A plaza just outside 780 Third Avenue in Midtown Manhattan, brimming with well-tended flowers in warm weather and furnished with elegant stone benches, looks like an inviting place to sit down and enjoy a slice of pizza. Or at least Wade Phillips certainly thought so.
Phillips, a hospitality and security worker, used to take his breaks in that plaza every day. (“Wade Phillips” isn’t his real name, but a nom de guerre, or what its user refers to as “my please-don’t-fire-me name”). He describes himself as “kind of a Good Will Hunting guy,” referring to the Matt Damon character in Gus Van Sant’s 1997 movie about a self-taught working-class genius who has survived an abusive childhood. “I don’t really have a family,” says Phillips, “I’ve had kind of a rough road.”
For the past few decades, working in Manhattan, sometimes living with roommates, parks like this have been a respite where he’s been grateful to “go sit somewhere and breathe.” Such spaces provide a sense of peace for free for anyone who needs to rest a spell.
Last year, he was working on Forty-Eighth Street, taking his breaks almost every day on a bench in the especially idyllic plaza at 780 Third Avenue. “From the day I had my interview there,” he says, “till the day I left, it was, like, my spot.” On one occasion, Phillips had been having a rough night at work, and it was the anniversary of his father’s death. He needed some time to himself on the bench. A security guard appeared immediately and told Phillips he couldn’t be there. “I just need ten minutes,” Phillips told the guard, who was unmoved and insisted he move along.
Grumpily acceding to the guard’s demand, Philips crossed the street and saw an enormous sign carved into the stone bench in question. It read, “Welcome.”
“Everyone has their breaking point,” he says, “and that was it for me.” Phillips emphasized, “It doesn’t just say ‘Welcome.’ It’s carved in.” That moment, he says, is “when this whole thing started.”
Phillips, a meticulous and detail-oriented researcher who majored in finance in college, hit the city records and learned that the public has a legal right to use that space. 780 Third Avenue and nearly six hundred other spaces like it in New York City have a somewhat complicated legal status: they are POPS, or “privately owned public spaces.”
In Midtown Manhattan especially, real estate developers often, in order to be able to add height to their building that is outside what the zoning laws would typically permit for that neighborhood, reach an agreement with the city to “trade floor space in the sky for floor space down below,” as Philips explains. Buildings may also provide POPS in exchange for other types of zoning variances, but in Midtown, height is the most common. Individual agreements vary, but they all specify the building’s obligations to the public: exact square footage; whether the owner must provide chairs, tables, or benches for public use; whether there must be trees or plants.
Privately owned public spaces throughout New York City comprise more than 3.8 million square feet of space for public leisure. The practice of allowing developers to skirt some zoning rules in exchange for providing public space has been around since 1961, but in 2017, New York City Council passed Local Law 116 to strengthen the city’s oversight of these agreements, requiring annual reporting on the POPS by the relevant agencies — the Department of Buildings and Department of City Planning — and, crucially, requiring signage indicating that the public has access to the area.
But POPS violations, in which the public are denied access to these spaces by the companies who received the legal clearance to build additional floors, are common. Much of the real estate industry bitterly resents having to provide any public goods despite having legally agreed to do so. They prefer to take up space in our skies without providing anything in return.
Phillips, particularly incensed after carrying out his legal research and learning he was in the right to sit on the bench, went back to 780 Third Avenue the next day and told the security guard that the plaza was a public park. He says the building employee insulted him and threatened to have him arrested. “I was like, ‘Okay, game on.’”
Phillips filmed these interactions and gave the guard many opportunities to change his tune before finally going live with the whole imbroglio. Thus was born the Instagram account @780_lord_of_bench, which now has 64.7K followers, including Joe Rogan and Sarah Jessica Parker. And more importantly, ordinary New Yorkers, who now file complaints about POPS abuses, attend Phillips’s celebratory POPS events — part protest, part party, calling attention to the right to public leisure in those spaces — and donate to his Patreon to support his advocacy.
He now monitors POPS throughout Midtown. On a beautiful October evening, I meet Phillips just across the street from Radio City Music Hall for a tour of some of offending properties along Sixth Avenue and an introduction to some of the notorious security regimes featured in his videos.
The outdoor tables of a restaurant, Double Knot, protrude — illegally, according to Phillips — onto the POPS at 1251 Sixth Avenue, managed by the Hines Group and owned by Mitsui Fudosan America, a real estate developer that continues to dodge a fine despite public complaints and a violation issued by the city for allowing a restaurant in a place designated as a public plaza with obvious signage.
