Behold the miniature Cadillac with the Tiger in it!

[Photo from last June]

The 1978 Cadillac Sedan Deville — aka, the Cadillac with the Tiger in it — left its 22-year-home on East Second Street last summer.

But its memory lives on thanks to neighbor Danielle Baskin, who recently created and presented this tiny replica of the Cadillac with the Tiger in it to the former owner.

Via the site created for the Cadillac: "Every flaw & rust stain has been lovingly re-created in miniature. She even has the blue tape holding the side mirror on & the rear window we taped up for Hurricane Sandy’s onslaught."







Previously on EV Grieve:
That Cadillac that we've long admired on East 2nd St. now has a stuffed tiger on the front seat

And now, stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

And now, another story from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Alas, the end is near for the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Everything that you wanted to know about the Cadillac with the Tiger in it

Epilogue from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it

[Photo from June 7]

Sadly, as you know, the 1978 Cadillac Sedan Deville — aka, the Cadillac with the Tiger in it — has left its 22-year-home on East Second Street. Ernest, who works nearby as a custodian, is the proud new owner of the car and has it in a different borough.

Several readers/residents have asked about the status of the Cadillac with the Tiger. Here you go.

Hello and thanks to all of you who attended our farewell gathering on June 7 and/or have inquired about our well-being.

The Tiger and I are in the capable hands of Ernest. He's young and filled with inspiration. He reveres and respects us.


[Via Kevin Wick Photography]

During the last month the Tiger and I have had a chance to rest and reflect on the 22 years we spent in the neighborhood and ponder the question: What did we mean to you all?

Were we a nuisance? Was I a rusty, pock-marked eyesore whose noisy engine and fumes were out of step with the "new" East Village? Or were we old friends who welcomed you each day and made you smile and evoked in you a sense of wonder?



Truth be told, one's actions and thoughts reflect a lot about themselves. Those in the nuisance camp are probably the same self-entitled folks who don't say "thank you" when you hold the door open for them or who run the red lights on their Citi Bikes and nearly mow down the pedestrians who have the right of way. The Tiger and I actually feel sorry for those in the nuisance camp.

But the announcing of our farewell showed us that we had many more friends than foes.

Like the Second Avenue gas station manager from Ghana who said that he grew up and became a man during the years he knew me — as he ponders his next job because his gas station closed down recently and yet another high rise will take its place.

Or the Egyptian deli worker who told my owner to keep me because I would be a valued antique car in his country —which he may soon have to return to when his deli's 30-year lease ends next year.

Or the car repair shop owner on Attorney Street who said that I was a classic car and it was a damn shame my owner couldn't keep me in the neighborhood. That same shop owner pisses off the real-estate speculators (who hound him daily to sell his building) when he tells them to get lost — that he loves his work and is loyal to his older workers and no amount of money will persuade him to sell his building and close down his shop. (Quite a rare, remarkable guy he is don't you think?)

Nor do we have to look further than our own block to find our good friend Camille — she yelled at the frat boys who shoved a table under me that tore off my exhaust system a couple of years back.

Her landlord took her to court to remove her from the apartment she shared with her 93-year-old mother for over six decades until her mother died last year. Camille fought valiantly to keep the apartment — until two malignant tumors where discovered in her brain in March. Weakened by chemotherapy and stressed out by her housing court case she has decided to give up her lifelong home and move in with her boyfriend in Pennsylvania.

I don't begrudge her decision. The Tiger and I stayed as long as we could but we decided to move on, too.

We were tired and had been having trouble keeping up. The rapidity with which the East Village is changing exceeds the cruise limit on my speedometer. The greedy developers and the city are turning the neighborhood into a giant shopping and entertainment complex.

When they're done, they will have succeeded in turning every block from Delancey to 14th Street into a soulless glut of high-rise luxury condos and mega-stores making it indistinguishable from any other such Manhattan block.

But ultimately it will be their loss. No amount of dollars will buy them the rich, cultural and multi-ethnic heritage of the Lower East Side.

Parting thoughts from me and the tiger?

We — the former and current residents of the neighborhood — are outnumbered. We might win some battles but we're going to lose the war.

We're losing as many old time Mom & Pop stores in the East Village each month as the country is losing World War II veterans.

