Walking Is Transportation

HOW A PLACE BECOMES YOUR HOME • WIT's FIRST CLASSIFIED

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FROM THE ARCHIVES

I wrote the following in early 2008, at long last acknowledging that I have become a Staten Islander; that I got used to it, then got to like it. Not just the amazing house I'm fortunate to live in. Not just the New York City historic district that surrounds it. Not even the neighbors who have become friends. I mean that Staten Island has become home.

* * *

CAREFUL--YOU MIGHT LIKE IT

NOT HOT: Postcard view (dated 1910) looking south on Westervelt Avenue from Richmond Terrace, St. George, Staten Island. Because this hasn't been a hot neighborhood for slightly more than a century, every building shown in this image is still intact and in a moderately good state of preservation. A portion of our house is shown in the upper left section of the image (notice the double-windowed gable and the spire to its right).

LIVING WHERE THEY WOULDN'T BE CAUGHT DEAD

Despite the sneering disdain of metro journalists who pay two grand a month for a closet in a renovated tenement on Avenue C and Houston Street, it's possible to live where they wouldn't be caught dead and actually like it. On Staten Island, I mean. Specifically, in one of the older neighborhoods on the north shore, near the ferry.

After a while, the plucked-from-the-Midwest streetscapes of Staten Island's north shore stop looking quite as foreign as they did. It starts to seem normal to be able to see the sky without craning your neck. Or to be the only person walking down the street, utterly alone with your thoughts, and not feeling in the least unsafe. You even get used to the quiet.

WHAT YOU GAIN AND WHAT YOU LOSE

Don't get me wrong now. Staten Island is hardly Valhalla. We live in a place everybody's heard of but very few actually know--a place routinely overlooked, underserved and dismissed. But there are times when going unnoticed, unacknowledged and underrepresented pays off.

Leaving Manhattan for places like New Brighton, St. George, Tompkinsville and Stapleton gets you twice the space for half the price, give or take a hundred or two. And maybe a view, a garden or a fireplace as well. There's always a seat on the FREE Staten Island Ferry. Always a chair at the barber's. Always a table at a decent restaurant; no reservations required. At public parks, even on the weekend, it can often seem like everybody's left town. Though the north shore's hilly streets are challenging for cyclists, they're one of the best non-park environments I've found so far as a walker.

My neighbor Martha, who moved to St. George from Battery Park City with her husband and two children, is hyper-alert for signs of gentrification hereabouts. She winces whenever she sees positive media coverage of our area, which she's certain can mean only one thing: She and her family, having found a pleasant place to live they can afford, will be forced out by high rents once again.

Given the national economic downturn and the shaky state of real estate everywhere, including Manhattan, I don't think Martha has a lot to worry about for the forseeable.

*         *         *

WIT's FIRST CLASSIFIED

FREE FOR THE TAKING is this 8- to 10-year-old washer owned by long-time friends, situated for easy street-level pick up in Livingston, near Snug Harbor. My friends are giving it away not because it doesn't work--IT DOES WORK!--but because (a) they wanted a front-loading machine, and (2) they wanted a more energy-efficient model. For more information, please call the owners at 718-816-8752.

#         #         #

NOT HOT: Postcard view (dated 1910) looking south on Westervelt Avenue from Richmond Terrace, St. George, Staten Island. Because this hasn't been a hot neighborhood for slightly more than a century, every building shown in this image is still intact and in a moderately good state of preservation. A portion of our house is shown in the upper left section of the image (notice the double-windowed gable and the spire to its right).

LIVING WHERE THEY WOULDN'T BE CAUGHT DEAD

Despite the sneering disdain of metro journalists who pay two grand a month for a closet in a renovated tenement on Avenue C and Houston Street, it's possible to live where they wouldn't be caught dead and actually like it. On Staten Island, I mean. Specifically, in one of the older neighborhoods on the north shore, near the ferry.

After a while, the plucked-from-the-Midwest streetscapes of Staten Island's north shore stop looking quite as foreign as they did. It starts to seem normal to be able to see the sky without craning your neck. Or to be the only person walking down the street, utterly alone with your thoughts, and not feeling in the least unsafe. You even get used to the quiet.

WHAT YOU GAIN AND WHAT YOU LOSE

Don't get me wrong now. Staten Island is hardly Valhalla. We live in a place everybody's heard of but very few actually know--a place routinely overlooked, underserved and dismissed. But there are times when going unnoticed, unacknowledged and underrepresented pays off.

