A Bill Finger memorial in Poe Park in the Bronx, part 3 of 3

Part 2.

Here is my proposal for a Bill Finger memorial in the Bronx:

Goal: Install a modest memorial statue in Poe Park for Bill Finger, the uncredited co-creator, original writer, and visual architect of perhaps the world’s most popular superhero, Batman.

Background: I am the author of Bill the Boy Wonder: The Secret Co-Creator of Batman, which has generated extensive media including NPR’s All Things Considered and Forbes, and has made best-of-the-year lists at USA Today, Washington Post, and MTV. Unprecedented in both subject and format, the book is the first to reveal the full and startling true story behind the creation of Batman in 1939—which took place right there in the Bronx! Finger is like the Bronx itself—too often both are unrecognized for their cultural contributions. An installation to Finger would actually serve a triple purpose: help right a wrong, boost Bronx/NYC tourism, and make pop culture history. It would be the first memorial honoring a superhero creator in NYC, the Superhero Capital of the World.

Why Bill Finger? He’s the main mind behind one of the most influential fictional icons in world history yet his onetime partner, cartoonist Bob Kane, took full credit for Batman. Finger designed Batman’s costume; wrote the first Batman story and many of the best stories of his first 25 years (including his groundbreaking—and heartbreaking—origin); wrote the first stories of popular supporting characters including Robin and the Joker; named Bruce Wayne, Gotham City, and the Batmobile; and nicknamed Batman "the Dark Knight," which has influenced the titles of two of the highest-grossing movies of all time. Yet while Kane never wrote a Batman story, Finger never saw his name as co-creator in a Batman story.

In 1974, after a career in which most of his work was published anonymously, Finger died alone and poor. No obituary. No funeral. No gravestone.

No kidding.

Finger was largely responsible for one of our greatest fictional champions of justice. It is time for justice for Finger himself.

Why Poe Park? Finger and Kane used to brainstorm Batman stories there; see documentation below and attached. In the early 1940s, Bill lived on the Grand Concourse just north of Poe Park. Also, appropriately, Poe was the father of the modern detective story and Batman is known as the World’s Greatest Detective. The Batman-Poe Park connection was recently covered in the New York Times (though the article mistakenly states that Batman was created in Poe Park).

Why now? True, this is not the best time. The best time would have been while Finger was alive. But since we can’t go back, this is the next-best time. There are untold thousands of Batman fans worldwide clamoring for DC Comics to add his name to the Batman credit line. DC may not be able to do that at this time, but we can pay tribute to Finger’s legacy in another meaningful and bold way.

Batman’s significance (beyond the obvious):

Batman is iconic even to those not interested in comic book culture. To a relative few, Batman may seem like just another superhero; however, he is one of the most recognizable fictional characters in world history (let alone the most lucrative superhero of all time). He’s in a class by himself and therefore, so is his original writer/visual architect.

I know New York has been home to countless notable people and historic events. But not many accomplishments (certainly few cultural accomplishments) can compare to the magnitude of Batman’s influence—and it all dates back to a humble start in an unassuming apartment in the Bronx, thanks to the mind of Bill Finger. The Batman imprint at DC Comics puts out at least thirteen Batman-themed comic books every month. (The next most popular, Superman, has only four.) Batman currently appears on the list of the top 20 highest-grossing films of all time...twice (and it’s not just teenaged boys making those movies break records). Batman has starred in TV animation since 1968 and almost continuously since 1992. The examples go on and on.

Target date: 2014 (75th anniversary of Batman, 100th anniversary of Finger’s birth, 40th anniversary of Finger’s death). We would be able to piggyback on other media, though this being an unprecedented project will almost certainly generate media on its own.

