"While the Presidency can elevate even average people," Wallace S. Sayre and Herbert Kaufman wrote decades ago in "Governing New York City," their seminal study, "the mayoralty is the highly vulnerable symbol of all defects in the city and its government."
The names of the 106 previous New York City Mayors fill two and a half pages in the Green Book, the official city directory, but typically have been spared anonymity only by the rectangular street signs (Cortlandt, Bayard, Livingston, Clinton, Havemeyer, Van Wyck and Hylan, among others) that carry their surnames. How much any single mayor can accomplish is arguable. Collectively, their memorabilia from campaigns and service at City Hall provide a vivid panorama of a still-evolving metropolis that will never be finished, one that often has been personified by the man -- no woman is among the 107 Mayors who have served so far -- chosen to save the city from itself.
Their words, images and often whimsical artifacts that typically symbolize their tenures have been assembled as "His Honor, the Mayor," a charming exhibition put together, appropriately, by the Museum of the City of New York. The show, which runs through May 22, consists of paintings, sculpture, prints, photographs, manuscripts, costumes and what curators call ephemera, all primarily from the abundant collection of a museum that distinguishes itself by presenting the extraordinary "visual culture" of New York City, warts and all.
"This exhibition," a sign at the gallery entrance announces, "focuses on a few of the talented individuals, some of the scoundrels and a number of the more colorful men who have held the office of Mayor since 1766." It begins with a reassuring reminder from the city's 106th Mayor, David N. Dinkins, that "mayors come and go but the life of the city must endure." Then, a visitor can amble through history, starting with the 42d Mayor, Whitehead Hicks, who was the last one appointed by the British and who prudently decided early in 1776 that he was "desirous to retire from the Town." Hicks, one of several mayors who quit in the nick of time, was succeeded by James Duane (remembered most, perhaps, in the names of a downtown street and a drug-store chain). His appointment as the first Mayor under American rule is certified in a 207-year-old document signed by Gov.George Clinton.
The early mayors, in particular, appear to be dour before their times, often bewhiskered and quite proper, as befits the enduring image of the propertied Protestants. They often survived at the sufferance of decidedly less proper sachems of Tammany Hall, the society that became the Democratic machine, and they managed until nearly the end of the 19th century to get elected by first outnumbering and later by outmaneuvering the Roman Catholic and Jewish immigrants whose loyalty was bought, in part, with patronage -- called social services and job benefits today -- dispensed by party leaders.
Among those in the exhibition are Richard Varick, who had been an aide to Benedict Arnold but was acquitted of complicity in his wartime treason; the energetic De Witt Clinton (represented by a portrait, his dress coat and a chess set), who was the first Mayor to occupy the present City Hall and who declared that "the meekness of Quakerism will do in religion, but not in politics"; Philip Hone, whose diary of pre-Civil War New York later became an invaluable reference tool; Cornelius W. Lawrence, who won the first popular election for mayor in 1834; William L. Strong (represented by a photograph and his imposing armchair), and Robert A. Van Wyck, the first Mayor to preside over Greater New York, who, paradoxically, was immortalized as the name of an expressway but broke ground for the Interborough Rapid Transit subway (the sterling silver Tiffany shovel is on display).
Tammany is represented by a campaign banner, stinging cartoons by Thomas Nast and his son, Mayor A. Oakey Hall's strong box (where personal and government resources were undoubtedly co-mingled), and a mechanical bank that parodies Boss William Marcy Tweed's early version of resource recovery -- when a coin is placed in his hand, he deposits it in his pocket and nods his head. Tweed was Tammany's most famous boss -- he had a ring to his name -- but Richard Croker may have been more powerful in an era of great public works. "Oh, for the days," Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan said recently, "when Croker built the I.R.T. as a favor to a friend."
Mayors typically complain that City Hall is like a goldfish bowl where virtually nothing goes on unnoticed. Perhaps the simile was inspired by the glass globe on a cast-iron base that constituted an 1870's ballot box. Voters would be handed ballots the size of a bus transfer and could either vote for the whole slate or split the ticket, by tearing it up and placing the names of those they favor in the globe. It was made of glass, an accompanying sign says, presumably to guard against votes being cast before the polls officially opened.
The Frivolous and the Serious
Campaign buttons and ribbons provide a nostalgic look at 20th-century mayors, and the men and woman who wanted to be, from Seth Low through Rudolph W. Giuliani (and the exhibition would benefit from some bunting, music and moving images). Included are a drawing of Bella Abzug's hat flopping over Gracie Mansion, the Mayor's official residence; a button, presumably printed by the candidate's supporters, that proclaims "Lindsay Is a Flower Child," and another that declares defiantly: "Mailer-Breslin -- The Other Guys Are the Joke."
More sobering is a famous photograph, said to have been taken by a news photographer who arrived late after all of his colleagues had left, of the 1910 shooting of Mayor William J. Gaynor by a disgruntled city worker. Mayor John Purroy Mitchel was another tragic figure. Rated second only to Fiorello H. La Guardia in reputation as a reformer, he was elected in 1914 at the age of 34, was defeated for re-election by a Tammany candidate in a four-way race, and was killed in a plane accident when he was 39.
James J. Walker, the bon vivant of New York mayors, is seen leading a parade seeking repeal of Prohibition, legislation in which he had a personal interest, and throwing out the first ball at a Giants game not long before he left office on the verge of being thrown out himself. Nearby is the sheet music for "Will You Love Me in December as You Do in May?," lyrics by James J. Walker.
La Guardia gave his name to an airport. His name has also been invoked most often by his successors, some of whom may have forgotten that he could be as imperious as he was indomitable. His oxblood silk smoking jacket seems anomalous; the photographs at fires and with President Franklin D. Roosevelt and the paperweight-size bust capture the Little Flower in bloom.
Most Recent Past
A stately lineup of busts -- Vincent R. Impellitteri, Robert F. Wagner, John V. Lindsay, Abraham D. Beame and Edward I. Koch -- conjures up images of the French Revolution and is belied by the less-than-regal way New Yorkers greet incumbents, much less their former mayors. Also on display are a diptych portrait of Mr. Koch, looking very much at home in a club chair in his office, his lament that "if a sparrow dies of a heart attack in Central Park, I am responsible," and a tweed worsted sports jacket -- evidence, perhaps, of his informality, although a collection of Chinese restaurant menus might strike some people as even more appropriate.
David N. Dinkins, who has been gone only two weeks, hardly long enough either to have been forgotten or missed, donated a trademark synthetic satin warm-up jacket and this graceful pronouncement: "I never dreamed that this son of a barber and a domestic servant would have the opportunity to serve so many people in so many ways."
Finally, coupled with the promise of an administration that will be "universal in its concerns, sensitive to our diversity and evenhanded in every way possible," is a work in progress: Mr. Giuliani's postcard-sized, black-and-white photograph centered in the large mat and oversized frame that he has at least four years to fill out.
Where and When
"His Honor, the Mayor," an exhibition that profiles some of the 107 men who have been Mayor of New York City, from the mid-1700's to the present, will be on view through May 22 at the Museum of the City of New York, Fifth Avenue at 103d Street, Manhattan. Most of the items on display -- paintings, sculpture, photographs, prints and manuscripts -- are from the museum's collection.
Hours are Wednesday through Saturday, 10 A.M. to 5 P.M., and Sundays, 1 to 5 P.M. Suggested contribution: $5; $3 for students, children and the elderly; $8 for families. Information: (212) 534-1672.