Leaving Manhattan for places like New Brighton, St. George, Tompkinsville and Stapleton gets you twice the space for half the price, give or take a hundred or two. And maybe a view, a garden or a fireplace as well. There's always a seat on the FREE Staten Island Ferry. Always a chair at the barber's. Always a table at a decent restaurant; no reservations required. At public parks, even on the weekend, it can often seem like everybody's left town. Though the north shore's hilly streets are challenging for cyclists, they're one of the best non-park environments I've found so far as a walker.

My neighbor Martha, who moved to St. George from Battery Park City with her husband and two children, is hyper-alert for signs of gentrification hereabouts. She winces whenever she sees positive media coverage of our area, which she's certain can mean only one thing: She and her family, having found a pleasant place to live they can afford, will be forced out by high rents once again.

Given the national economic downturn and the shaky state of real estate everywhere, including Manhattan, I don't think Martha has a lot to worry about for the forseeable.

*         *         *

WIT's FIRST CLASSIFIED

FREE FOR THE TAKING is this 8- to 10-year-old washer owned by long-time friends, situated for easy street-level pick up in Livingston, near Snug Harbor. My friends are giving it away not because it doesn't work--IT DOES WORK!--but because (a) they wanted a front-loading machine, and (2) they wanted a more energy-efficient model. For more information, please call the owners at 718-816-8752.

#         #         #

THE VERTICAL LIFE, OR, HILL-WALKING ON STATEN ISLAND'S NORTH SHORE, PART 8

_______________________________________________________

AS THE RETAINING WALL CRUMBLES

View of south side of Victory Boulevard between Cebra Avenue and Jersey Street, Ward Hill

[The following appeared in WIT in January, 2008.]

I HAD PASSED THE FORLORN STRETCH OF VICTORY BOULEVARD shown in the photo above countless times and each time wondered: Where does that double stairway lead?

I speculated that the stairway might provide seldom-used access to a secondary street at the top. Or that there might be a grand old house up there, or the remains of one. But this time, unlike those other times, I didn't have to speculate. I was prepared not only to look for and find the answer, but to document it. I had a digital camera in my pocket, walking shoes on my feet, and time to spare.

So, after I took the picture above, I crossed Victory Boulevard and made my way through the tangle of weeds and refuse to the stairway. Both the concrete stairs and the cast-iron stair-rail were in surprisingly good condition. I took very firm, deliberate steps, both to establish the stability of each stair-tread and to attach myself as firmly as I could to each one.

A DUMP WITH A HARBOR VIEW

What I found when I reached the top of those stairs was a concrete sidewalk that extends, where it survives, to several other, narrower stairways to the west. This modest attempt at neighborhood-building suggests that two or more dwellings were at least planned, if not built, here.

MOLDERING ON

Other remnants--construction debris and piles of young maples--indicate that this harbor-view lot on a Ward Hill hillside has also been used as a dump. But how? Other than the stairs up from Victory Boulevard, there's no street access. Maybe somebody did somebody a favor through somebody's back yard.

Until fairly recently, given Staten Island's plentiful supply of unimproved land, developers had little reason to pursue problem parcels such as this one, with its lack of vehicular street access. Once the current slump ends (and it will; I've lived through three since 1977), and given the increasing attractiveness of the St. George area as a safe, attractive and affordable place to live, it's likely developers will be more willing to seize whatever opportunities they can find, even if it means applying for a variance and meeting other requirements.

In the end, compromises will be reached. Variances will be granted. Profits will be made. In the meantime, these Staircases To Nowhere in Particular molder on.

#         #         #

View of south side of Victory Boulevard between Cebra Avenue and Jersey Street, Ward Hill

[The following appeared in WIT in January, 2008.]

I HAD PASSED THE FORLORN STRETCH OF VICTORY BOULEVARD shown in the photo above countless times and each time wondered: Where does that double stairway lead?

I speculated that the stairway might provide seldom-used access to a secondary street at the top. Or that there might be a grand old house up there, or the remains of one. But this time, unlike those other times, I didn't have to speculate. I was prepared not only to look for and find the answer, but to document it. I had a digital camera in my pocket, walking shoes on my feet, and time to spare.

