STOP THE PRESSES… EVEN MORE BIZARRE RIVERSIDE FURNITURE IN THE NEW SOUTHPOINT PARK!
THESE MONSTROSITIES ARE BEING PLACED ON THE EAST SIDE OF THE NEW SOUTHPOINT PARK. WHAT WAS RIOC THINKING? OR NOT THINKING. MOST OF THE BENCHES FACE THE PARK, NOT THE RIVER VIEW!
WE CANNOT EVEN IMAGINE WHAT THIS OBJECT IS SUPPOSED TO BE.
AFTER WORKING SO HARD (WITH LOTS OF COMMUNITY INPUT) A WONDERFUL FDR HOPE MEMORIAL MATERIALIZED.
RIOC WAS LEFT ON THEIR OWN TO MESS UP SOUTHPOINT PARK. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN EVERYONE WAS SUPPOSEDLY “WORKING FROM HOME.” AN PANDEMIC OF BAD DESIGN.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
MONDAY, AUGUST 2, 2021
THE 431st EDITION
A Bizarre
August Tradition
Along Old
New York City’s
Waterfronts
FROM EPHEMERAL NEW YORK
Boys at Rutger’s Slip
The lazy dog days of summer along the waterfronts of late 19th century New York could could also be dangerous, thanks in part to a strange old tradition called “launching day.”
“Splinter Beach” George Bellows 1908
In 1908 On either August 1 or the first Friday in August (sources differ on exactly when it was held and how long it lasted), boys (and some men) along the city’s rivers would pick up another boy or man and launch them into the water. “Yesterday was what the boys along the water front call ‘Launching Day,'” wrote the New York World on August 3, 1897. “They throw each other into the river, clothes and all, saying, ‘Now swim and give yourself a bath.'”
The origins of launching day aren’t clear, but one Brooklyn newspaper stated in 1902 that it “has been a summer event ever since Robert Fulton launched the first steamboat into the Hudson in 1807.”
Launching Day was apparently held in Brooklyn as well. “Tomorrow will also be a fine day for the little boys along the river front who will observe ‘Launching Day,'” reported the Brooklyn Daily Eagle on July 31, 1897, a Saturday. “This juvenile holiday will, in all probability, last for three days, as some little boys do not like to be thrown overboard in their Sunday togs.”
Evening World headline
“August 1 has been known about the waterfront for many years as ‘Launching Day,'” wrote the New-York Herald on August 2, 1900. “Anybody who ventures on a pier is in danger of being thrown into the water….John Kriete, 21 years old, an iceman of 312 East 84th Street, pushed a workman, George Krause, of the same address, overboard at East 100th Street yesterday and fell in afterward himself. Kriete was drowned.”
“In Brooklyn the drowned body of Thomas McGullen, the 10-year-old son of John McGullen of No. 70 Hicks Street, was taken from the water at Henry Street,” wrote the New-York Tribune on August 2, 1903. “He was pushed off the pier by his playmates, who were celebrating ‘launching.’ They thought he could swim.”
The action along an East River dock
Exactly when launching day died out I’m not sure. But by the 1930s, newspapers interviewed people who recalled the tradition.
In the Daily News in 1934, a police reporter wrote: “I’ve known how to swim for 30 years because I was one of the West Side kids who used the Hudson River. We don’t have it now but then we had an annual ‘Launching Day’….Everybody near the water got thrown in, clothes and all. You had to swim or else.”
[Top photo: George Bain Collection/LOC; second image: George Bellows; Third photo: New-York Historical Society; Fourth image: New York Evening World; Fifth image: NYPL]
ED LITCHER, THOM HEYER, NINA LUBLIN, LAURA HUSSEY, ARON EISENPREISS, GLORIA HERMAN, HARA REISER ALL ARE RIGHT.
FROM WIKIPEDIA: The Elephantine Colossus (also known as the Colossal Elephant or the Elephant Colossus, or by its function as the Elephant Hotel) was a tourist attraction located on Coney Island in Brooklyn, New York City. It was built in the shape of an elephant, an example of novelty architecture. The seven story structure designed by James V. Lafferty stood above Surf Avenue and West 12th Street from 1885 until 1896, when it burnt down in a fire. During its lifespan, the thirty-one room building acted as a concert hall and amusement bazaar. It was the second of three elephant buildings built by Lafferty, preceded by the extant Lucy the Elephant near Atlantic City and followed by The Light of Asia in Cape May.
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c)
EPHEMERAL NEW YORK
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
Village Preservation, short for Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation, is a non-profit membership organization that documents, honors and preserves the architectural heritage and cultural history of several neighborhoods in Lower Manhattan. Village Preservation recently received a treasure trove of donated photos of SoHo and Cast Iron New York taken by Edward LaGrassa in 1969, before cast-iron architecture was widely appreciated and rediscovered. These photos also date back to a time when neighborhoods with the greatest concentration of such architecture were either being bulldozed or slated to be by Robert Moses.
The organization painstakingly identified each site and location (where possible) of the unlabeled photos, given to them in support of their fight against a proposed SoHo/NoHo Upzoning plan. They have examined the beautiful black and white photographs taken by a student doing an architectural survey at the time and have analyzed the competing and contradictory forces at play on this part of Lower Manhattan at the time.
287 Broadway. Photo by Edward LaGrassa courtesy Village Preservation
One of the many buildings included in LaGrassa’s collection is the Little Singer Building, at 561 Broadway, designed by Ernest Flagg, the same architect as the the Singer Building in Lower Manhattan which was once the world’s tallest building. It still stands today and its ornamented facade makes it a unique presence in Soho.
The E.V. Haughwout Building is a five-story commercial loft at the corner of Broome Street and Broadway. Built in 1857 with cast-iron facades, it originally housed Eder V. Haughwout’s fashionable emporium, which sold imported cut glass, silverware, handpainted china, and chandeliers. Mary Todd Lincoln actually had new official White House china painted here. The building was also the site of the world’s first successful passenger elevator.