Legal aspect: Though Kane’s contract with DC prevents DC from officially co-crediting Finger, DC does give him credit for every story he wrote. What’s more, I have extensive documentation from publications produced or sanctioned by DC Comics crediting Finger equally with Kane for Batman. (Also, this is almost certainly a partial list.) I have annotated my book, the result of five years of meticulous research, line by line. Some of the evidence in Finger’s favor comes from the unlikeliest source: Kane’s 1989 autobiography. Bill the Boy Wonder was published in July 2012 without incident. My previous nonfiction superhero book, Boys of Steel: The Creators of Superman, was also about a DC Comics character. My hunch is that DC Comics wants to do more for Finger but they are contractually restricted, so they are pleased when others step up to do what they can’t.

Cost: I plan to use Kickstarter and private sources.

Sources for the Batman-Poe Park connection:

Batman & Me, Bob Kane and Tom Andrae, Eclipse Books, 1989, p. 41: "We used to hang out at Poe Park." This is Bob Kane’s autobiography.

The Steranko History of Comics, Volume 1, James Steranko, Supergraphics, Reading, PA, 1970, p. 44: "He asked Bill to meet him later at Edgar Allan Poe Park to discuss a new strip." This is one of the definitive resources on comics history, and the only book to publish an interview with Finger in his lifetime.

Amazing World of DC Comics #1, uncredited article, DC Comics, July-August 1974, p. 28: "Bob asked Bill to meet him later at Edgar Allan Poe Park to discuss a new strip"

Famous 1st Edition (Batman #1) # F-5, Carmine Infantino, DC Comics, February-March 1975, inside front cover: "They agreed to meet later at Poe Park, to work out the details"

interview with Julius Schwartz (longtime DC Comics editor who grew up in the Bronx): "Edgar Allen Poe Park, and there were benches there. And Bill Finger and Bob Kane would meet and plot stories"

I will do all I can to help make this happen and hope to have your support and collaboration. People dressed as Batman will come on a regular basis and take photos with it...

9/10/25 very belated addendum: No statue (yet), but in 2017, we did get a street sign.

A Bill Finger memorial in Poe Park in the Bronx, part 2 of 3

Part 1.

The story so far: I proposed installing a memorial to Bill Finger in Poe Park.

What happened next:

Jonathan Kuhn, Director of Art & Antiquities in the NYC Parks department, strikes me as a sharp, candid guy. I’d wager he knows more than anyone else about the history of New York parks (and the history of the history commemorated within them). He has the tone of a man used to fielding the same questions again and again over years—patient with an underlying irritation. Yet he kindly devoted time to me until I better understood the nuances of the parks system policy on installing monuments.

The policy, generally speaking, is this: no.

In Kuhn’s 22 years in the monuments division, 30 sculptures have been installed. I didn’t know if that is a lot or a little; apparently, it’s a little. Kuhn said that for years, NYC Parks has been moving away from sculptures due to factors including maintenance costs. 

In other words, it’s not me, it’s them.

I inquired about the possibility of putting a small memorial to Bill inside the Poe Park Visitor Center, but that, too, is under NYC Parks jurisdiction.

I mentioned Milwaukee, where fans raised more than $85,000 for a statue of the Fonz from Happy Days. Thousands turned up for its unveiling. 

meeting the Bronze Fonz, 2011

I mentioned Detroit, where fans raised more than $56,000 for a statue of Robocop. (Robocop. He doesn’t come close to the iconic status of even Batman’s supporting characters.)

Kuhn said that the NYC Public Design Commission in NYC considers pop culture-related sculptures in other cities to be bad examples of public art. (To be clear, I am not proposing a statue of Batman or even Bill Finger but rather an artistic tribute to Bill Finger.)