So, after I took the picture above, I crossed Victory Boulevard and made my way through the tangle of weeds and refuse to the stairway. Both the concrete stairs and the cast-iron stair-rail were in surprisingly good condition. I took very firm, deliberate steps, both to establish the stability of each stair-tread and to attach myself as firmly as I could to each one.

A DUMP WITH A HARBOR VIEW

What I found when I reached the top of those stairs was a concrete sidewalk that extends, where it survives, to several other, narrower stairways to the west. This modest attempt at neighborhood-building suggests that two or more dwellings were at least planned, if not built, here.

MOLDERING ON

Other remnants--construction debris and piles of young maples--indicate that this harbor-view lot on a Ward Hill hillside has also been used as a dump. But how? Other than the stairs up from Victory Boulevard, there's no street access. Maybe somebody did somebody a favor through somebody's back yard.

Until fairly recently, given Staten Island's plentiful supply of unimproved land, developers had little reason to pursue problem parcels such as this one, with its lack of vehicular street access. Once the current slump ends (and it will; I've lived through three since 1977), and given the increasing attractiveness of the St. George area as a safe, attractive and affordable place to live, it's likely developers will be more willing to seize whatever opportunities they can find, even if it means applying for a variance and meeting other requirements.

In the end, compromises will be reached. Variances will be granted. Profits will be made. In the meantime, these Staircases To Nowhere in Particular molder on.

#         #         #

View of south side of Victory Boulevard between Cebra Avenue and Jersey Street, Ward Hill

[The following appeared in WIT in January, 2008.]

I HAD PASSED THE FORLORN STRETCH OF VICTORY BOULEVARD shown in the photo above countless times and each time wondered: Where does that double stairway lead?

I speculated that the stairway might provide seldom-used access to a secondary street at the top. Or that there might be a grand old house up there, or the remains of one. But this time, unlike those other times, I didn't have to speculate. I was prepared not only to look for and find the answer, but to document it. I had a digital camera in my pocket, walking shoes on my feet, and time to spare.

So, after I took the picture above, I crossed Victory Boulevard and made my way through the tangle of weeds and refuse to the stairway. Both the concrete stairs and the cast-iron stair-rail were in surprisingly good condition. I took very firm, deliberate steps, both to establish the stability of each stair-tread and to attach myself as firmly as I could to each one.

A DUMP WITH A HARBOR VIEW

What I found when I reached the top of those stairs was a concrete sidewalk that extends, where it survives, to several other, narrower stairways to the west. This modest attempt at neighborhood-building suggests that two or more dwellings were at least planned, if not built, here.

MOLDERING ON

Other remnants--construction debris and piles of young maples--indicate that this harbor-view lot on a Ward Hill hillside has also been used as a dump. But how? Other than the stairs up from Victory Boulevard, there's no street access. Maybe somebody did somebody a favor through somebody's back yard.

Until fairly recently, given Staten Island's plentiful supply of unimproved land, developers had little reason to pursue problem parcels such as this one, with its lack of vehicular street access. Once the current slump ends (and it will; I've lived through three since 1977), and given the increasing attractiveness of the St. George area as a safe, attractive and affordable place to live, it's likely developers will be more willing to seize whatever opportunities they can find, even if it means applying for a variance and meeting other requirements.

In the end, compromises will be reached. Variances will be granted. Profits will be made. In the meantime, these Staircases To Nowhere in Particular molder on.

#         #         #

From The Archives: DISCOVERED WHILE WALKING

This granite curbstone and cast iron sewer plate in Tompkinsville were put in place after Staten Island became part of the five-borough consolidated City of New York in 1898. [The 'BR" on the plate stands for 'Borough of Richmond,' formerly the borough's official name.] I walked on this curbstone, over it and around it for 30 years before noticing it just the other day.

[ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN JANUARY, 2008.]

AS IF FOR THE FIRST TIME

After my friend Simon relocated to Santa Barbara from St. George several years ago, he came back for a visit and remarked how old and small everything about New York seemed after a year or two in the West.

Before I had a chance to be offended by the words 'old' and 'small,' he added, "I feel as though I never really saw the city when I lived here, maybe because I never really looked."

Simon's words came back to me the other day when I happened to see, as if for the first time, the curbstone I was stepping onto from the roadway, shown in the photo above. I saw it was made of granite, still serviceable, and beautiful, after many decades of service.