At 101 Spring Street is the Judd Foundation Building, a five story cast-iron building located at the corner of Spring Street and Mercer Street. Constructed in 1870, it was the first building owned by Donald Judd, an American artist associated with the minimalist movement. The building also served as Judd’s studio, where he developed the belief that the placement of a work of art was as critical to its understanding as the work itself. Judd’s installations balance his respect for the historic nature of the landmark cast-iron building and his approach to architecture and design.
Gunther Building in Soho.Photo by Edward LaGrassa courtesy Village Preservation
The Gunther Building at 473 Broome Street was designed by Griffith Thomas in 1871, distinguished from its cast-iron neighbors by its bright white facade, Corinthian columns, and its curved glass corner. Gunther was a prominent 19th century furrier, with the building originally used as a warehouse for textiles and furs. Lenny Kravitz was once a resident of the building, which now serves as an artist co-op.
Bogardus Building getting prepared for demolition. Photo by Edward LaGrassa courtesy Village Preservation
The Bogardus Building was one of the most fascinating buildings in New York’s history, since the remains of it were mysteriously stolen and sold twice. The Bogardus Building/Edward Laing Stores stood at the intersection of Washington and Murray Streets in the Washington Market area. It was one of the first cast-iron buildings in the city, with prefabricated and interchangeable parts. The speed in which the building was constructed–just two months–was related directly with the technological advancements utilized and was certainly a key moment in the evolution of the skyscraper in the late 19th century. However, the Landmarks Preservation Commission recommended that the entire building, particularly the facade, be dismantled and “re-erected as an integral part of a new building,” later determined to be the Manhattan Borough Community College. The townhouses were moved in one piece, to a new location, but the Bogardus building was in such poor shape, it had to be taken down in parts, catalogued, and stored in a vacant lot, all which took place in 1971.
Manhattan Borough Community College would not begin construction until 1974, so the Bogardus building remained in pieces during the interim. Yet the building contractor noticed that people had actually stole some of these remaining pieces. The contractor told police that the perpetrators stole 20 to 30 panels, 2/3 of the facade, over the previous several weeks–22 broken pieces were subsequently found in a Bronx junkyard for $90 a truckload. The rest of the panels were then designated to be included in a building at South Street Seaport, and the rest of the Bogardus building panels were moved to a secret location in a city-owned building on 52nd Street, off 10th Avenue. When architects went to measure the panels with the Commission in June 1977, though, the hidden storage unit was missing all of the panels.
Andrew Berman has been the Executive Director of Village Preservation since 2002. During that time, the group, the largest neighborhood preservation organization in New York City, has secured landmark designation of more than 1,250 buildings, including 11 new historic districts and historic district extensions and dozens of individual landmarks, and zoning protections for nearly 100 blocks to help preserve the scale and character of historic neighborhoods. Prior to Village Preservation Berman worked in both city and state government, and has a background in architectural history.
BLACKWELL’S ISLAND PENITENTIARY UNDER DEMOLITION IN 1936
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
IMAGES AND TEXT COURTESY
UNTAPPED NEW YORK (C)
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE R.I.H.S. WE WELCOME ALL TO LEARN ABOUT THE SOCIETY.
Our next board meeting is scheduled for Wednesday, August 11th at 5 p.m. Please tell me if you want in-person or Zoom. All members and friends and those just curious are invited to attend. E-mail or text if you are interested in attending.
FRIDAY, JULY 30, 2021
The
429th Edition
The Age of Glamorous
Steamboats
on the East River
STEPHEN BLANK
The Age of Glamorous Steamboats on the East River
Stephen Blank
In my last essay, I described how splendid steamboats plied the East River as well as the Hudson. The most dazzling of these were the steamboats of the Fall River Line. Fall River Line was a combination steamboat and railroad connection between New York City and Boston that operated between 1847 and 1937. (Note, I have drawn heavily in this piece from two super articles on the Fall River Line by Michael Grace.)
What’s most interesting to me is that this combo line continued to operate – and to be a social high point – not only through the great rail era in the US but well into the time of air travel as well. It became a continuing element of high society. The Fall River Line also provides a window on the internecine struggles of the great robber barons of the Gilded Age.
Old Colony Railroad
Let’s begin with the landside, the Old Colony Railroad. The OC was a major railroad system which operated from 1845 to 1893. Its network ran from New York to Boston and southeastern Massachusetts. For many years, the OC also operated steamboat and ferry lines, including the Fall River Line. It grew by mergers and acquisitions until it was itself acquired by the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad in 1893. The acquisition was part of J. P. Morgan’s plan to monopolize New England transportation, including railroads and steamship lines, and build a network of electrified trolley lines to provide interurban transportation for all of southern New England. By 1912, Morgan’s railroad practically monopolized traffic from Boston to New York City.
Fall River Line The Fall River Line, known originally as the Bay State Steamboat Company, was launched in 1847, backed, among others, by members of the Borden family (remember Lizzie?). Sailing from New York, the Fall River boats steamed up the East River in the early evening; up to Hell Gate, then down the Long Island sound; calling at Newport in the middle of the night and in the morning landing at the Fall River dock. Boston was just a train ride away with connections north to Maine’s major cities and resorts.
Michael Grace writes “Of all the fleets that plied the Sound, there was never any quite like the Fall River Line. Songs were written about it. Nearly all the presidents and most of the great men and women of that long period traveled it—the famous boat train from Boston in the late afternoon, then off the cars and into the boat at the Fall River wharf, in time to dine in the line sea air while steaming down Narragansett Bay, past Newport, to head around treacherous Point Judith and thence westward through The Race into the Sound. A fine sleep and into New York in time for business in the morning: it was the recommended route.”
The Fall River Line’s first steamer was the Bay State, 300 feet long and forty wide, lit by oil lamps at night. Her cuisine attained considerable renown, at fifty cents for the grand table d’hôte dinner, served at long candlelit tables. These were no ferry boats, and they were modeled on the grand manner of the transatlantic trade. The line was so profitable that two new boats, the Empire State, and the Metropolis, could be bought out of profits in a few years. Soon, Wall Street men moved in to begin a series of major financial mergers and shufflings which lasted over many years.