More facts I was fascinated to learn about New York and monuments:

• they do monuments only for people who are already widely known (“Think Gandhi”)
• certain people who got a monument then “became a trivia question,” prompting certain other people to request that such monuments be removed
• the potential to boost tourism is not a consideration in greenlighting a monument
• all park monuments are funded privately and endowed in perpetuity
• it’s easier to install a monument on private property
• it’s prohibited for monuments to include copyrighted characters (Central Park is home to a statue of Alice in Wonderland, but those characters are public domain)

The first criterion does not resonate with me because there are people whose names are not household but whose accomplishments are known worldwide. (For example, quick—who invented the cell phone? Sneakers? Pizza delivery?) I don’t remember the exact words of Kuhn’s response, but the gist was “Even still…”

Kuhn repeatedly said that New York has been home to many notable people and moments. (I would love to see a list of people who have been proposed and rejected.) More than once he cited singer Rosemary Clooney [aunt of actor George Clooney...who played Batman]. Kuhn said Clooney gave her first concert in Poe Park...and has no monument there.

He meant this as a reason to justify not approving a monument to Bill Finger in the same park, though that also did not resonate with me, for two reasons.

First, the cultural impact of Bill’s creations clearly exceeds the impact of the contributions of some of the “many notable people.” I know Rosemary Clooney was a beloved performer in her day, but today, is her name as well known or her influence as pervasively felt as Batman’s? (I’m not saying she’s a trivia question, but Batman debuted in 1939 and grows more popular with each new generation.)

Second, that fact that many notable people have made history in New York should not factor into any individual decisions. If someone deemed more notable has not been nominated, that should have no bearing on a nomination for Bill—or anyone else. I’m not suggesting “first come, first served.” I’m simply suggesting that each person be evaluated in and of himself, not in contrast to any number of others who could sustain a monument.

This reminds me of a yearly phenomenon regarding the Best Picture Academy Award nominations; there is always an underdog and always at least one “snubbed” film—but that is not the underdog’s fault.

Also, according to the NYC Parks site itself, “Rosemary Clooney is reported [emphasis mine] to have made her public debut at the Poe Park bandstand.” I don’t know how they don’t know for sure if Clooney indeed performed there, but we have multiple published sources for Bill’s connection to the park, including Bill himself.

I feel it is short-sighted for the NYC Parks system to decline Bill Finger in large part because they did not already know who he was. I provided what I objectively feel is substantial evidence why he deserves a memorial in New York—and it should have been enough even if I had just said “He was the main mind behind Batman.” Such a memorial would have deep meaning for many.

As of now, I am pursuing four other options, three in New York, and all of which you’ll read about here before long.

Part 3 (the proposal itself).

A Bill Finger memorial in Poe Park in the Bronx, part 1 of 3

Though Bill Finger was the co-creator of one of the most recognizable fictional characters in world history, almost nobody appeared to notice when he died. Even, at first, his only known child, son Fred. (Scribbled on the medical examiner report: “No family.”)

During my research about Bill (which began in 2006), almost no one I asked knew what had happened to him after he died. The most anyone thought they knew was that Bill did not have a funeral.

That, sadly, turned out to be true—and he has no gravestone, either.

Yet Bill the Boy Wonder: The Secret Co-Creator of Batman goes beyond his death for six pages. This is noteworthy for any man—especially a man who seemingly vanished from Earth with no fanfare.

And the story of Bill’s afterlife is not done yet.

Early in the book’s development I knew that I would propose erecting a memorial in Bill’s honor in the Bronx, where he was living when he mo-created (mostly created) Batman in 1939. I envisioned this specifically in Poe Park, where Bill and Bob brainstormed early Batman stories.

from Bill the Boy Wonder; art by Ty Templeton

I suspected that navigating New York City bureaucracy would be a challenge, but for me, that’s hardly a deterrent.

(My first attempt to commemorate a key Bill locale, the privately owned Greenwich Village apartment building in which he lived for much of the 1940s, was not successful.)

In June 2011, I began chasing my Poe Park memorial dream, aiming for an unveiling in 2014—the 75th anniversary of Batman and what would have been Bill’s 100th birthday, not to mention the 40th anniversary of his death.

I started the conversation with the director of the Bronx Tourism Council, then heard nothing for months. In early 2012, a different contact at the BTC reached out. In July 2012, I heard from a third, the new director of the BTC, and began again, getting the green light to resubmit a tweaked version of the proposal I’d sent a year before. We exchanged a few emails after that.