MOSTLY STILL HERE

Though I can only speculate as to what the numeral '2' chiseled into the curbstone refers to, I'm a lot more certain about the pair of paired letters--'TK' and 'AR'-- that precedes it. Here's why:

The caption of the undated, un-postmarked, hand-colored postcard above reads, "Public Square, Arrietta Street, Tompkinsville, S.I." The 'TK' incised into the curbstone shown in the photo at the top of this page stands for Tompkinsville; the 'AR' for Arrietta Street. The buildings clustered on the right side of the image are on the north side of today's Victory Boulevard, formerly Richmond Turnpike, between Central Avenue/Bay Street and today's St. Marks Place, formerly Arrietta Street.

HOW THEY GOT THEIR NAMES

Like the nearby Minthorne and Hannah streets, Arrietta Street was named after one of New York State Governor (and later, U.S. vice president) Daniel D. Tompkins's eight children. Hannah was the name of Tompkins's wife and one of his daughters; Minthorne was his wife's maiden name and the name of one of his sons. Tompkins named and developed the early Tompkinsville and named some of its streets as well.

The row of simple post-Civil War red brick commercial/residential structures shown in the postcard above, like the granite curbstone only steps away, owe their survival to disinvestment and decline that began after World War II and accelerated with the opening of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. Will they survive the visions of the developers, who see St. George/Tompkinsville and Stapleton not as neighborhoods but as a concept called 'Downtown Staten Island' ?

The granite curb shown at the top of this entry can be found at the northwest corner of St. Marks Place and Victory Boulevard, outside the Tompkinsville Pharmacy. Here's another postcard image of that corner, from a somewhat different perspective, postmarked 1918.

#         #         #

AS IF FOR THE FIRST TIME

After my friend Simon relocated to Santa Barbara from St. George several years ago, he came back for a visit and remarked how old and small everything about New York seemed after a year or two in the West.

Before I had a chance to be offended by the words 'old' and 'small,' he added, "I feel as though I never really saw the city when I lived here, maybe because I never really looked."

Simon's words came back to me the other day when I happened to see, as if for the first time, the curbstone I was stepping onto from the roadway, shown in the photo above. I saw it was made of granite, still serviceable, and beautiful, after many decades of service.

MOSTLY STILL HERE

Though I can only speculate as to what the numeral '2' chiseled into the curbstone refers to, I'm a lot more certain about the pair of paired letters--'TK' and 'AR'-- that precedes it. Here's why:

The caption of the undated, un-postmarked, hand-colored postcard above reads, "Public Square, Arrietta Street, Tompkinsville, S.I." The 'TK' incised into the curbstone shown in the photo at the top of this page stands for Tompkinsville; the 'AR' for Arrietta Street. The buildings clustered on the right side of the image are on the north side of today's Victory Boulevard, formerly Richmond Turnpike, between Central Avenue/Bay Street and today's St. Marks Place, formerly Arrietta Street.

HOW THEY GOT THEIR NAMES

Like the nearby Minthorne and Hannah streets, Arrietta Street was named after one of New York State Governor (and later, U.S. vice president) Daniel D. Tompkins's eight children. Hannah was the name of Tompkins's wife and one of his daughters; Minthorne was his wife's maiden name and the name of one of his sons. Tompkins named and developed the early Tompkinsville and named some of its streets as well.

The row of simple post-Civil War red brick commercial/residential structures shown in the postcard above, like the granite curbstone only steps away, owe their survival to disinvestment and decline that began after World War II and accelerated with the opening of the Verrazano Narrows Bridge. Will they survive the visions of the developers, who see St. George/Tompkinsville and Stapleton not as neighborhoods but as a concept called 'Downtown Staten Island' ?

The granite curb shown at the top of this entry can be found at the northwest corner of St. Marks Place and Victory Boulevard, outside the Tompkinsville Pharmacy. Here's another postcard image of that corner, from a somewhat different perspective, postmarked 1918.

FROM THE ARCHIVES: The Vertical Life, Or, Hill Walking on Staten Island's North Shore, Part 5

[The following installment in what has become a continuing series
 appeared originally in January, 2008.]

MUCH HAS CHANGED since the manufacture of this hand-colored postcard (postmarked July 15, 1915), showing a St. Marks Place street scene. The Queen Anne Victorian to the left of St. Peters R.C. Church (1903) is long gone; what remains is an unused lot. There's now a campanile, or tower, added in 1919, that houses a four-sided clock and a bell tower--but none in this postcard view. Both the former rectory to the right of the church and its 1912 replacement are both shown in greater detail below.