But never let the interlopers crush your spirit. Stay as long as you can. Like Pete and Sandy did. Like Camille did. Like the Tiger and I did. Remind them that you're still here. It will annoy the hell out of them. And maybe some good will come out of it. Maybe some in the nuisance camp will grow up and say "thank you" when someone holds the door for them and appreciate what the old neighborhood has to offer before it disappears. And you should all say "thank you for sticking around as long as you did" to the small business owners who are closing up shop.
And if and when you decide to leave, try to do it on your own terms

The Tiger and I saw and were moved by the spirit of all of our friends and well-wishers on EV Grieve and those who came to say farewell over the last few weeks. And in return we hope that even if you don't believe in magic maybe for a brief moment in the midst of all this mayhem, an old rusting car and a stuffed animal brought something magical into your life on East 2nd Street.

Previously on EV Grieve:
That Cadillac that we've long admired on East 2nd St. now has a stuffed tiger on the front seat

And now, stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

And now, another story from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Alas, the end is near for the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Everything that you wanted to know about the Cadillac with the Tiger in it

Also! The Cadillac with the Tiger in it now has its on website. Find that here.

Imitators already lining up to become the next Cadillac with the Tiger in it

Oh, nice try.

@evgrieve I saw that Audi too...Looks like *someone* prefers sporty imports now. #GoldDigger pic.twitter.com/PNC4F7rzsV

— Pinhead (@evpinhead) June 20, 2014

For the record, we flat-out rejected this proposed series: The Audi R8 V10 With a Tiger in It.

Sample passage:

"Italian White Alba truffles again for dinner. Sigh."

Previously on EV Grieve:
Today (last night) in photos of cars with starting costs of $114k on East 4th Street

And now, stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

[Updated] Tiger beat

EVG reader Andrew spotted this yesterday on Avenue A and East Second Street …

It looked familiar…


[EVG file photo]

We checked in with the now-former owner of the Cadillac with the Tiger in it.

This one is NOT the same tiger, though he certainly would make for a nice companion, says the now-former owner of the Cadillac with the Tiger in it.

Anyway, just so you know what you're dealing with here.

Updated 4:02 p.m.

This tiger is apparently on the prowl! Andrew just spotted it on East Third Street between Avenue A and Avenue B…

A comment from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it

[Photo from the going-away party this past Saturday]

As you might know, the 1978 Cadillac Sedan Deville — aka, the Cadillac with the Tiger in it — has left its 22-year-home on East Second Street.

Ernest, who works nearby as a custodian, is the proud new owner. This past Saturday, the owner of the Cadillac with the Tiger in it presented the car to Ernest.

Since then, several people have asked how things were going. We don't really know, though the Cadillac with the Tiger in it left this comment on Wednesday night:

I thank all of you who have expressed interest in my stories. I made it safely to my new location and Ernest is taking good care of us. Soon I will update you all with photos and info about the farewell gathering, which was wonderful. But the tiger and I need to rest a little first — we've had a long journey and a lot of excitement the past week!

Previously on EV Grieve:
That Cadillac that we've long admired on East 2nd St. now has a stuffed tiger on the front seat

And now, stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

And now, another story from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Alas, the end is near for the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Everything that you wanted to know about the Cadillac with the Tiger in it

Also! The Cadillac with the Tiger in it now has its on website. Find that here.

Everything that you wanted to know about the Cadillac with the Tiger in it

EVG readers may know that we've long admired the Cadillac on East Second Street ... the one with the stuffed Tiger in it. In previous weeks we've present three true East Village stories from the view of the Cadillac with the Tiger in it. It comes to an end today, though, as the Cadillac with the Tiger in it moves on to a new owner. There is a farewell for the car today from noon-3 p.m. on East Second Street between First Avenue and Second Avenue.

Hello from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it
Part 4: Fun Facts about the Cadillac

• My Year, Make & Model: 1978 Cadillac Sedan Deville

• My name: "the Cadillac"

• The Tiger's name: "Tiger"

• Engine: 425 8 cylinder

• Mpg: City 10-12 Highway: 18-20

• Color: Pistachio Green w/White Vinyl roof

• Mileage: Approximately 450,000 (odometer stopped working at 207,362 about 20 years ago) This is almost the distance to and from the earth and the moon.

• Purchased in 1992 for $450

• Current owner is the 3rd owner

• All mechanical equipment has been replaced at least once except the engine and timing chain

• 1st came to East 2nd Street in 1992 when the black locust trees bloom in the cemetery

• Most memorable road trip moment: Crossing the state line into Alabama while my owner sang the line from Neil Young's song, "Alabama": "...Your Cadillac has got a wheel in the ditch and a wheel on the track..." until his cat pawed him in the face to get him to shut up

• Estimated number of photos taken of me by passersby each week: 350-650

• Most mysterious photographer: A woman who took one photo of me every day for a year and then she vanished

• The Tiger decided to get a gold leash when the Lorde song, “Royals,” was released.