(At some point I also checked back with the Bronx Historical Society, whom I’d contacted during my book research; I learned—as I supposed—that they have no governance with respect to memorials.)

It wasn’t until early November 2012 that the director told me she was not in a position to approve this. She suggested I contact Bronx elected officials. This included a senator, an assemblyman, and a councilman. I emailed them, asking for their support. I heard back from none of them.

In February 2013, I was rerouted again, this time to the Poe Park Visitor Center Coordinator. She also fielded my proposal, and she also reported back that she’s not the one with decision-making authority.

She directed me to Jonathan Kuhn, Director of Art & Antiquities in the NYC Parks department. He was the person I should have been in touch with all along.

His response: let’s talk.

It’s my nature to read positively into such short, cryptic suggestions. My nature, however, is flawed.

Part 2.

Trying to landmark a Bill Finger building in NYC

There is no permanent tribute to Batman in New York, the city in which he was created.

As far as I know, there is no tribute to any superhero in New York, the city in which many of them were created—the unofficial superhero capital of the world.

(Nationwide, the only memorials to superheroes that I know of are for Superman—Metropolis, IL boasts a large statue and Cleveland, where Superman was created, is home to a historical marker and recently installed commemorations at the sites of the former homes of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.)

Though the superhero most commonly associated with New York City is probably Spider-Man, Batman predates him by more than 20 years and his Gotham City is clearly a New York analog. Therefore, I feel that the first superhero memorial in New York (and it’s inevitable that there will be some) should be for Batman.

And naturally, I feel Bill Finger should be the focus. (At the least, the impetus.)

So I proposed it.

Of the various buildings in which Bill lived throughout Manhattan and the Bronx, I felt the one to start with was the building that housed his Grove Street apartment.

Bill's Grove Street building in 1935, roughly eight years before he moved in;
source: Museum of the City of New York

It wasn’t where he lived when he co-created Batman. Or Robin. Or Joker. But in my mind, and in the minds of some of Bill’s peers whom I interviewed, this apartment is “vintage Finger.” He loved Greenwich Village and it was probably quite an exotic departure for him to move there from the Bronx. He lived on Grove during Batman’s early success, from late 1943 or 1944 to 1950, during which time he did create the Riddler.

There are distinctions between landmarks, heritage sites, and likely other historical designations, but I’m not informed enough to discuss them. This much I did absorb: that entire neighborhood is already landmarked, meaning no buildings within it can be individually landmarked.

However, that wouldn’t preclude putting up a plaque. As such, I was directed to the company that owns the building and spoke with a kind man named Alex. (The Landmarks Preservation Commission must approve the location, design, and content of a plaque, but the owner of a building must first approve having a plaque.)

Alex knew of the building’s connection to John Wilkes Booth but (unsurprisingly) not of its connection to Bill Finger. He wrote “If we are going to place a plaque, it would also be helpful to combine the more important historical details on the building together with the Batman details.”

Though various notables have indeed passed through the building, I inferred he was referring primarily to Wilkes Booth.

In my proposal, I’d written, “I believe the Batman connection is [more significant than the Wilkes Booth one] because Finger was not a visitor—he actually lived in the building. And as of now, there are no other Batman commemorations in New York, so if we were to install a plaque at your Grove Street building, it would be Batman fan destination #1.” In other words, I felt that a potential plaque doesn’t need to include the building’s other history to be worthwhile.

I sent additional info to hopefully further explain Finger's impact. I acknowledged that he’s no Lincoln, but emphasized that Batman has had as much influence on our culture as a fictional character can.

In early July 2011, which was about two months after first contact, Alex and I spoke again. He said his kids had Googled me and were excited about my proposal, even suggesting that the laundromat currently occupying the bottom level of the building be converted into a Batman store. (I’m all for that.)

This seemed positive.

