O Fortuna

Last night was tough. Not the Oscars--didn't see the movies, had no personal connection. What really got me was seeing the end of Cafe La Fortuna, a place that, for me at least, has long been synonymous with New York.

How long have I been going there?  Here's a clue: it was a cherished haunt back when I was writing my Ph.D. dissertation.  So many years, so many changes, with Fortuna wending through them like Theseus' thread. 

Places like this are one reason why I bristle at attempts to draw a moral distinction between social enterprise and for-profit business.  The opera music playing in the background, the magical  garden out back, the decades of historic Met memorabilia decorating the walls--Cafe La Fortuna was a social benefit, a transformative space that brought people together in a refuge from the rush of the now. 

But if you look at the obituaries, you'll also see why this community had begun to dissipate before Fortuna's all too sudden closure.  That John Lennon was a regular was always quietly in the background, with the occasional John & Yoko photo mixed in with the Carusos.  In recent years, though, new owners decided to shift the cafe's identity in an apparent attempt to attract more tourists. After the renovation Lennon souvenirs popped up everywhere--music, displays, wall hangings, even a big screen TV looping his videos & bio. 

Fading in the mix: the very communal atmosphere that drew Lennon there years ago.

Even after the shift to Planet Lennon Cafe La Fortuna remained a special space; you just screened out what ownership felt it had to do to bring in a few extra bucks.  Nonetheless, as has been noted by others, the number of customers was declining, with the regulars themselves conspicuously drifting away. Now that Fortuna is gone, what we'll miss is not the John tchotchkes or the Yoko wall, but that inestimable feeling of a place apart.