Featured image Fall River Line night boats docked at Pier 14 in Manhattan, newyorksocialdiary.comFall River Steamer – Digital Commonwealth
One “Wall Street man” in particular is remembered, “Admiral” Jim Fisk (“If Vanderbilt’s a Commodore, I can be an Admiral!”) soon to be owner of everything from railroads to judges. Representing some Boston capitalists, he outsmarted Daniel Drew, a longtime rival of Vanderbilt, into selling out his rival steamboat interest, and this gave him power as the president of a great steamboat line.
After Fisk’s death, when his mistress’s other lover shot him on the stairs of the Grand Central Hotel, the line was restructured, becoming the Old Colony Steamboat Company, under railroad control. Later it was absorbed, along with the Old Colony Railroad, by Morgan’s New Haven in the 1890’s.
Competition was brisk, principally from the Stonington Line, which was called “Old Reliable,” only to run two of its best ships aground one after the other, and then to have two others, the sister ships Narragansett and Stonington, collide off Cornfield Point, near Saybrook, Connecticut, with a loss of 27 lives. Presently this line too was swallowed up in the Morgan mergers.
But the Fall River Line, with the largest and most magnificent and most perfectly equipped river going vessels in the world, remained preeminent. Its modern steam-electricity technology, brightened by music from top groups, and with grand meals in the elegant dining salon attracted the nation’s social leaders. The palatial steamboats Priscilla and Commonwealth were the greatest of the Fall River Line fleet. These ships, it was claimed, could carry as many passengers and as much freight as the great Atlantic liners, Lusitania and Mauretania, on about one-sixth the displacement. Their accommodations, it was said, were often superior to those on all but the most luxurious North Atlantic liners. With over 300 first class staterooms, plus 15 parlor bedroom suites, a crew of 250 needed to operate the Priscilla and Commonwealth.
Grace: “No steamship service under the American flag, not excluding the North Atlantic liners, was more beloved by the traveling public than the Fall River Line or more greatly mourned when it was no more. A naval architect wrote, ‘The passenger steamers of the Fall River Line are absolutely the finest ships in the world for passenger service on inland waters. We may well be proud of the Fall River Line boats as creations distinctly American along with the elegance and service found in the greatest European hotels.’”
Newport and Wickford Railroad and Steamboat Company
The Gilded Age wealthy traveled elsewhere as well, to less trafficked destinations where they built vast summer “cottages”, namely Newport and Conanicut Island and Narragansett. Getting there was not convenient. A group of well to do New Yorkers decided to make things easier. Cornelius Vanderbilt II and his brother Frederick, formed the Newport and Wickford Railroad and Steamboat Company with several other investors. Other members of the board included political figures like Senator George Peabody Wetmore and Congressman George Gordon King. They constructed and operated a rail line a mere three-and-a half miles long. The track ran from the mainline New York, Providence & Boston stop at Wickford Junction to the port of Wickford, where a company-owned steamboat could bring passengers across to Newport. The little steamboat was not grand, but its passengers were. The N&W began service in 1871, the start of the Gilded Age, and managed to provide combined rail and steamship service until 1925.
Travelers were soon arriving from as far away as Chicago and St. Louis. The private rail cars of the wealthy New Yorkers were backed onto the siding where the N&W’s sole locomotive patiently waited to haul them to Wickford Harbor. For those without a private Pullman parlor car, the mainline railroad added a “Newport Car” reserved for passengers also heading to the City by water.
The Sad End
But no dream lasts forever and our grand steamers were finally junked or sold. Why? The opening of the Cape Cod Cana created a faster and safer all water route. Cheaper New York-Boston rail service diminished demand. Most of all, the private automobile and an improving road network was the most important factor. As the Great Depression wore on, line after line disappeared until only the Fall River route remained of all the once far-flung New Haven Railroad steamboat network.
Last words from Michael Grace, “… a generation has grown up since the line stopped operating in 1937, a generation which never strolled the deep-carpeted saloon and decks, eyeing the drummers and men of property and occasional flashy women, and never awoke to peer through the porthole at Hell Gate Bridge and take a hearty breakfast while the ‘mammoth palace steamer’ steamed round the Battery and swung into her Hudson River berth.” Goodness, goodness, goodness. Don’t you wish you had had the opportunity to sail on the Fall River Line? (And those “flashy women”.)
SIEGEL COOPER DEPARTMENT STORE 18-19 STREETS ON SIXTH AVENUE
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c)
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
The three Stern brothers from Buffalo had outgrown their previous shop on West 23rd Street as well as their first New York City store, established in 1867, around the corner at 367 Sixth Avenue). So a new cathedral of commerce was needed, and it featured a stunning cast-iron facade and five stories of selling space.
Stern’s was now the city’s biggest department store—one that catered to both aspirational middle-class shoppers and the wealthy carriage trade. These elite shoppers entered a separate door on 22nd Street, so as not to rub shoulders with the riffraff.
But everyone who came to Stern’s left feeling like a million bucks.
”When the customer entered the store, he was welcomed personally by one of the Stern brothers, all of whom wore gray-striped trousers and cutaway tailcoats,” wrote the New York Times in 2001, quoting Larry Stone, who started at Stern’s in 1948 as a trainee and retired as chief executive in 1993. ”Pageboys escorted the customer to the department in which they wished to shop, and purchases were sent out in elegant horse-drawn carriages and delivered by liveried footmen.”
Stern’s was such a popular spot on 23rd Street—the northern border of what became known as the Ladies Mile Shopping District, where women were free to browse and buy without having to be escorted by their husbands or fathers—this dry goods emporium was enlarged in 1892.
