Lisa Biagiotti | multimedia journalist

Queens Tribune: Living The Hip-Hop Life In Corona

Inside All the Right’s Corona location.

At first glance, a high-end urban lifestyle boutique seems out of place above the Kennedy Fried Chicken on Junction Boulevard in Corona.

The wafting odor of fried chicken and the high-pitched sounds of electronic toys of the Chinese wholesaler next door could easily distract from what’s in between: a minimalist 10-foot-wide brick wall painted black.

Two brass-potted shrubs flank the glass entrance, and except for a black-and-white flag on the building’s second floor, All the Right boutique is almost invisible.

Owner George Landin said All the Right has transitioned from a record store with a recording studio and barber shop to a high-end apparel boutique in accordance with hip-hop’s four elements: DJ (disc jockey), MC (Master of Ceremonies), B-boy (break dancer), and graffiti.

Since 1998, All the Right has been a fixture in this working-class, mostly Latino neighborhood, attracting local rappers and graffiti artists and generating buzz by word of mouth as far away as Japan. Landin, who grew up in Corona, is now in the process of expanding All the Right’s vision and vibe to Los Angeles where he is scheduled to open another store in late February.

“I’m 36 years old, I’ve seen it, I lived it, I went to the clubs, I was a DJ, it’s natural,” said Landin, who sported a midnight blue oversized leather jacket, baggy Levi’s jeans, Air Jordan sneakers and a black baseball cap. “My whole movement, my whole life is hip-hop.”

His wedding band’s three diamonds flashed as he spoke with his hands about cherry picking limited items of exclusive men’s and women’s apparel and sneakers. His loyal customers often climb the narrow staircase to check whether the new shipments have arrived, or to pick up graffiti supplies from Japan and Germany and pre-released hip hop albums.

According to Landin, the hip-hop lifestyle component isn’t part of some corporate branding strategy. At a time when clothing stores emphasize lifestyle and the shoppers’ experience, All the Right has always embodied the way Landin lives.

“[It] comes from here,” Landin said, patting his chest. “I do it out of love; I don’t do it because it’s hot.”

Ulises Rivera, 20, of Corona, stopped by to hang out for three hours before work at the T-Mobile store on Junction Boulevard. Rivera has been a customer throughout All the Right’s phases – hair cuts, vinyl records, and now, clothes and sneakers.

“George looks out for people, it’s not just a sale,” said Rivera. “It’s like your father’s barber shop, with more of an ambiance; it’s more than just a place to shop.”

And to Landin, All the Right goes beyond being an offbeat shop ahead of the fashion curve. It’s part of his “hood” – an often overlooked place where rappers from Corona influenced and shaped hip-hop.

“This is like headquarters to certain people, we chill,” said Landin, whose friends and customers stop by to listen to music, strike up conversations on upcoming rap albums and little-known fashion lines, or create pieces on the store’s outdoor graffiti wall or ceiling tiles.
“This ‘hood has a mixture of everything – good, bad, ugly,” said Landin. “A little bit of everybody, somewhere, somehow.”

But with the boutique’s high ticket items like a $1,300 custom-made, chrome, low-rider bike, $500 Nike sneakers made out of tennis ball material, and designer denim that costs up to $400, who shops here?

“This is an exclusive shop in Queens,” said Che Williams, 30, of Flushing, and founder of Rotten Apple Wear urban street apparel. “You usually have to go down to SoHo. That’s why [Landin] gets all my money here.”
Johnny Castellanos, 20, said he drives an hour and 40 minutes every two weeks from Brentwood, L.I. to shop at All the Right.

“I wear anything that goes with my sneakers,” said Castellanos, who said he owns about 70 pairs. “I have to leave with something every time.” He purchased jeans and a black, turquoise and purple sweatsuit, which matched his Air Jordan sneakers.

After almost 10 years in business, All the Right is planning to elevate its exclusive urban vibe out in L.A., where a still-unnamed 2,000 square-foot-store near Rodeo Drive would sell home accessories, apparel for men and women, vintage eyewear, and random vintage items like an old sewing machine, according Landin’s partner, who goes by the name Moonshine.

Landin and Moonshine said the West Coast store would represent the same All the Right customer – the hardcore graffiti artist and skater, but more refined and grown up.
“[Our L.A. customer] still likes the cool T-shirts but now he wants a cool lamp for his living room. He now owns an apartment,” said Moonshine. “You have to be able to connect to your customer; we connect because we live the same lifestyle.”

And for Landin that means keeping All the Right rooted in his hometown of Corona with no plans to open another store in the five boroughs.

