Illustration by Lars Leetaru
What is the story behind the enormous wooden sculpture hanging at Ruth’s Parkside Café in Northside? Where did it come from? My server only knew its name, “The Angel.” She said that the owner, who wasn’t there, knows all about it. I couldn’t wait around, so I hope you can help. —GORDIAN ANGEL
DEAR GORDIAN:
There is, in fact, a story behind that enormous (14 feet tall) wooden sculpture at Ruth’s, but the Doctor lacks space here for the enormous number of words required to do it justice. Herewith, an embarrassingly short version: Jay Bolotin, a renowned Cincinnati-based artist who left us only last spring, created the unfathomably heavy wooden sculpture as one part of his elaborate 1995 show, Limbus: A Mechanical Opera. The show has appeared in various forms and locales over the years.
One huge, admittedly strange object—a fair description of many Bolotin works (meant as a compliment)—is known as “Angel” and was created by the artist at his workshop, which back then was a warehouse in Northside. That warehouse was part of the former industrial complex that has since become Ruth’s Parkside Café and apartments above. So your answer to “where did it come from” is “a few feet from where it was made.” Ruth’s co-owner David Tape asked his friend Bolotin in 2013 if he could have the sculpture for his newly located restaurant, whereupon Bolotin greedily demanded an exorbitant payment: one piece of Ruth’s famous pie.
I drive over the cobblestones on Elm Street at Music Hall every day. I understand the nod to nostalgia, but it’s annoying. I also wonder if the city had a secret agenda when they uncovered the old stones. Did they purposely want to slow traffic down for the (mostly older) Music Hall attendees? —BRAKEDOWN
DEAR BRAKE:
This year marks the 30th anniversary of Elm Street’s cobblestones being set free. The Doctor has not found evidence for the year they were covered over by blacktop, but a good guess would be somewhere in the 1920s. Neither is it clear when the cobblestones were first laid or even if Elm Street was paved earlier with gravel or wood. The word paved in the 19th century basically meant anything that’s not dirt, and we found an editorial from 1870 saying “cobble-stones are an abomination in the sight of horse and man.”
Today’s tires and shock absorbers are not fans of cobblestones, either. But as you suggest, pedestrian safety from slower traffic might be an unstated benefit along that stretch of Elm Street. Was that intentional when the old stones were exhumed in 1994? Nobody at City Hall is saying, but remember: They’re all stuck inside their own 19th century stone behemoth. Some might even consider that place an abomination in the sight of horse and man.
You recently wrote about the large clocks at the Carew Tower and their chronically incorrect times. But nobody notices another historic clock that can’t ever be fixed: the old sundial at the Federal Building. It gets no sun at all! It’s in shadow all day! Whose brilliant idea was this? —AIN’T NO SUNSHINE
DEAR AIN’T:
Let us first divert you to a Norwood parking lot, where a squat wedge-shaped building stands with the name “Arnold” embossed in stone over its entrance. In 2006, the iconic Arnold Building was demolished for an office park, and an almost-replica was built nearby. The surviving embossed stone went above the front door.
A similarly odd artifact is downtown at Fifth and Main streets: the sundial at the entrance to the Federal Building. It was installed on that corner in 1829 when William Thoms erected Cincinnati’s first “skyscraper,” a building so tall that people felt certain it would collapse—all four stories of it. Thoms’s deed required any future edifice to preserve its ornate sundial, and that promise was kept when Uncle Sam bulldozed the corner in 1962. Unfortunately, the promise failed to specify that the sundial remain functional.
The iconic timepiece was installed in shadow and in the years since has been further, well, overshadowed by the Federal Building’s fortress-like upgrades. There’s more to this story but, oh, look at the time!
Dr. Know is Jay Gilbert, radio personality and advertising prankster. Submit your questions about the city’s peculiarities here.
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