1621.Before Saks, hours before Europe’s Arnault vacuumed up 57th and Fifth’s three corners — Tiffany, Vuitton, Bulgari — and slavering to inhale Bergdorf’s — the Dutch West India Company got granted rights to sell the first US shmattas.1626, before divorce lawyers got so rich, the new area’s new governor, Peter Minuit, sailed in with the old wives, girlfriends and any hookers not too tired from the trip.A sharp trader from Holland, Minuit did not go Dutch.
He paid — straight out — the equivalent of $24 for all Manhattan.Today it costs more to just get crosstown.Our land — all forest — took $200.
The population was Germans, Dutch, English — whoever had not yet been forced to see the latest version of B’way’s “Chicago.”The immediate politicians — following a wavy line back to Attila the Hun — were a bit semi — only semi — crooked.Rumors exist — unconfirmed, unfounded — that they might be ancestors of some of those we have now.The little isle grew.
Breweries, furriers, bakeries, smart-ass lawyers, possibly even Nancy Pelosi’s colorist.With it, war.
Always war.This between the tribes and settlers.1647, Peter Stuyvesant.
His East Side apartment complex took another 300 years.He’s still waiting for his electrician.Our raggedy 15 miles became officially designated a city.
Maiden Lane was where linens were washed.House of stone got named Whitehall.
Broadway, laid out by someone who had no optometrist, became as straight and narrow as Sen. Menendez.In came the Brits.Tea, fish, wealth.
Historians claim Biden was also probably there.The thinking is that wherever he ever sat foot — or ass — he will still never ever go away.And we officially became New York — where you can get away with everything providing you don’t park next to a fire-plug.
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