmosphere.  The lobby, staircases, and hallways are filled to the brim with artwork that make you feel a bit like you are actually touring a fanciful museum or art gallery.

Perhaps it should have come as no surprise to me that strange connections were going to be the order of the day, and it readily became apparent when I struck up a conversation with a pleasant looking woman named Merle Lister, who was relaxing on one of the lobby chairs.

When I explained the reason for our visit, she informed me that she is actually one of the minor characters mentioned in the book Netherlands.  The narrator of the book is temporarily living at the Chelsea Hotel and encounters many of its denizens, including a woman who wears a ball-cap and frequently refers to Luxemburg.  My mind was feeling a bit disjointed to think that I’m carrying on a conversation with this same person whom I “met” some months ago in a novel.

Merle has been living in the Chelsea Hotel for the past twenty-eight years, and in times gone by, she was a choreographer.  At one point she had her own troupe, the Merle Lister Dance Company, which performed at Lincoln Center and many other venues in Manhattan.  Some years ago she choreographed a work titled, "Dance of the Spirits,” a creation to commemorate the one hundred year anniversary of the opening of the Chelsea, and it was performed on the seventh floor, stairwell, and lobby.  Arthur Miller was said to have been in attendance.

A photo and brief description of the performance found on the Chelsea Hotel blog space are shown below:

“A white robed young woman glides stealthily, ghost-like, down the stairs of the Chelsea Hotel, the walls a muted white behind her, as the eerie music begins.  As the pace of the dance accelerates, the woman begins moving up and down the stairs dangerously, recklessly.  Suddenly, she flings herself backward wildly, self-destructively, upon the filigreed railing, leaning out over the void, her head tilted down almost vertically.  A tragic beauty, distraught, ready to sacrifice all!”

What started out as a simple visit to a landmark hotel became entangled with a whole variety of ironic connections.  All in all, a bit of a surreal afternoon and a distinctly curious adventure.  Definitely an experience of the city that is not described in your typical guidebook, unless it happens to be one called “Strange Coincidences in New York City,” or, “Three Readers In Search of a Character.”

Note:  You can read more about the Hotel Chelsea on the web blog at www.chelseahotelblog.com.

On the right-hand column is a link to the books Legends of the Chelsea Hotel and Artists and Outlaws of New York's Rebel Mecca, by Ed Hamilton.  Further down the column are some short video clips (Legends of the Chelsea videos) that are entertaining.....check them out.

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