But the problem, he told me, is that it’s a residential neighborhood already crowded by tourists, and the owners don’t want to encroach upon their residents’ privacy. He did ask where I envisioned placing a plaque but was able to shoot down each of my suggestions. (Street-level stairposts—they have six or eight sides which are too small for a plaque. Stairs—if people trip trying to read it, they could sue. Front door—people need to take the stairs to get to the front door. You get the idea.)

What is the word for such a post with six sides? Hexagonical? No, a hexagonal prism.

His suggestion was to contact the block association to ask if we could install something on the window box on the corner. That seemed weak tea to me but in case it was my last option, I did leave the block association president a voice mail. He didn’t call back.

I tried one more time with the building owner, trying with all my passion to convey the grander reasons for agreeing to this relatively small gesture.

His response: “We have made our final decision. It is not workable for us to have any kind of plaque in front of the building.”

I have begun to inquire elsewhere with promising results.

Day 5 of filming, AKA Bill Finger's New York, part 2 of 2

Part 1.

Speaking of detectives, Bill and Bob Kane would meet in Poe Park (in the Bronx, and named for Edgar Allan Poe) and discuss Batman. Maybe they sat near the house of the father of the detective story, which is still there today:

Bill lived in the following Bronx building from 1940 to summer or fall 1941. Therefore, it was likely there where he wrote the first Robin, Joker, and Catwoman stories, took the Batmobile for its first spin, and named Gotham City:

Here’s the Greenwich Village building where Bill had lived for much of the 1940s (during which time he’d created the Riddler) and where I’d been three times previously:

As I stood on the sidewalk in front wearing that Batman and Robin T-shirt, a boy in Joker T-shirt walked by with his mother and brother. His mother said to me “He likes your shirt” and I said “I like his, too.” The timing was, for the second time that day, so apropos that I wonder if the scene wasn’t being scripted by Bill himself from the great (Batman) beyond.

Bill was living at this next Manhattan address in the summer of 1965. In fact, it was while being interviewed in this building during that pivotal summer when he revealed for the first time on the record that he was instrumental in the creation of Batman:

Bill died in Manhattan, in this building, in 1974:

In memoriam.

Day 5 of filming, AKA Bill Finger's New York, part 1 of 2

Bill Finger, uncredited co-creator and costume designer of Batman, was an urban nomad. Between 1939 and his death in 1974, he had at least fifteen addresses; I’ve accounted for all but a few of those years. All but two of these addresses were in the Bronx or Manhattan.

I’ve already introduced three stops on my custom-made “Bill Finger’s New York Tour”—the buildings in which Bill lived at the following times:

• summer or fall 1941 at least through summer 1942
• late 1943 or 1944 to 1950
• 1950-1954

On 6/2/11, I was in New York to yet again retrace Bill’s steps.

But before I did, I walked into a funny overlap. It involves overhearing amateur documentary filmmakers asking to interview a comic shop employee. However, I must save the rest of that story for another time…

I donned the only superhero T-shirt I own, and I’d owned it only as of the previous evening. I’d wanted an unconventional design. I found it at Skreened, and the company kindly donated the shirt. Actually two—a small and a medium. Here, I’m wearing them both:

First stop was what some would consider the most significant building in comics history, if only they knew about it: I believe this is where Bill lived in 1939 (his parents definitely did) and I believe it was in this Bronx building that Batman was created:

(Why I believe this.)

I arrived at 11 a.m. and soon after an older woman emerged. I asked her about the building, where I’d not been before, and she answered most politely…in Spanish. Which I don’t speak.

At about 11:30, her son, daughter-in-law, and grandchild arrived. Her son spoke English. He happened to be the landlord.

And he happened to be en route to the building’s closing.

Yes, he had just sold the place in which the world’s greatest detective had swung to life—only he hadn’t known that part of its history. (How would he? It took me a lot of digging to learn it and I was almost certainly the first to do so.)

I asked him if he could’ve gotten a higher price if he’d marketed it as the “The Building Where Batman Was Born.” He laughed, shrugging it off. But I swear his expression suggested he wished he could find out...

