Pic of the Day 03.06.09

Emerging from the northwest exit of the Union Square subway stop last week, I saw a familiar sight on the corner of 16th St. & Union Square Park – little shreds of carrot and potato glistening on the pavement, colorful and strewn about like confetti.

What was unfamiliar about the recognizable mess, however, was the culprit. For 15 years, Joe Ades -- the white-haired, white-bearded man with the British accent and expensive Europeans suits -- sat on his small oak footstool at the Union Square Greenmarket flipping $5 Swiss-made vegetable peelers.

Now an unknown woman filled his seat. Curious, I walked up to her and asked where the “well-dressed old guy” was?

“Oh, you mean my father,” she said with a demure half-smile. “He passed away a couple of weeks ago.”

Taken back by her response, I took a few seconds to regroup and offered my condolences. Slowly, I faded back into the crowd of organic food lovers, tourists, and bustling pedestrians, almost dazed.

I didn’t know the man personally, but he had become a familiar and comforting sight – a staple of New York street theater in a city that delights in in-your-face characters. Speaking constantly, and at times to himself, Ades’ booming and welcoming voice always drew a crowd.

His spiel was the same every time – peel carrots and potatoes in a manner that makes it seem as easy as buttering bread – but each performance wasn’t. Acted out with an effortless zeal, each performance was tailored to his audience – he would involve everyone, making each member of the crowd feel like he was only speaking to them. It was a show you couldn’t pass up. You watched and hypnotically forked over your $5.


Ades used to say, “Never underestimate a small amount of money gathered by hand for sixty years.” And the man knew what he was talking about. He lived in a swanky building on the Upper East Side, dined at fine restaurants, and wore suits so dapper, they could’ve been part of John Gotti’s collection.

For 60 years, this born salesman from Manchester, England sold everything – linens, textiles, jewelry, toys, clock radios, cassette players, electrical appliances, and children’s books, before finally settling on peelers because they were light and easy to carry around.

He was the sidewalk pitchman who, his daughter says, “loved the street more than anything.”

Now when I step out of the subway at Union Square, I’ll feel a piece of New York missing.

You will be missed Mr. Ades. Thank you breathing life into our city.