SEVENTEENTH Street between Broadway and Fifth Avenue is coming up in the world, slowly. (At that latitude, Broadway is not “Broadway,” nor is Fifth Avenue “Fifth Avenue.”) An African art store brought a windowful of juju. Upscale takeouts have joined the check-cashing places and cheap perfume stores. And Johnny Lats Gym has new owners.
Johnny Lats was named after its founder, who competed as a bodybuilder under that name. I never saw his lats, since he worked in a shapeless grey sweatshirt (Johnny Lats observes Casual Monday through Sunday). In time Johnny and his lats went the way of all flesh, but the new management kept his name and the general air of a prison yard. In a burst of glitz and high-tech, they hung a TV over the desk, facing the aerobic equipment. So it is that I was ahead of the curve on America’s No. 1 show, Jerry Springer. Jerry, like Oprah Winfrey, comes out of Chicago, but I think of him as a 17th Street experience.





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