He told me that I’d almost missed him. If I’d come only minutes earlier, no one would’ve been there. If I’d come mere minutes later, no one would’ve been there—nor would they be coming back. And the new tenants were not moving in immediately.

While he went to the closing, his wife let me into the vacant building. The bottom two floors had been renovated but the top floor had not. I don’t know which of the units had been Bill’s but I like to imagine it was the top one.

Oh, get this. The new tenants—they’re detectives, too.

Part 2.

Finger Tip #7: Bill Finger at the convergence of history, part 3 of 3

Part 1 and part 2.

I was in New York City standing in a former apartment of Bill Finger’s.

The current resident had told me that the apartment had even more formerly belonged to Lincoln assassin John Wilkes Booth.

Then his neighbor across the hall, who’d lived there some 40 years, told me it had also once belonged to Syd Koff, a woman who had won four gold medals at the first Maccabean games in 1932 and qualified for the 1936 Olympics. However, because the games were held in Nazi-controlled Berlin, the Jewish Koff refused to go—and in doing so, forfeited what ended up being her only chance to win an Olympic gold.

Syd hosting a seder, circa 1970. Bill's desk sat where that lamp in the background is. For orientation, note the edge of the fireplace on the right and compare with the two photos in Part 2. Photo courtesy Steve Cooper.

Syd passed away in 1999, but the neighbor across the hall put me in touch with her son Steve. From Steve I learned that Syd had moved to the apartment in 1955 (the last time Bill appeared at the address in the phone book was 1950). Steve said a boxer had lived there just prior to his mother but couldn’t remember the boxer’s name or if he was well known.

Steve also said that yet another prominent person had lived in the apartment, though not someone I’d heard of before: Hart Crane, a poet who committed suicide in 1932 by throwing himself from a ship into the ocean. I didn't ask how Steve knew that Crane lived in that exact apartment, but he seemed sure, and it is for certain that Crane lived in the building.

Steve said the PBS series History Detectives did a show on the building. That saved me time because otherwise I might’ve been tempted to suggest it.

When I got home, I looked up the building. It turns out that John Wilkes Booth did not live there...but his friend and fellow actor Samuel K. Chester did. And Booth apparently did go to Chester’s place to try to rope his friend into helping kill the president, though it seems that they were not in the apartment but rather on a walk precisely when Booth proposed the plot. (Chester said no thanks.)

Still, Booth had been there.

The address is 45 Grove Street, New York. On top of being notable for all of the above, the building is also apparently one of the oldest in Greenwich Village.

Here’s a New York Times article about the building.

Here’s the transcript of the History Detectives episode that examined the building’s connection to Lincoln’s assassination.

Finger Tip #7: Bill Finger at the convergence of history, part 2 of 3

Part 1.

I had just been told that John Wilkes Booth, assassin of President Lincoln, used to live in the apartment that Bill Finger used to live in.

Multiple choice:

(a) What?!?
(b) Huh?!?
(c) No way!
(d) All of the above, plus “Are you friggin’ serious?!?”

Answer: (d).

She also said the building used to be a stop on the Underground Railroad. I asked how she knew that and she said the landlord had showed her the room that was used to shelter slaves; it was under the sidewalk I was standing on. I wondered if Finger had known that.

I buzzed the apartment I wanted. The resident, a guy about my age, buzzed me into the foyer but not the building itself. He seemed skeptical of me. I don’t blame him.

His door was in sight of the foyer and he opened it. I called through the glass of the inner door, explaining what I wanted to do. He buzzed me into the building but didn’t invite me into his apartment.

I handed him a Boys of Steel: The Creators of Superman postcard and asked if he’d be willing to go look me up online to decide if he'd let me in to take a few photos in the apartment. He kindly agreed. I waited outside. A minute later, he came back and said okay.