• Vandalism damage to car while parked on East 2nd Street 1992 to 2011: $0

• Vandalism damage to car while parked on East 2nd Street 2011 to present: $1,900

• Vandalism damage since the tiger has been in the front seat: $0

• Date of retirement: Today. The black locust trees bloomed two weeks ago.

Previously on EV Grieve:
That Cadillac that we've long admired on East 2nd St. now has a stuffed tiger on the front seat

And now, stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

And now, another story from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Alas, the end is near for the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Also! The Cadillac with the Tiger in it now has its on website. Find that here.

Alas, the end is near for the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

EVG readers may know that we've long admired the above Cadillac on East Second Street ... the one with the stuffed Tiger in it, yes. So then we are especially thrilled to be presenting four stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it in the coming weeks... these are all true East Village stories told from the view of the Cadillac with the Tiger in it.

Stories from the Cadillac With the Tiger in it: Part 3: The End is Near

OK people — you have until tomorrow to say goodbye to me and the tiger.

It was too long of a winter. I'm tired. I'm done. But I'm going out on my own terms. After I smell the sweet fragrance of the black locust trees in the cemetery one last time.

I made it but other neighbors haven't been so lucky. Pete and Sandy used to keep an eye on me while they were living in their car. Pete is in his late 60s and he was born and raised on East 2nd Street. They were the supers in the building down the block for several decades until the new building owner kicked them out and had marshals confiscate their personal effects from the basement.

They lived in their car for a year after that turning down offers of housing in other boroughs. "Why are you doing that?" everyone asked Pete. "Because I live on this block" Pete would say "and I want to remind the new owner of my building of that fact."

You know what? That's the real reason I've stayed around as long as I have. It started when the newcomers started complaining about my presence and I was vandalized by the weekend partygoers. My owner and I decided I would be a reminder — a big middle finger to all that's gone on here.



Twice a week in the morning my owner starts me up with a roar to move me for the street sweeper. On the few occasions he drives me to the gas station we pass everyone on their way to work — drawing smiles and "thumbs-up's" from the local old-timers and gasps and looks of disdain from most of the white collar professionals.

To the old-timers, I'm a relic and a connection to the old neighborhood — a survivor.

To the newcomers, I'm an eyesore and nuisance. I don't fit in with the new demographics and people are coming after me. I still can't figure out who called the four fire trucks and three cop cars who surrounded me late Easter Eve/early Easter morning.

Most little kids like me, especially since the tiger took up residence in my front seat. (Although some well-heeled moms will tug the arms of their kids and pull them away from me if they show too much interest.)

And I sure am popular with the tourists. (If I had a buck for each photo taken of me, I could be restored mechanically and cosmetically from top to bottom!)

My owner doesn't mind them taking photos as long as the tourists are not too obnoxious.

----------------------------------------------

All in all, it's been a good long ride — and I"m finally ready to go. But, where do I go, who do I go to?

My owner put up a "for sale" sign in my window last year to gauge interest and, while he got a few responses, there were only three serious offers.

One guy from Bleecker Street who said he was a mechanic for years has no place to store me.

Another fellow from Avenue D said he's been walking past me the entire 22 years I've been on East 2nd Street. He said that he wants to park me on his block so he can look out his window every day and see me. He also wants me to accompany him every Wednesday when he picks up groceries from the supermarket with his meager extra cash to deliver to the homeless shelters on Bowery. (What's left of them anyway). He does this weekly run because he said a young priest helped him out at one of those missions in the 1960s when he was a former Gold Gloves boxer turned junkie. The priest helped him get clean and he never forgot that favor.

And then there's Ernest. He's been hounding my owner ever since he saw the "for sale" sign my owner put in my window. He's young and works as a custodian at the school on the corner. He claims he has a spot in a garage for me in either Brooklyn or the Bronx and wants to take his time and restore me. Ernest has been saving up each week so he can give my owner about $500 for me.

So who's it going to be? Well, my owner is going to surprise Ernest and give me to him for free. I'm OK with that. Ernest said he's going to take good care of me and the tiger. And who knows, if he follows through and does a good job on me, maybe someday I'll come back to my block.

So that's what's happening, folks! Hurry up and say your good-byes. My owner is having a little farewell gathering for me on the block tomorrow from noon until 3 p.m. between First Avenue and Second Avenue. All of my local admirers should stop by — maybe take a photo and drop a buck or two in the bucket for Ernest's restoration project of me.

