This article was written by Jennifer Ciotta
Immersed in the Christmas season and living in New York, I have taken it upon myself to engage in the typical Big Apple holiday tasks such as viewing the windows at Macy's, gazing at the luminous Rockefeller Center tree and ice skating in the park. As we are all travelers each holiday season, whether to Bethlehem, PA to bask in the spiritual lights or far away to Lapland to feed the reindeer and explore Santa's workshop in Rovaniemi, Finland, we know that A Visit from St. Nicholas, a.k.a. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, remains a poem read to little ones every Christmas Eve all over the United States. The presumed author is Clement Clarke Moore, a wealthy professor and poet from New York City.
On an appropriately chilly winter day recently, I embarked on a miniature field trip to Chelsea, an area of Manhattan located just north of the West Village. Today, Chelsea provides housing to many, including the posh and substantially privileged of city society, integrated with trendy shops and restaurants, and above all, the famed art galleries. Taking a walk in Chelsea's historic district, I viewed the red-brick brownstones, adorned with colorful doors, and on the street, surrounded by leafless trees. The black fire escapes and decorative black iron banisters all give way to a hidden secret: this was once Clement Clarke Moore territory. The urban area of Chelsea running from 20th Street to 24th Street was once rural land of Clarke's family; a thought which seemed inconceivable to me as I watched the ritualistic hailing of taxi cabs and heard the blaring of car horns. But that it was. And interestingly enough, this was the land of the Moore family, starting with Clement's maternal grandfather. Upon this soil, they built Chelsea, a countryside manor, thus giving birth to the name Chelsea. It derives from the name of a London war veteran hospital which grandfather Clarke greatly respected due to his service in the French and Indian War. Even though he was born in this house, the poet's influence on Chelsea is hardly seen in the neighborhood. Passing along historic 22nd Street, I noticed a film crew wrapping up long cords, while cast chairs were being piled into vans. The only trace of Moore seemed to be the miniscule Clement Clarke Moore Park, only a mere speck of playground, abandoned at the moment, and a simple green sign displayed on the spiked fence. There were no tributes to the poet such as a booming Santa Claus statue, a poetical plaque or a small smattering of Christmas lights. I thought to myself, Why is this author not recognized as, for example, Dr. Seuss Park in Springfield, Massachusetts, which reveres its author? The man who wrote one of the greatest poems in American history has been cast aside.
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