And finally, there's the place-name 'New Brighton,' which has been surprinted onto the postcard image above. Over the past three decades that place-name has migrated west--some say west of Westervelt Avenue, others say west of Jersey Street. In that period, the consensus has gradually shifted toward the place-name St. George, which is how most people who live here refer to the place they call home.

*         *         *

A FAVORITE RETURNS

Whether they're Staten Islanders or not, Walking is Transportation readers wrote to say how much they enjoyed "The Vertical Life," a series posted here last October, showing how residents of the island's north shore negotiate the peaks and valleys we live on, in, under or near.

There were omissions, of course, and readers were quick to point them out--for which I'm grateful.

Tompkinsville reader/neighbor Richard Wonder appreciated the photo and description I posted of the stair/walkway on the north side of Scribner Avenue, going west from Westervelt to Bismarck. But he wondered why I hadn't included the stair/walkway on the south side as well.

Other readers wondered why there was no mention of stairways that used to go somewhere but don't anymore. Still other readers simply wanted to see more of same.

So here goes--the first few of what I hope will be a continuing series. If there's a hillside walkway or stair I've missed, please e-mail me at [email protected] and let me know. Thanks!

*         *         *

THE TWO RECTORIES

This hand-colored postcard, postmarked 1911, shows St. Peters R.C. Church on St. Marks Place near Westervelt Avenue, St. George, Staten Island, prior to the addition of the building's towering campanile, now capped with a gold cross. The Gothic-style frame building to its right was the then-rectory.

This digital image, taken January 9, 2008, shows the much larger rectory that occupies the same site today, set well back from the street, with lawn, plantings and devotional statuary on either side of a central path leading onto the property from the sidewalk.

ST. PETERS STAIRS TO NOWHERE

Looking up the hill from Carroll Place, it's clear that the entry steps that interrupted the expanse of stone retaining wall were filled in and cinderblocked over long ago. Much of the path leading to a St. Marks Place house that's no longer there has already been buried by crabgrass, with more to follow. That's the rear of St. Peters Rectory to the right, with its massive stone retaining wall and formal stairway.

West of the set of stairs shown above is another stairway, also blocked and slowly disappearing, that led from Carroll Place to St. Peters original St. Marks Place rectory, demolished long ago and replaced with the structure shown at left, seen from the rear.

#         #         #

Whether they're Staten Islanders or not, Walking is Transportation readers wrote to say how much they enjoyed "The Vertical Life," a series posted here last October, showing how residents of the island's north shore negotiate the peaks and valleys we live on, in, under or near.

There were omissions, of course, and readers were quick to point them out--for which I'm grateful.

Tompkinsville reader/neighbor Richard Wonder appreciated the photo and description I posted of the stair/walkway on the north side of Scribner Avenue, going west from Westervelt to Bismarck. But he wondered why I hadn't included the stair/walkway on the south side as well.

Other readers wondered why there was no mention of stairways that used to go somewhere but don't anymore. Still other readers simply wanted to see more of same.

So here goes--the first few of what I hope will be a continuing series. If there's a hillside walkway or stair I've missed, please e-mail me at [email protected] and let me know. Thanks!

*         *         *

THE TWO RECTORIES

This hand-colored postcard, postmarked 1911, shows St. Peters R.C. Church on St. Marks Place near Westervelt Avenue, St. George, Staten Island, prior to the addition of the building's towering campanile, now capped with a gold cross. The Gothic-style frame building to its right was the then-rectory.

This digital image, taken January 9, 2008, shows the much larger rectory that occupies the same site today, set well back from the street, with lawn, plantings and devotional statuary on either side of a central path leading onto the property from the sidewalk.

ST. PETERS STAIRS TO NOWHERE

Looking up the hill from Carroll Place, it's clear that the entry steps that interrupted the expanse of stone retaining wall were filled in and cinderblocked over long ago. Much of the path leading to a St. Marks Place house that's no longer there has already been buried by crabgrass, with more to follow. That's the rear of St. Peters Rectory to the right, with its massive stone retaining wall and formal stairway.

West of the set of stairs shown above is another stairway, also blocked and slowly disappearing, that led from Carroll Place to St. Peters original St. Marks Place rectory, demolished long ago and replaced with the structure shown at left, seen from the rear.

#         #         #

FROM THE ARCHIVES: It Was Supposed to Be Only An Errand • B/W or 4/C?