The store was always a stop for tourists, too. “We got off [the Broadway car] at 23rd Street and Josie took us to the Stern Brothers, one of the large and select dry goods houses where we saw the latest fashions,” wrote 12-year-old Naomi King, who kept a travel diary of her visit to the city with her parents from Indiana in 1899. King wrote that she saw “all the new spring styles [and] the new spring color: amethyst, purple, or violet in all shades [and] stripes extending to gentlemen’s cravats in Roman colors.”
But Stern’s reign as one of the most popular shops on Ladies Mile wouldn’t last—mainly because Ladies Mile didn’t last. Macy’s was the first store to relocate uptown, from 14th Street and Sixth Avenue to Herald Square, in 1903.
Other big-name department stores followed. Stern’s made the jump to 42nd Street and Sixth Avenue in 1913, leaving their old building behind, according to a 1967 New York Times article marking the store’s centennial. For most of the 20th century, the palatial building on 23rd Street was used for light industry and commercial concerns.
The 42nd Street flagship store would ultimately close in 1970, wrote Gerard R. Wolfe in New York: A Guide to the Metropolis. By 2001, Stern’s shut down all of its stores and went out of business.
Since 2000s, Home Depot has occupied the old Stern’s dry goods palace, and it seems as if every trace of Stern’s has long been striped from the building.
Except on the facade. If you look up above the Home Depot Sign, you can see the initials “SB,” a permanent reminder of this magnificent building’s original triumphant owners.
[Top three images: NYPL Digital Collection] Tags: Home Depot 23rd Street NYC, Ladies Mile 23rd Street, Ladies Mile Shopping NYC, Stern Brothers department store NYC, Stern Brothers Store New York City, Stern’s 23rd Street NYC, Stern’s Store 42nd Street NYC Posted in Chelsea, Defunct department stores, Fashion and shopping, Old print ads, Random signage, Upper East Side
THURSDAY PHOTO OF THE DAY Can you identify this photo from today’s edition? Send you submission to ROOSEVELTISLANDHISTORY@GMAIL.COM
WEDNESDAY PHOTO OF THE DAY
Take a close look and realize that this is a pavilion to the south of the Holy Spirit Chapel, today The Sanctuary. Photo from the NYC Municipal Archives. I have never seen any other images of this pavilion, on the location south of the current tented area.
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
EPHEMERAL NEW YORK
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
The play area in Blackwell Park was demolished today. By current standards a playground built with wooden boulders, bricks, metal slides and metal climbing device is so unsafe it had to be removed. A bulldozer made waste of the area this morning.
The site will be paved over and left to the open since RIOC canceled the reading and sitting area that would adjoin the new library.
The Learning Library will continue on the adjoining site.
It is a pity RIOC cared not for an improved area and just chose the easy solution, a bulldozer.
Do you have photos of your kids in the area? Please send them to us as a reminder of the little that remains of our original plans, either good, bad, innovative or dangerous.
FROM THE ARCHIVES
WEDNESDAY, JULY 28, 2021
427st ISSUE
All the Arches
That were Built
(and then bulldozed) in
Madison Square
FROM EPHEMERAL NEW YORK
All the arches that were built (and then bulldozed) in Madison Square Arch fever at Madison Square Park started in 1889. That’s the year a pair of elaborate wood arches festooned with American flags were built to commemorate the centennial of George Washington’s inauguration. One arch went up outside the 23rd Street and Broadway entrance to the park (above photo), and the other was constructed on the 26th Street side (below). The city threw an impressive party for the first president, but after the festivities honoring Washington ended, the two arches were reduced to rubble.
But arches in general were quite popular all over the Beaux-Arts city through the end of the Gilded Age. So 10 years later, another arch was unveiled beside the Fifth Avenue Hotel at 24th Street and Broadway.This impressive structure was the Dewey Arch (above), named for Admiral George Dewey, whose victory at the Battle of Manila Bay during the Spanish-American War earned him national hero status. Dewey was coming to New York to be honored with a parade and a flotilla of ships, and city officials hoped to welcome him in triumphant style.
The ostentatious arch reflected that spirit. “The Dewey Arch, designed by architect Charles R. Lamb, was based on the Arch of Titus in Rome and was produced by 28 sculptors,” wrote flatirondistrict.nyc. “It was topped by a quadriga, a chariot pulled by four horses running abreast. This one, in keeping with the occasion, depicted four seahorses pulling a ship.”After the Dewey celebration, calls went out to turn this temporary arch (made from staff, a mixture of plaster and wood shavings) into a permanent one. Unfortunately, the Dewey Arch was “carted away” later that year, already picked apart by vandals, according to Daniel B. Schneider in The New York Times FYI column in 1999. The public lost interest in Dewey by then anyway.
But Madison Square Park wasn’t done with arches yet. In 1918, a fourth arch, called the Victory Arch, would be unveiled at Fifth Avenue and 24th Street. The Victory Arch was the brainchild of Mayor John Hylan, a way to honor the fallen soldiers from World War I as well as the men who were returning from Europe.“The $80,000 triple arch was designed by Thomas Hastings in temporary materials and modeled after the Arch of Constantine in Rome, with relief panels commemorating important battles, war service organizations, and industrial might—like munitions makers,” wrote Christopher Gray in the New York Times in 1994.
As with the Dewey Arch, many New Yorkers wanted the Victory Arch to be permanent. Of course, it had plenty of critics as well. “Fiorello H. LaGuardia, as a candidate for President of the Board of Alderman in 1919, denounced the project as the ‘Altar of Extravagance,’ stated Gray.By 1919, thousands of doughboys had marched through the Victory Arch during the many parades held by the city. It must have been quite a shock, then, to watch the arch be demolished in the summer of 1920—a victim of “bureaucratic infighting,” according to Allison McNearney in The Daily Beast.
Madison Square Park remains arch-less a century later—but it wasn’t for a lack of trying.
In 2008, the Alumni of the Metropolitan Hospital School of Nursing presented this sundial to the Octagon developer, Bruce Becker. The sundial was placed in the triangular turn-around outside the building. It was surround by three benches, flowering trees and foliage.