Nearby, at 1221 Sixth, property of The Rockefeller Group, which owns and manages some six million square feet of office space in Midtown Manhattan, a sunken plaza — also a POPS — has at times been blocked off on weekends. Due to complaints and advocacy by Phillips and his followers, the Department of Buildings has served Rockefeller with a violation on this issue, but they remain determined to skirt the law when they can. A sign barring the public from the lower plaza that is used on weekends sits nearby. And just two days earlier, security on the same property attempted to remove Phillips for filming on the property, though he was not breaking any of the posted rules about the plaza’s use.
In fact, as we walk from one plaza to another, I remark that Phillips seems scrupulous about following the rules of these plazas. “That’s my whole leverage,” he grins.” That’s my whole thing, is [that] I’m going to document that I’m being completely a normal guy.” The message of all his videos and advocacy is one of following the rules, and in the comments, he often pushes back when his followers urge some kind of civil disobedience. The ethos of his Instagram account and all his interactions with building personnel seems to be that the public should be respectful of these public spaces by observing the rules, and that the owners should do the same. “The issue is when they start to put their own rules into effect” and refuse to abide by their own agreements with the public, he says.
Since Phillips began making these videos, security follows him around when he is in these spaces. The evening of my visit, as we sit in the sunken plaza, a security guard watches us carefully and keeps talking into his phone. Just two days earlier, at the same spot, Phillips was removed by security.
Walking north, Phillips shows me another POPS, this one at 31 West Fifty-Second Street where, until he made videos about it, the handicapped access ramp was blocked off. It’s open, for now. Another offending restaurant on the same property has reduced its outdoor table intrusion to just one, which Phillips thinks is acceptable even if it might technically be out of line. “It’s a give-and-take,” he says, “because obviously nothing is ever perfect,” pointing out that it might be hard for an owner to completely forbid a tenant to use outside space that they’d assumed was part of the deal when they rented the space.
Phillips is not someone who has a hard time seeing the viewpoint of others, especially those in the same industry as him. “As a security guy, I work with a lot of these types of guys,” he says. “They kind of get the ego thing when they work in a building like this.” But they are not actually enforcing the law. Rather, they are enforcing the desires of a corporation uninterested in holding up their end of the bargain to the public.
Phillips says building owners are getting more fines and being issued more violations in response to his complaints. Phillips’s advocacy has engaged city officials, including the Buildings Commissioner Ahmed Tigani, who was appointed by Mayor Zohran Mamdani in January and has met with Phillips and toured the offending sites. Phillips calls Tigani “a great, great asset.” Phillips would like to see the city strengthen enforcement and streamline the process for responding to complaints; at present, it’s hampered by the fact that multiple agencies are involved (exactly the kind of problem Mamdani’s Commission on Government Efficiency [COGE] has been trying to fix). He’d also like to see city council legislation to increase the fines on repeat offenders.
Phillips also holds dance parties, concerts, and most recently, a well-attended Halloween flash dance party and costume contest in the POPS, spreading the word about the violations but also reclaiming these public spaces for public joy. For the Halloween party, Phillips himself showed up in full king regalia, including a crown and scepter — the Lord of Bench, crowned as such.
While the response to his project is satisfying so far, Phillips would like to see the real estate industry comply more fully, and he thinks Mayor Mamdani’s attention on the issue would help significantly. “This is the one issue I cannot believe he has not said a word on since the moment it started,” Phillips says, noting with some annoyance that many content creators “with far less following, with far less reach” have been in conversation with the mayor. “I’m not one of the crazy guys out here!” says Phillips. “We need his voice on this.”
Phillips’s project — fighting for public control of space against real estate oligarchs who want to take it away — seems closely aligned with Mamdani’s own. Both have been fighting for the working class to quite literally have a place in the city: a bench, an apartment, a park, a soccer field, a night at the opera. Both insist that New York is for everybody.
Phillips, for his part, does not frame his crusade in ideological terms. “This is an issue that transcends everything,” he says. “Doesn’t matter if you’re left, right, green. Everybody’s gonna sit on a bench.”
This article originally appeared in Jacobin, a democratic socialist magazine publishing long-form essays and analysis on politics, economics, and culture. Subscribe to the print edition for $20 a year.