In 2007, a member of Bill’s family had sent me this unlabeled photo of a desk that she'd found with other photos of Bill:

However, she didn’t know for sure if the desk had been Bill’s. So I’d showed it to Bill’s longtime friend and writing partner Charles Sinclair, and he seemed positive that it was indeed Bill’s desk, but he placed it at another of Bill’s apartments.

For some reason, and even though Charles has rarely been wrong (including recollections going back 50 years), I felt that the desk photo might’ve been taken in this particular apartment. So I'd brought a copy of the photo with me.

And sure enough, I walked in to the main room of the apartment and immediately recognized one part of it:

Note on the right the indent and the edge of the fireplace, both of which appear in the earlier photo (even though the fireplace has inexplicably turned from white to black). Also, the new photo doesn't quite show it, but there is a window just to the left of the composition; in the original photo, you can see the natural light coming in.

Until I was standing there, I didn't know if the desk in the old photo was Bill's, let alone which apartment it was in. Yet it wasn't like the photo was a complete mystery; it had come from the Finger family and I had pieced together a list of apartments it could've been from. Still, to conclusively match up a photo from the 1940s to the same space in 2010 did electrify me.

And then I learned that the history of the apartment that started with John Wilkes Booth actually did not start with him…nor did it end with Bill Finger.

Part 3.

Finger Tip #7: Bill Finger at the convergence of history, part 1 of 3

In gathering images for the illustrator of my upcoming book on Bill Finger, uncredited co-creator and original writer of Batman, I have gone to several of Finger’s former apartments in New York. One in the West Village turned out to have more history than I could’ve anticipated.

I’d taken exterior photos of it on 6/19/06. On 5/27/10, I went back to try to get inside and take interior photos. As I was standing outside about to buzz the apartment I wanted, a woman who lived in the building came past me and started to go in. I asked if she knew the resident in the apartment I’m interested in and she did. I said something to the effect of “It’s got some history to it.”

“I know, right?” she said with a smile combining pride and bemusement.

“You know about that?” I said. She didn’t strike me as a comics type and few non-comics people have heard of Bill Finger. Even most of the comics people don’t know any of the buildings in which he used to live.

She said it’s hard not to know the building’s history because tours go by frequently and stop in front of the building. I was flabbergasted—until I realized that the history she was talking about must not be Finger-related. I asked.

She said that John Wilkes Booth used to live there.

John Wilkes Booth, assassin of Abraham Lincoln.

In the same apartment.

Part 2.

The homes of Bill Finger, part 2

Part 1.

I am not showing the homes of Bill Finger (chorus: uncredited co-creator of Batman) chronologically because I want to save my favorite Bill building (Billding?) for last. That building looks the coolest but this building has the funnier story.

According to the microfiched Manhattan phone book, Bill Finger began living at 125 W. 16th Street in 1950. Here is how that building looked on 8/9/06:

 
He moved here with his wife Portia and their only child Freddie (born 1948). After Bill moved out, he was something of a vagabond for his remaining twenty years. Portia remained here until her death at age 69 on January 2, 1990.

I went to this building on that mild August afternoon hoping to meet some of Portia's neighbors. Yes, sixteen years had passed since she had died, but she'd lived there for forty years and I was hoping longevity ran in the building. If so, I figured someone might still be there who would remember her.

Consider for a moment the credibility challenge of an independent researcher. I was there with no "official" authority, no familiar organization on my nonexistent business card, no backup of any kind. I was just hoping to stop people going in or out of the building and get out the following before they could say, "Sorry, I'm in a hurry, clean-cut crazy man":

"My name is Marc Nobleman. I'm a children's book writer you've never heard of researching a man you've never heard of named Bill Finger, who co-created Batman. He and his then-wife Portia lived together in this building more than fifty years ago but she stayed here till 1990. I don't suppose you or anyone you know knew her?"

I deliberately started my stakeout at 5 p.m., when some people would begin getting home from work. The first person who passed was a professional woman not much younger than I am. She did not ignore me or call the police. Instead she said that every evening around that time a gaggle of older residents usually sat in beach chairs in the little front courtyard in which we were standing. For some reason, however, they were not there then. Of course, I came around the one night in recent memory that they were no-shows.