Last year, the current management removed the sundial and benches. We now have an oversize building sign with 3 “888” mounted on the top.
It was a sad loss of an island memento, the loss of a beautiful pear tree and three benches.
AN AREA ON THE NORTHBOUND #1 PLATFORM COLUMBUS CIRCLE STATION
HAS A UNIQUE DISPLAY OF TILE SAMPLES. THESE WERE DISCOVERED DURING RENOVATIONS. THEY HAVE BEEN PRESERVED FOR PASSENGERS TO SEE THE TYPES OF TILEWORKS THAT WERE BEING TESTED.
HARA REISER AND ALEXIS VILLAFANE GOT IT RIGHT
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
EPHEMERAL NEW YORK
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
Ida Abelman, Greetings from a Manhattan Artist, ca. 1939, color lithograph on paper, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Transfer from D.C. Public Library, 1967.72.1
Ida Abelman is well known for her combination of different styles of art, including surrealism, constructivism, and social realism. It is important to define the themes in her artwork because only then can it be framed in the context of social commentary appropriate for the time period. Art themes that convey important social, economic, and political messages of the time transform the function of works from “for viewing purposes” to “for learning purposes”
Surrealism: the goal of surrealism was to release the creative unconscious through the juxtaposition of irrational images.
Constructivism: Constructivism is a form of art that supports the use of architecture, graphic design, illustration, theater, film, dance, music, and other forms of art as a practice having social impact, that is, created with a message.
Social realism: Social realism describes the work of artists that draw attention to the struggles and realistic conditions of the poor and working class. These paintings, photographs, and/or films criticize the social structure that cause or maintain these conditions.
Ida Abelman, Machine + “El” Patterns, 1935-1943, color lithograph on paper, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Transfer from the Internal Revenue Service through the General Services Administration , 1962.8.76
Ida Abelman, A Manhattan Landscape with Figures, 1936, lithograph on paper, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Museum purchase, 1976.90.2
Ida Abelman, My Father Reminisces, 1937, lithograph, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Transfer from D.C. Public Library, 1967.72.4
Publisher: Published by WPA Date: 1935–43 Medium: Lithograph Dimensions: image: 10 x 12 in. (25.4 x 30.5 cm) sheet: 11 1/2 x 16 in. (29.2 x 40.6 cm) Classification: Prints Credit Line: Gift of New York City WPA, 1943
This painting most obviously demonstrates social realism by illustrating how machines encompassed men at the time. The Great Depression was characterized by a heavy emphasis in the machine industry. The Industrial Revolution, the transition to new manufacturing processes, had occurred almost 100 years ago. The most accessible job market was that of manufacturing. In this way the painting shows the struggles of the working class to find positions that paid enough to uphold themselves or their families and not physically injure themselves in the process.
Publisher: Published by WPA Date: 1937 Medium: Lithograph Dimensions: image: 14 x 10 in. (35.6 x 25.4 cm) sheet: 15 3/4 x 11 1/2 in. (40 x 29.2 cm) Classification: Prints Credit Line: Gift of the Work Projects Administration, New York, 1943
“Street Patterns” was painted by Ida Abelman in 1937, and represents an abstract depiction of the New York City Skyline from a rooftop. There is integration of skyscrapers, and the shadow made from the viewpoint seems to resemble a guitar neck. The usage of dark shades of grey, black, and white are consistent with her depressive themes. Indeed, the city seems still, which reflects the aura of the Great Depression.
Publisher:Published by Federal Art Project, WPA, New York. Date: 1937 Medium: Lithograph Dimensions: 29.5 x 38.4 cm. (11.6 x 15.1 in.) Classification: Prints
“Wonders of Our Time” was painted by Ida Abelman in 1937 and can be found in the Whitney Museum of Art. It is consistent with the social changes of New York City at the time, as the city had begun construction on the subway system only 30 years prior, and it was rapidly spreading. It varies in its black, white, and grey shades to create a somber mood regarding the city. This can be connected to using the subway as a work commute, path to interviews, or other events that are associated with the Great Depression. The odd angles of the train and exaggerated facial expressions uphold Abelman’s constant themes of Surrealism. “Some of the figures look back at the viewer as if, in an act of desperation, to ask for help. The scene reveals an unnerving parallel between competition for seats among subway riders and Dawin’s theory of natural selection. As Abelman’s passengers squeeze their way into the war, the fittest, or the most aggressive, get seats while the weakest are left behind. Crowding was always a problem in the subway, but after World War I it became unbearable.”
RENDERINGS OF THE OCTAGON FROM “THE ISLAND NOBODY KNOWS” UDC 1969 THOM HEYER, NANCY BROWN, HARA REISER, JOAN BROOKS, ALEXIS VILLAFANE, ARLENE BESSENOFF ALL GOT IT RIGHT
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
SMITHSONIAN AMERICAN ART MUSEUM WORDPRESS
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
The Nassau, a twin-hulled boat, was the first regularly scheduled steam-powered ferry from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Credit…Brooklyn Historical Society
Steaming on the East River
Stephen Blank
The East River has long been a key thoroughfare for profit and pleasure. A big change, of course, was the advent of steam propulsion. Bigger craft, more people, more business. We’ve seen many pictures of great steamships on the Hudson. But our river, too, had some glorious steamers. So join me for a trip down memory lane, steaming on the East River.
Talking steamboats, begin with Fulton, inventor of the first successful steamboat and the first to put a steamboat on the East River. In 1814, Robert Fulton and William Cutting, his brother-in-law, formed the New York & Brooklyn Steamboat Ferry Association and obtained a lease from the City to establish a steam-powered ferry to cross the river. Fulton’s ferry crossed at the its narrowest point, some 700 yards between what is now Fulton Street in Brooklyn and Fulton Street in Manhattan, between where the River Café is today, beneath the Brooklyn Bridge, and the South Street Seaport. The first ferry was named Nassau. The twin-hulled boat carried 549 passengers, one wagon and three horses. The trip took 5 to 12 minutes and was no longer subject to the mercy of the winds and the East River’s punishing tides. The Nassau was captained by Peter Coffee, who would remain with the company that operated the vessel for 50 years.