“I try to show people it’s not only Manhattan, Uptown or Brooklyn,” said Landin. “Why go that far when I’m here?”

All the Right is located at 35-61 Junction Blvd. in Corona. Call (718) 899-7685.

Queens Tribune: All it takes is a dollar and a wall

Outdoor handball courts empty out during colder months when hands begin to sting from slapping the ball. But serious handball players take the sport indoors and train at the Elks Lodge on Queens Boulevard, as part of a new Elks Fraternity membership initiative.

Handball hopefuls get a game in at CC Moore Homestead Park.

It’s easy to find a ball and a wall in Elmhurst.

On any mild day at CC Moore Homestead Park on Broadway and 45th Avenue, teenagers play handball, smoke cigarettes and hang out. Because of limited park space, handball is a popular recreational sport in the neighborhood. Outdoor handball courts empty out during colder months when hands begin to sting from slapping the ball.

But serious handball players take the sport indoors and train at the Elks Lodge on Queens Boulevard, as part of a new Elks’ membership initiative. These players credit handball with keeping them out of trouble, and several players have become nationally ranked by the United States Handball Association (USHA), in Tuscon, Ariz., where officials recognize Elmhurst players by their first names.

“I have a lot of friends who messed up their lives with drugs,” said Victor LoPierre, 22, a nationally ranked player and senior at Queens College. “Handball kept me away from that because I was busy playing. [It’s about] using handball as a tool to get more people focused on their lives.”

This motivated breed of Elmhurst handball players has another thing in common – they were all coached by Michael Watson.

Watson, 42, a former professional handball player, has voluntarily coached players on public courts for the past 15 years. He said he has traveled with his players to tournaments in Toledo, Ohio and as far away as Venice Beach, Calif.

“When I hit about 28, 29 [years old], I would go around the park, and nobody would play with the kids,” said Watson, a computer consultant who lives in Maspeth. “In the previous generation there was a disconnect, [experienced players] stopped playing with younger guys.”

But Watson said someone needed to teach young people the proper techniques of the game. He currently works with about 30 to 35 handball players, and approximately six to 10 closely several days a week.

“I always tried to pick the kids who are going to school, working, and are decent, well-mannered,” said Watson. “Every kid that I’ve touched has been a national champion at the junior level.”

There are three different types of handball games depending on the how many walls are in play – one-wall, three-wall and four-wall. While in New York, handball is predominantly played on concrete, one-wall courts with “big blue” balls, the rest of the country (and collegiate tournaments) tend to play on indoor four-wall courts with smaller ace balls.

LoPierre, of Forest Hills, was coached by Watson and has traveled all over the country and to Europe to play. In November, LoPierre placed third at the Italian handball tournament in Nizza Monferrato.

The sport is gaining international appeal, with Italian and Basque handball federations inviting U.S. players to compete. On the national level, the USHA said collegiate handball is the fastest growing tournament with 35 to 40 different colleges slotting up to 30 players in competition.

Some of Watson’s players have leveraged their handball skills into college financial aid packages.

“Ever since I found out I could get a [college] scholarship or some help, I started to fulfill my dreams, both academically and physically,” said Jonathan Iglesias, 21, a senior at the renowned handball college, Lake Forest College in Illinois.

“Everything I learned through handball I can transition to any part of my life,” said Iglesias, of Elmhurst. “[I see] how you can use handball to network, get into a good school and grow as a person.”

Now, these handball players are joining the Elks Lodge and focusing on giving back to the community. Coach Watson, an Elks officer, said he has recruited about 16 to 20 members – all handball players – to become junior members of the Elk’s Antlers under-21 program. They play handball on the indoor court, but also visit veterans’ hospitals and engage the community.

“It is almost a perfect situation because [the Elks are] in the neighborhood,” said Watson regarding the effort to boost the fraternity’s membership, which once swelled at over 5,000 members. Since then, the Elks have sold their historic, landmark building and rent the adjacent gymnasium facility. Membership has dwindled to 350, with the average age around 65.

“Only the youth can recapture the excitement of what the Elks was all about,” said Innunzio Russo, exalted Elks ruler.

But on another semi-warm day, kids crowd in Broadway Park and play street handball with cigarettes dangling from their mouths, whacking at the big, blue ball – it’s all part of the urban culture here.

“Anybody can play,” said LoPierre, an Elks member. “That’s what’s so great about [handball]. You can buy a ball for a dollar at the store and go play.”

Queens Tribune: From Central Asia To A New Homeland

Gulchekhra alimova helps take care of a large swath of new Queens immigrants.