She suggested I ask the superintendent and then said that, by chance, the building was having its annual summer party the next night in that very courtyard. She said I should come—I would be able to meet a large number of the residents at once. I worried aloud that a non-resident would probably not be allowed in and she kindly said she would vouch for Clean-Cut Crazy Man.

Tempting as that was, both for research and for the possibility of free pigs in a blanket, I was determined to make any inroads that night. It would save me another train trip in.

So I buzzed the super. If getting a stranger to stop on a sidewalk and listen to you for more than four seconds is tricky, getting a super to listen to you through a crackly intercom for any length of time is four times trickier. Yet somehow I talked him into letting me in. And he promptly introduced me to the lovely ladies of longevity.

In seconds, I found myself sitting in an apartment across the hall from what had been Bill and Portia's place, chatting with the generous and effusive Ines (age: north of 70). She had lived in the building since 1968. She remembered Portia, described her as "flamboyant"—a person who called everyone "darling," wore muumuus, and often strolled down the hall arm-in-arm with two young handsome men. (Not homosexual herself, at least not that anyone I talked to knows about, Portia was a fixture in the gay community.) When Ines's memory tired, she called over her equally kind neighbor Marybelle, who had lived in the building since 1964 and who arrived in her nightgown at 6 p.m.

Neither had photos of Portia (or Bill). Neither remembered (if they ever knew) Portia's maiden name. Both remembered Portia's twin sister but neither remembered her name—I was so desperately hoping they would've remembered her name because that would've opened up a whole other branch of people to track down. In the end, both Ines and Marybelle said they'd buy my book and invited me to stay in touch. Ines also gifted me a handful of the dog grooming products she'd created and marketed, even though I don't have a dog.

Half a year later, when I did find Portia's maiden name and Portia's sister's family (stories for future posts), I called Ines and Marybelle. My Golden Girls were happy to hear that—and, of course, said "That's right!" (Memory works so much better going backwards.)

According to my list of first appearances of notable Batman characters Bill had a hand in, none were created between 1950 and 1954—therefore none were created in this building. If I'm wrong, I know I can count on you to let me know.

Soon: a peek inside this apartment...specifically, an image I did not think even existed but an image invaluable for an illustrator of a picture book on Bill Finger...a photo of Bill Finger's writing desk. [9/3/10 addendum: That desk photo is from a different apartment.]

The homes of Bill Finger, part 1

In this series of undetermined length, I will post photos I took of buildings in which Bill Finger, uncredited co-creator and original writer of Batman, lived and worked.

I took these photos because I am a manservant to accuracy. If my Bill Finger picture book manuscript sells, I will pass on these photos to the illustrator for reference. It's possible, of course, that the book would not need to show the exterior of any of his residences, but it sure felt cool to find and photograph them anyway. Now-iconic stories and concepts were cooked up in these otherwise unassuming structures.

Bill Finger first appears in the New York City phone book in 1940. [4/8/13 addendum: Here is where he was immediately before that.] His address then was 2754 Grand Concourse in the Bronx. This suggests he (at age 25) was still living with his parents when he co-created Batman the year before. Photos of each of those addresses to come.

The NYC phone book of the summer or fall of 1941 shows he moved to 50 East 196th Street, which is also the Bronx. That building as it looked on 6/19/06:

This address is printed on Bill's Wildcat script shown in comics history magazine Alter Ego #20. That issue is dated 1/03 and the script is dated 9/42. Bill would move again the following year to an address whose location is the whitest hot of hipness, and that I will save for another post.

3/21/08 addendum: Bill was living here when he wrote the stories introducing three of Batman's most enduring foes: the Scarecrow (World's Finest Comics #3, Fall 1941), the Penguin (Detective Comics #58, 12/41), and Two-Face (Detective Comics #66, 8/42).

Part 2.