Yes, I know this is not really glam travel, it’s commuting.
So how about the fine line of “Sylvan” steamboats which raced up and down the East River from Peck’s Slip (just south of the Brooklyn Bridge, which didn’t exist) to 120th and 130th Streets in Harlem via a stop in Astoria and through Hell Gate?
Why Harlem? For pleasure and profit. The flat, rich, eastern portion of Harlem was fertile farmland, and some of New York’s most illustrious early families, like the Delanceys, Bleekers, Rikers, Beekmans, and Hamiltons kept large estates in the high western section. Harlem recovered slowly from the Revolutionary war struggles that took place there and remained largely rural through the early 19th century. Some of the estates were available at knockdown prices, and Harlem also attracted new immigrants to the City. Undeveloped, but not poor. It is said that Harlem was “a synonym for elegant living through a good part of the nineteenth century.”
To reach Harlem from lower Manhattan Island by stagecoach and later by horse car took a hard hour and a half to two hour ride. But by boat, there was no lovelier vista than the banks of the East River from Jones’ Wood north, where the shore was dotted by splendid country homes with large grounds of well-to-do New Yorkers – except when steaming past Blackwell’s Island.
The Harlem and New York Navigation Company was incorporated in 1856 and the “Sylvan Shore,” the first of this company’s line of “Sylvan” boats, was built that year. Four more “Sylvans” would appear over the next dozen years. The steamboats did the Harlem run on weekdays and excursions to points along the Sound on Sundays.
Steamboat “Sylvan Shore”, James Bard (1815–1897), New York Historical Society
The business went well. Not only did the Sylvan boats grow in number, but another line, the Morrisania steamboat line, joined in as a competitor. Their steamship “Shady Side” carried passengers to upper Manhattan and the Bronx. The Shady Side was the fastest Morrisania boat and frequently raced against the Harlem Line’s swiftest ship, the Sylvan Dell – much to the distress at times of the police. The Sylvan Dell carried on her bow mast an unusual but significant flag – a race horse with a jockey instead of the name of the boat.
Steamboat Shady Side, James Bard (1815–1897), New York Historical Society
By 1867 the elevated railroads were being talked of seriously, experiments projected, and in 1875 the Legislature favored granting a franchise for the elevated roads. The elevated opened for operations in 1876, but it was not until after 1880 that the elevated lines on both sides of the city were extended to Harlem. Simultaneously with that accomplishment the patronage of the Harlem and Morrisania declined.
They were attractive but fairly small sidewheel steamboats. We assume they were nicely fitted out with comfortable lounges but no overnight facilities, but we really don’t know the details. We know more about the spectacular vessels that sailed past our Island in the high age of East River steamboating. Stately sidewheelers connected Peck’s Slip with Hartford, Boston and locations between. One author rhapsodizes “These Long Island Sound steamers, unlike the tubby, wedding cake dowagers of Western waters, were long, sleek craft, with sharp prows cutting a neat wake as they cruised along. Departing each afternoon from State Street or Talcott Street wharf in Hartford, the ‘night boats’ reached New York at daybreak, inaugurating a pattern of city commuting that continues to this day.“
Other destinations were reached by a water-rail combination. The Old Colony Railroad developed a network of railroad lines extending from New York to Boston and southeastern Massachusetts. Steamers connected the railroad lines at various points. Established in 1847, the line was originally owned by the Bay State Steamboat Company.
The classic example was The Fall River Line, a combination steamboat and railroad connection between New York City and Boston that operated between 1847 and 1937. Sailing from New York, the Fall River boats paddled up the East River in the early evenings of dusk; up to Hell Gate then down the Long Island sound; calling at Newport in the middle of the night and the morning they landed at the Fall River dock. Boston was just a train ride away with connections north to Maine’s major cities and resorts.
For many years, this was the preferred route for travel between the two major cities. The Long Island Sound steamboats became firmly established with the public as the safe and comfortable way for New Yorkers to go to Boston since they avoided the long, hazardous water route around Cape Cod and the longer crowded train trip all the way from New York. The line was extremely popular, and its steamboats were among the most advanced and luxurious of their day. Everyone from presidents to swindlers sailed the Sound on “Mammoth Palace Steamers” in the heyday of the side-wheelers.
Big paddle steamers, gleaming white, ornamental and luxurious, touched all the islands and reached up the long tidal rivers, carrying “The Four Hundred” – New York’s Gilded Age High Society. Nineteenth Century steamboat men looked down on the railroads as mere “feeders,” and even later through trains ran rapidly along the shore from Boston to New York they maintained, for some time, the favorite of travelers. Old Commodore Vanderbilt and Daniel Drew struggled for power on the Sound before they began to battle for greater prizes among the railroads; its waters were controlled in turn by Jim Fisk and J. P. Morgan, who eventually brought almost all the various steamboat lines under control of his New Haven Railroad. The star of the Fall River Line was the steamship Priscilla.
Judy Berdy has written about the Priscilla in an earlier number of the Almanac but I will tell you more about the Fall River Line and its rivals in my next essay.
Fall River Line ships Priscilla and Puritan steaming under the abuilding Queensboro Bridge and past the Octagon on Blackwell’s Island
Competition on these routes grew. The Lexington was a paddlewheel steamboat that provided service between New York City and Providence, Rhode Island. It was commissioned by Cornelius Vanderbilt in 1835, and at 220 feet in length was considered one of the most luxurious steamers in operation. In 1837, the Lexington switched to the route between New York and Stonington, Connecticut, to connect with the newly built Old Colony railroad to Boston.