Until then, I'm going to smell those black locust trees and get ready for my big farewell!

Previously on EV Grieve:
That Cadillac that we've long admired on East 2nd St. now has a stuffed tiger on the front seat

And now, stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

And now, another story from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Also! The Cadillac with the Tiger in it now has its on website. Find that here.

And now, another story from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

EVG readers may know that we've long admired the above Cadillac on East Second Street ... the one with the stuffed Tiger in it, yes. So then we are especially thrilled to be presenting four stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it in the coming weeks... these are all true East Village stories told from the view of the Cadillac with the Tiger in it.

Another Story from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it (Part 2: Then and Now)

It used to be a lot different around here when I first arrived in the neighborhood. My owner purchased me from a couple in New Jersey for $450. (Back then I had 103,000 miles and the husband was worried I'd break down at any time and leave his wife stranded somewhere. Hell, that was 347,000 miles ago!)

All of the buildings on my block (East Second Street between First Avenue and Second Avenue) were grey and black from grime and soot and covered with graffiti. This was before their facades were sandblasted/pressure washed by the current owners.

The locals wasted no time welcoming me to the neighborhood. My Cadillac hood ornament was stolen the first few nights I was here, and shortly afterwards all of my other exterior Cadillac emblems. (Kids at the time would make them into key chains.)



A sex worker broke my rear vent window so she could turn a trick in the back seat. (At least she used a condom, though I would have preferred that they cleaned up better after themselves!) Then a homeless guy slept in the car for several nights and told everyone he was my owner — until my real owner chased him out one morning at 5 with a baseball bat.

I was stolen three times. The first guy didn't get far because he couldn't figure out how to unlock my steering column. The last time was by some kids from the Avenue D projects who took me joyriding for the weekend until they ran out of gas. Fortunately, they left me only a couple of blocks away from where they stole me.

There used to be an officer from the 9th Precinct — Rodriguez is how he signed his citations. He knocked my side mirror off on four separate occasions and then ticketed my owner for not having the required operating equipment on me. What a guy!

One night one of those independent garbage carting trucks from New Jersey that terrorize pedestrians careened down the block at a high speed (heading in the wrong direction on the one way street I should add) and swerved into me and crushed my rear door and quarter panel. My owner caught up with him at the end of the block but the truck ended up having fake license plates and the driver had a fake driver's license, registration and insurance card. And the company with the mob-sounding name that the truck belonged to didn't exist.

Through it all the neighborhood was more car friendly back then. It was much easier to get a parking spot on my block. Joel Rifkin even parked his pick up truck in front of me a couple of times when he was out picking up and murdering streetwalkers from Allen and Forsythe Streets. His bumper sticker read "I'm not deaf, I'm ignoring you!"

There were two small parking lots, five gas stations, three auto parts stores, three tire shops and two car washes within a few blocks of East Second Street. Now all of them are gone except the one on 2nd Ave and East First Street and the Mobil station on Avenue C and East Second Street (although I hear that one's days are numbered).

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Have things gotten any better in the last few years? Not really. Now it's a different set of jerks. Privileged ones who infiltrate the neighborhood on the weekends and make the East Village their playpen.

Three years ago some trust-fund kid smashed my windshield as a joke. That cost my owner $370. Then a drunk guy smashed in my rear passenger side window. That has proven to be more challenging to replace. An auto glass specialist in Hell's Kitchen told my owner that he could only locate one similar window within 300 miles and it would cost $475 to replace it, so it remains patched up with cardboard and a garbage bag.

Adding insult to injury, during a Friday furniture street-side pick-up night, five frat boys shoved a discarded dining room table underneath me and tore off my exhaust system. This is why I'm so loud now. To replace it would cost my owner $900-1,000.

So much has disappeared on and around my block: Frankie Splitz bar, Mars Bar, Cuando, Little Rickie's and most recently — Mr. Yoo's.

Soon I will, too, but on my own terms. First I'm going to smell the Black Locust trees in the Cemetery one last time.

Previously on EV Grieve:
That Cadillac that we've long admired on East 2nd St. now has a stuffed tiger on the front seat

And now, stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

Also! The Cadillac with the Tiger in it now has its on website. Find that here.

And now, stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it on East 2nd Street

EVG readers may know that we've long admired the above Cadillac on East Second Street ... the one with the stuffed Tiger in it, yes. So then we are especially thrilled to be presenting four stories from the Cadillac with the Tiger in it in the coming weeks... these are all true East Village stories told from the view of — yes — the Cadillac with the Tiger in it.

