Many days of the week I walk up Lincoln Place from Seventh Avenue to Eighth Avenue to my office at The Montauk Club or to the subway at Grand Army Plaza.
Many, many of those days I see Warren Fox, the tall, stocky, white haired man who smokes a pipe. I’ve never actually spoken to Fox, the owner of the red brick building on the southwest corner of Seventh Avenue and Lincoln, that houses the Tibetan store on the corner and three small storefronts, but we always nod politely to one another as I pass.
Two of those small storefronts (Paper Love and Fashion East) are vacant now and today I noticed a picture of Warren Fox standing on a rock smoking his signature pipe. It was taped to the front window of the empty Paper Love storefront.
In magic marker it said: Warren 5/39-2/11.
I stared at it incredulously and then noticed a black and white portrait of a much younger man, a slimmer man, with a goatee. It said: Warren Fox 1939-2011.
I was stunned because I feel like I just saw Warren last week. Or was it the week before. He was a constant presence, hovering over those small shops and often creating wood planters with customized wood embellishments for each shop.
Warren was an artist with wood, a neighborhood fixture, a landlord always tinkering with his building — painting this, fixing that.
I said to an older man, who happened to be walking by with a dog: What happened?”
“He died. Last month. Died in his bed. He’s been here for a long, long time.”
Strange. One minute here, gone the next. That’s the way of life, eh?
Dear friend Warren.
He rented us a store for our growing rubber stamp business many years ago, and became a friend, and an inspiration. We loved him very much and feel that the slope will never be the same without him staring into the sky, smoking his pipe, in his sandals, with always a smile…Very very sad today.
I feel a warm glow when I hear the kind words of the friends and neighbours of Warren on this Blog. I remember Warren came over to the Lake District in the UK to spend time with his/our family. I will remember him as a softly spoken, very friendly guy who had everyone’s well-being as his first interest. Whilst Warren was in the Lake District he visited a place called Wasdale with my parents, a very beautiful, breathtaking place where you can’t ignore the natural beauty and feel as though you are part of the world. Its a very inspiring place where Warren returned to on his own to read a book and absorb the inspiration. He also went horse riding with us, trekking over the picturesque Cumbrian fells, then taking in a ‘hound trail’ (google it!) and having a local pie and cup of tea from a mobile van.
He was a long way from Brooklyn, New York, when we met; but the same articulate,artistic and life loving person we all met, and we will all recall our fond memories of Warren as time passes.
Rest in peace Warren.
I too discovered Warren’s passing from the photos in the windows of one of those empty boutiques. I don’t think I exchanged more than a sentence or two with him, but was just so shocked to realize what had happened. I had no idea how long he had been a fixture of the neighborhood and the local scene. Just very sad. Every place seems to become more and more a transient zone, and less a neighborhood; now this little corner of Brooklyn has taken a step further in that direction.
I just now became aware of Warren’s death after having been out of the country for over a month. Warren left some messages on my voice mail so upon returning I called back. It was unlike Warren not to respond so I thought something may have happened. I checked his name under Google and there it was…
I first met Warren at a meeting of the National Campaign to Impeach Nixon in 1973. In the early ’70s, before Warren purchased the building on the corner of 7th Ave & Lincoln Pl, he opened up a coffee house there known as the Aquarius in the fashion of such places that thrived in the West Village at that time. It became a wonderful hangout where longtime friends first met each other.
More recently I would always walk via Lincoln Pl when returning from a session of PT in the hopes of seeing Warren and engaging him in our endless conversations and debates over current affairs.
Warren’s was a defining presence in the neighborhood. He was a good friend and also a racquetball partner until my shoulder blew out. I’m still in a state of shock. I’ll miss him.
Thanks so much, Marcia, for writing in about Warren.
I will miss Warren. I met him when the smoke of his pipe ran deliciously beneath my nose one day as I walked down the street. Told him I loved the scent of his pipe. From that time on, we had many conversations about life as we sat on the bench by Ozzie’s. He was a fixture and that’s what made the neighborhood better, friendlier. I’d give his friend my parking spot when he would ask me to wait when I was pulling out. He even offered to help me get pigeons away from my window. He looked as if he came out of the 1800’s with his pony tail and silver hair. He did love creating his art. I was completely shocked and will miss his spirit.