A poster with four American flags hangs on Gulchekhra Alimova’s apartment door. Clocks on the dining room wall keep two different times – one in New York and the other in Samarkand, Uzbekistan.

From her 17th-floor apartment in Lefrak City, Alimova runs Vatan Asia, Inc., a grassroots immigrant association that helps the growing number of Central Asian immigrants assimilate into American life.

Since she established the non-profit organization in 2003, it has grown to approximately 25 active members and more than 100 volunteers. Alimova has become the inadvertent go-to person for Central Asian immigrant needs. She said Vatan Asia, which translates to “Homeland Asia” in Uzbek, has a network of about 5,000 in New York and 9,000 across the U.S. Alimova said she will now seek city grants or government sponsorship for her association.

“They are like my sisters and brothers, my small country in America,” said Alimova. “It doesn’t matter what ethnicity or religion, we are like one family.”

When she came to the United States in 1999, Alimova, 55, said she had no help. Because of the group’s diverse religions and ethnicities, she found no one mosque, church or organization that covered the needs of Central Asian immigrants, who come from the former Soviet Union countries of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan.

“Friends and friends of friends asked me how to [find a] job, money, find apartment, pay rent, and [cope with] depression,” said Alimova, who is an elderly caretaker and published poet.
“My friends send me so many people,” she said. “I went to my job for one day and my husband said there were 39 messages for me.”

Alimova said she has picked up Central Asian immigrants at the airport and has regularly opened the guest room of her three-bedroom apartment to them.

“When they arrive here they expect solidarity,” said Alimova, who worked as an English language teacher in Uzbekistan. “I know several families who returned because they didn’t have jobs and language skills, so I try to give them the right direction.”

She even has her children, Jaohiva Sadi, 22, and Hislatjon (John) Sadi, 16, serve as interpreters – they both speak Persian, Russian, Uzbek, and English. They accompany immigrants to the Uzbekistan and Tajikistan consulates and to the social security office in Jamaica. They said they often help immigrants fill out Section 8 housing or food stamp applications.

“We don’t sleep,” said Sadi Khamrokulov, Alimova’s husband, who was a pediatrician in Uzbekistan and now works as a home care attendant. “They call 24 hours a day, at 11:00, 12:00, 1:00 for any emergency.”

Many Central Asians help each other individually, utilizing personal and professional networks, according to Rafis Abazov, a Columbia University professor who has written extensively on Central Asian cultures.

Central Asians are a relatively new, but growing, American immigrant group, which began arriving in the U.S. in the late 1990s, according to Sam Kliger, the founder of the Research Institute for New Americans (RINA), a think tank for the Russian-speaking community in the U.S. Kliger is also the director of Russian Jewish community affairs at the American Jewish Council.

“It is not only because they are new or fresh that they don’t have a host organization specifically targeting them,” said Kliger. “They don’t trust any government or non-governmental organization.”
A recent RINA survey of immigrants from the former Soviet Union showed low levels of government trust, with trust of spouses below 30 percent and trust of doctors below 15 percent.

“But the good news is that as time passes, they adjust to the American lifestyle,” said Kliger. “They start to self-organize because this is the best way to improve their common goals.”

Alimova said it is now time for her to seek government grants. Her personal investment in Vatan Asia has cost her up to $5,000 – to organize Uzbek, Tajik, American, and Muslim holiday parties (with sometimes up to 40 people in her apartment), to help immigrants with application fees and to finance her monthly community newsletter, Vatan.

“I want to help people, but I pay rent, too, and should make money for my family,” said Alimova. “I want the government to help me to open a center.”

Ravshan Pulatov, 56, went to high school with Alimova in Samarkand, but 25 years had elapsed until she found him an apartment in Lefrak City five years ago. He now serves as Vatan Asia’s vice-president.
“We’re getting more people coming here,” said Pulatov, through an interpreter. “To not lose our culture, tradition, we need a place to go, talk, meet, and eat.”

“Gulchekhra is our direction,” said Pulatov. “She knows the rules and what an immigrant needs. Without her, we would be lost.”

From the balcony of her apartment, Alimova has a view of Manhattan, five bridges and the planes circling in and out of LaGuardia Airport.

“We only have this apartment,” said Alimova. “But it’s not enough.”

Queens Tribune: It’s Not His Father’s Neigborhood

Joe Neufeld runs the family funeral business his father opened in 1940. The Neufeld family has been rooted in Elmhurst since 1900. Though he now lives on Long Island, Neufeld said he would return to Elmhurst tomorrow if his wife, Claire, allowed it. But, he also said he sees problems in the community he loves.

Joe Neufeld stands in front of the Elmhurst funeral home founded by his father 67 years ago.