Hello from the Cadillac with the Tiger in It (Part 1 — Spring has sprung on East 2nd Street)

The magnolia tree in the cemetery bloomed a couple of weeks ago. I wasn't sure if I'd be around to see it — never thought this winter would end.

Each winter the block usually loses a resident. 1993-94 was the last bad winter before this one. (At least what I can remember — I was buried in ice and snow for most of it). That winter we lost Alex S., the old Polish guy who smoked a cigar on the stoop with his coffee and New York Post each morning.

Alex moved into 67 East 2nd St. during the Great Depression when it was a flophouse and he didn't pay any rent (I've often wondered what math the landlords used to raise zero rent by a percentage each year?). Whenever some young punk was having a party on his floor, Alex would stand at the top of the stairs with a crowbar telling the late arrivals to "go home, the party's over."

When spring finally came in '94, Alex was missing from the stoop. His friend Max was telling patrons at the First Avenue Laundromat that he heard that Alex had won the lottery and moved to Florida.

Max was a funny guy. He looked like a 4 & 1/2 foot tall Vladimir Lenin and always wore a Choo Choo Charlie hat and a long military trench coat. He supported himself by refurbishing old cameras and selling them at flea markets. In 20 years I barely heard him speak. He mostly grunted. Whereas Alex only went to the hospital when he lost 60 pounds at age 78 and they discovered he was diabetic, Max would often go to Beth Israel for numerous maladies only to come back later the same day saying no one wanted to treat him.

Max's story about Alex's Florida move sounded a bit ominous to me.

Sure enough, when the weather finally warmed up a carrion smell emanating from Alex' apartment brought the police. In Apt. 12 & 1/2 (It was actually apartment 13 but Alex was superstitious and formed the new numbers with strips of masking tape on his door) they found him.

Alex had been dead about 2-3 months. His body was kept frozen most of that time as he had slightly opened the window next to his bed. What remained of him lay there in his bed surrounded by hundreds of miniature plastic toy soldiers; cowboys and Indians; and odd prizes he had saved from breakfast cereal boxes.

On the back of his bedroom closet door was a 1950's photo of Alex and 3 men out fishing in a boat on a lake. Scrawled underneath the other 3 faces were the dates and years each had passed away before him.

Max had a similar fate befall him a couple of winters later, although he had been dead slightly less than a month when they found him.

Then there was Peter who used to feed the squirrels of the cemetery at dawn each morning. He'd make some weird chirping sound and several of them would crawl up his arms and jump onto his head. (Gross! I call them "rats with bushy tails" — at least they don't shit on me like the pigeons do.)

One winter Peter was found naked on his bathroom floor with a pen near his hand and a makeshift will scrawled on the lower portion of his bathroom door bequeathing the $60,000 cash stashed in his apartment to a lady on East 3rd Street who fed the pigeons and squirrels with him. (...don't know if she ever got any of that money?)

After those deaths a putrid smell seeped from their apartments for weeks. This was made worse by the brilliant super of the building's misguided notion that sprinkling powdered laundry detergent outside each apartment's door would neutralize the bad smell. To this day, the smell of laundry detergent nauseates me because in my mind I mix in the scent of decaying flesh.

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But I'm back, this old "war wagon" didn't succumb. Made it through this winter. Just barely — my battery went dead on some of the coldest days.

And I survived a scare this recent Easter weekend....

Between midnight and 1 a.m. Easter morning someone called the city on me and said I was leaking gasoline. Four fire trucks, three police cars and a dozen cops surrounded me for awhile and then left when they couldn't figure out what to issue me a citation for. Nice. Where are they when the weekend kids are puking on the sidewalks and pissing next to my wheels?

And who turned me in? Sure, I leak a little brake fluid and oil and maybe even gasoline on occasion. I'm a senior citizen for Christ's sake! What do they want me to wear, a metal diaper? I still have my pride, you know!

Was it the guy who bought the refurbished apartment for $5 million toward the end of the block? Or someo eco-friendly nut worried about my carbon footprint on the environment — that ship's sailed already, pal!

Yeah, I'm still here. But not for much longer. Soon the sweet scent of the black locust trees flowering in the cemetery will permeate the air. I'll wait around till then. Then I'm going to go. But I'm going on my own terms...

Previously on EV Grieve:
That Cadillac that we've long admired on East 2nd St. now has a stuffed tiger on the front seat