And dangers too. On the night of January 13, 1840, midway through the ship’s voyage through the Sound, the casing around the ship’s smokestack caught fire and ignited 150 bales of cotton that were stored on deck aft of the smokestack. The fire was out of control and the order was given to abandon ship. The ships’ overcrowded lifeboats sank almost immediately, leaving the ship’s passengers and crew to drown in the freezing water. Rough water, poor visibility, the frigid cold and the wind made rescue attempts impossible. Of the 143 people on board the Lexington that night, only 4 survived.
Thanks for reading. I’ll be back soon with more on the East River steamboat business, its pleasures and perils.
Stephen Blank RIHS July 11, 2021
THANKS TO GLORIA HERMAN AND HER GRANDKIDS FOR HELPING WEEDING AND FIXING UP THE KIOSK GARDEN TODAY.
Elijah (Eli) and Thomson (Sonny) are 11 and Eadie is 9.
ONE OF THE DECORATED WALLS AND MOTIFS OUTSIDE “THE SANCTUARY” IS THIS GREAT GREETING FROM ROOSEVELT ISLAND MURAL AND SPOT FOR A PHOTO.
WEEKEND PHOTO OF THE DAY #2
(SOMEONE FORGOT TO POST ONE OF THESE ANSWERS) FORMER TRIBORO HOSPITAL NOW UNDER RESTORATION INTO AFFORDABLE HOUSING IN JAMAICA, QUEENS. Ed Litcher, Andy Sparberg and Harriet Lieber got it right
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c)
A.J.Wall, “The Sylvan Steamboats on the East River, New York to Harlem”, THE NEW-YORK HISTORICAL SOCIETY QUARTERLY BULLETIN VOL. VIII OCTOBER, 1924 No. 3
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
Guy Ludwig and Ed Lticher added great history Thanks
I believe today’s historic photograph is of the White Star Line’s pier complex on the Hudson river. This is where the Titanic would have tied up had she made it. The Titanic (and her sisters the Olympic and the Gigantic – no kidding, but she was renamed Britannic) flew the flag of White Star Lines, a company controlled by J.P. Morgan. Following the Titanic disaster, White Star became an easy target for acquisition by the most powerful transatlantic line, Cunard. Four years after Titanic sank, the Britannic went to the bottom of the Aegean Sea after hitting a mine. It took until the 1930’s but eventually Cunard did merge with White Star, and in 1949 bought out firm completely and retired its name.
Guy Ludwig Westview
Chelsea PiersDesigned by the architectural firm of Warren and Wetmore, which was also designing Grand Central Terminal at the same time, the Chelsea Piers replaced a hodgepodge of run-down waterfront structures with a magnificent row of grand buildings embellished with pink granite facades.In 1910, the opening of the Chelsea Piers was marked with a ribbon cutting and speeches, including lots of back-patting after 30 long years of talk and 8 years of construction. In 1907, even before the piers were completed, the first of the new luxury liners, the Lusitania and Mauretania, docked there. The man responsible for the completion of the piers, Mayor George B. McClellan, wasn’t even in office when the liner Oceanic broke through a colorful wide ribbon to signal the official opening of the Chelsea Piers. The next day The New York Times called them “the most remarkable urban design achievement of their day.”For the next 50 years, the Chelsea Piers served the needs of the New York port: first, as the city’s premier passenger ship terminal; then as an embarkation point for soldiers departing for the battlefields of World Wars I and II; and finally, during the late 1950s and early 1960s, as a cargo terminal.After that, the Chelsea Piers, like much of Manhattan’s waterfront, became neglected maritime relics, made obsolete by the jet plane that whisked passengers across the Atlantic and the large container ships that required dock facilities and truck linkages that Manhattan could never provide.
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Deborah Dorff Roosevelt Island Historical Society
NYC HEALTH + HOSPITALS
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
Judith Berdy with Xiomara Wallace, Office of Community Relations, NY H+H.
I had the honor to receive a Marjorie Matthews Award today for service with the Coler Community Advisory Board and the Coler Auxiliary. The ceremony was held at the Queens Hospital Center.
There are over 500 volunteers who work on these committees to make our municipal hospitals better serve all the residents of New York City,
Of course being there, I had to find out about the wonderful WPA mural that is in the main corridor and the progress of converting Triboro Hospital into affordable housing.
Above: The Grand Republic steamship. As you can see from its paddlewheel, it was a twin to the General Slocum
East River Maritime Disasters
Stephen Blank
OK. By popular demand, one more – but only one more – East River ship story.
How about East River Maritime disasters? Turns out the East River has been a pretty dangerous place. Many serious shipping accidents have occurred in this short non-river (tidal estuary, to be precise). The most famous was the terrible General Slocum fire in 1904. Most of us have heard the name but don’t really know much about it. General Slocum was a triple-decker wooden side paddler that took folks on excursions around New York City. On Wednesday, June 15, 1904, the ship was chartered for $350 by St. Mark’s Evangelical Lutheran Church. The Church’s parish drew on German immigrants in the Lower East Side and East Village (then known as “Little Germany”). This was the trip’s 17th consecutive year, during a period when German settlers moved out of Little Germany for the Upper East and West Sides. Almost 1,400 passengers, mostly women and children (fewer than 150 were adult males) boarded General Slocum, which was to sail up the East River and then across the Long Island Sound to Locust Grove, a picnic site in Eatons Neck, Long Island.
But the steamboat caught fire and sank. In just 20 minutes, more than 1,000 people died. Prior to 9-11, the burning of the General Slocum had the highest death toll of any disaster in New York City history. It is the worst maritime disaster in the city’s history, and the second worst maritime disaster on United States waterways.
The excursion boat General Slocum lies beached off North Brother Island New York City’s East River, following a fire and resulting panic. The disaster cost the lives of 1,030 mostly German immigrants, June 15, 1904. (AP)
It was a preventable disaster. The crew was inexperienced and never conducted a fire drill. Some passengers jumped overboard but most of the ship’s lifejackets proved worthless because the cork then used for buoyancy, had turned to dust. Even worse, investigations discovered that Nonpareil Cork Works, supplier of cork for the life preservers, had placed 8 once iron bars inside the cork materials to meet minimum content requirements (6 pounds of “good cork” for each lifejacket) at the time. As the ship raced to shallow water the crew tried to fight the blaze, but the elderly fire hoses burst under the pressure. The Captain decided to continue his course rather than run the ship aground or stop at a nearby landing. By going into headwinds and failing to immediately ground the ship, he fanned the fire and promoted its spread from fore to aft. And he jumped ship as soon as he could. ‘
The Slocum disaster may have been the worst on the East River. But there were more.
The steamship caught fire just as it was in Hell Gate, the turbulent waters north of Blackwell’s (Roosevelt) Island, a particularly wicked part of the East River. Many tales have been told about the hundreds – even thousands – of ships sunk or damaged making this treacherous passage.
Indeed, histories repeat the same refrain: “Hundreds of ships have sunk into Hell Gate” “By the 1850s, one in fifty ships passing through the Hell Gate were either damaged or sunk—an annual average of 1,000 ships ran aground in the strait.” This is found again and again in the literature.
No less interesting than this Hell Gate horror story is the finding that while this liturgy is often repeated, evidence of these many maritime calamities never appears. (Where sources are indicated – rarely – they quote each other.) A thousand ships a year run aground just north of our island?? Why the north end of our island should have been littered in wreckage and bodies. The picture that these tales create was well captured by this dramatic painting of chaos in Hell Gate. (So many ships are waiting to run the gauntlet!) I suspect the reality of the numbers is as true as the reality of this image.
However, we know of one famous victim of Hell Gate, H.M.S. Hussar. She was a 28-gun, 6th-rate, Mermaid Class Frigate of the British Royal Navy with a crew of over one hundred. Built in 1763, the ship fought in sea battles off the coasts of Ireland and Portugal before being dispatched to New York in November 1780 to fight the colonists.
On 23 November 1780, against his pilot’s better judgment, Hussar’s captain decided to sail from the East River through the treacherous waters of Hell Gate between Randall’s Island and Astoria. Just before reaching Long Island Sound, Hussar was swept onto Pot Rock and began sinking. Pole was unable to run her aground and she sank in 96 feet of water.
What makes this loss of a relatively minor ship so interesting is that the British army’s payroll was to be moved to Gardiners Bay – aboard, of course, H.M.S. Hussar. The Brits owed a lot of back pay to its soldiers, and Hussar arrived in Manhattan with wages and 70 American prisoners of war. The exact amount is under dispute, but some say it might have been 960,000 British pounds in gold, worth roughly $576 million at the time. Various accounts of the tragedy emerged, but the British immediately denied that any payroll of gold guineas or sterling silver was consigned on the voyage. The survivors never mentioned a valuable cargo, nor was there any listed on the cargo manifest. The best bet is that the gold and silver was offloaded before the accident. The Brits denied the payroll delivery, but were suspect when they conducted extensive salvage efforts.
Occasional efforts are still made to find the treasure on the bottom of Hell Gate. A NY Times reporter in 2013 wrote, “The Hussar is the ship that got away. It has long been part of the lore of a South Bronx community that is among the poorest in the nation, promising untold riches for anyone with the imagination and courage to pluck it from the mud and trash of the East River. Its call has enthralled generations of residents and historians, and lured numerous fortune seekers.”
H.M.S. Hussar, National Maritime Museum
Two other East River maritime catastrophes are remembered today, probably because of the graphic images created at the time.
On October 7, 1833 steamship New England ploughed up the East River, destined for Hartford. Arriving off Essex at 3:00 am, the engine was stopped but both boilers exploded “with a noise like heavy cannon. The shock was dreadful; and the scene which followed … [w]as awful and heart-rending beyond description.”
New England burst its boilers off Essex, October 8, 1833, killing 13 people. Woodcut from Steamboat Disasters and Railroad Accidents in the United States by Warren Lazell, 1846
The ladies’ cabin suffered the worst: “Those who on first alarm, sprang from their berths, were more or less scalded. All who were on deck abaft the boilers, were either killed or wounded….Thirteen people perished, including five crewmen.
And mentioned in an earlier essay, Lexington was a paddlewheel steamboat servicing New York City and Providence. Commissioned by Cornelius Vanderbilt in 1835, it was considered one of the most luxurious steamers in operation. In 1837, the Lexington switched to the route between New York and Stonington, Connecticut, to connect with the newly built Old Colony railroad to Boston.
Hartford lithographers D. W. Kellogg & Co. published this view of the doomed Lexington sometime after Nathaniel Currier’s print was released. Survivors can be seen clinging to floating debris in the foreground. 2003.263.0
On the night of January 13, 1840, midway through the ship’s voyage through the Sound, a fire ignited bales of cotton that were stored (illegally) on deck. The fire went out of control and the order was given to abandon ship. The ships’ overcrowded lifeboats sank almost immediately, leaving the ship’s passengers and crew to drown in the freezing water. Rough water, poor visibility, the frigid cold and the wind made rescue attempts impossible. Of the 143 people on board the Lexington that night, only 4 survived.
These are the East River maritime disasters we remember. Over the years, there were many more incidents and even sinkings – if not hundreds or thousands. The East River was a turbulent and troubled and extraordinarily busy waterway. And as we see every day, it still is. Thanks for reading.
GLORIA HERMAN, ALEXIS VILLAFANE, AND LAURA HUSSEY GOT IT RIGHT
Text by Judith Berdy Thanks to Bobbie Slonevsky for her dedication to Blackwell’s Almanac and the RIHS Thanks to Deborah Dorff for maintaining our website Edited by Melanie Colter and Deborah Dorff All image are copyrighted (c)
Sources
All image are copyrighted (c) Roosevelt Island Historical Society unless otherwise indicated
FUNDING PROVIDED BY ROOSEVELT ISLAND OPERATING CORPORATION PUBLIC PURPOSE GRANTS CITY COUNCIL REPRESENTATIVE BEN KALLOS DISCRETIONARY FUNDING THRU DYCD