[The following issue appeared in September, 2007. Those pink

fingertips at the edge of several images are mine.]

I had my new digital camera in tow. The plan was to use visuals as well as text to profile a routine walk––an 'errand' walk, let's call it, rather than a walk for its own sake.

Starting from my house in St. George, I sauntered through New Brighton, where I encountered the Unitarian Church book sale, passed by and admired the house where historian Barnett Shepard lives, and passed through the east gate at Snug Harbor Cultural Center.

My destination was a variety store in West Brighton. But somehow, I ended up in Clove Lakes Park.

I had told myself I'd get some representative shots and then, as soon as I finished my errand, I'd head straight back home to St. George. But of course I didn't stick to the script. As soon as I exited the variety store that had been my destination, I turned right instead of left and just kept going till I hit the park.

There, I retraced a north-south route I'd discovered earlier this past summer, the sort of place that can mystify and intrigue you only once, after which it remains beautiful but can never again strike you as quite so magical.

Along this route on that earlier summer walk, I had discovered two stretches of fairly deep woods, often quite hilly, the southern stretch larger and wilder. Each was near at least one of the park's three lakes--Brooks, Clove, and Martling; each plateaued in a several-acre expanse of lawn

The first time I experienced this swift and sudden change––from being under a tree canopy, then emerging into a clearing and a ceiling of open sky––its abruptness was startling.

This more recent Sunday afternoon was sunny and a bit cool. Clove Lakes Park seemed almost empty, as it often seems (and often is) during the week. Except for small assemblies at sports facilities, there was only the occasional dog walker or jogger in view. During my tramp through the woods, I encountered only one other solitary walker.

Soon after, my camera battery died. By then I was already well into my return trek, which took me, via a different route, through the smaller, more formal and more manicured Silver Lake Park, also remarkably empty on such a beautiful day.

Distance of this ostensible 'errand' walk: 7 miles, roundtrip.

*         *         *

June 2, 2009

B/W OR 4/C?

Michael Falco's photographs, reproduced in my review of Erin Urban's book on Caddell Dry Dock in the May 29 issue, have a kind of nobility that doesn't declare itself but instead invites discovery. I'm thinking in particular of this photo from Caddell Dry Dock of the Barbara E. Bouchard pulled up to the pier, awaiting repair.



Notice how Falco has sliced the image in half, laterally, and by doing that has made the reflection as important as the objects--a ship, a crane--that it reflects. Or the way the pier comes out of the lower left corner and arrives almost at the center point of the image, before turning a hard right and marching off somewhere we'll never see.

This image holds you because of Falco's eye and his talent, not because it's shot in black and white. Yet when I looked at Falco's photos and then at my own, the color in my photos seemed garish and insistent, not an enhancement but a distraction from the content of the image itself.

So in the next few issues, I'm going to try to reproduce photos not in color but in black and white. I imagine it'll be interesting to look at the world in shades of gray again. I welome your comments.

#         #         #

[The following issue appeared in September, 2007. Those pink

fingertips at the edge of several images are mine.]

I had my new digital camera in tow. The plan was to use visuals as well as text to profile a routine walk––an 'errand' walk, let's call it, rather than a walk for its own sake.

Starting from my house in St. George, I sauntered through New Brighton, where I encountered the Unitarian Church book sale, passed by and admired the house where historian Barnett Shepard lives, and passed through the east gate at Snug Harbor Cultural Center.

My destination was a variety store in West Brighton. But somehow, I ended up in Clove Lakes Park.

I had told myself I'd get some representative shots and then, as soon as I finished my errand, I'd head straight back home to St. George. But of course I didn't stick to the script. As soon as I exited the variety store that had been my destination, I turned right instead of left and just kept going till I hit the park.

There, I retraced a north-south route I'd discovered earlier this past summer, the sort of place that can mystify and intrigue you only once, after which it remains beautiful but can never again strike you as quite so magical.

Along this route on that earlier summer walk, I had discovered two stretches of fairly deep woods, often quite hilly, the southern stretch larger and wilder. Each was near at least one of the park's three lakes--Brooks, Clove, and Martling; each plateaued in a several-acre expanse of lawn

The first time I experienced this swift and sudden change––from being under a tree canopy, then emerging into a clearing and a ceiling of open sky––its abruptness was startling.

This more recent Sunday afternoon was sunny and a bit cool. Clove Lakes Park seemed almost empty, as it often seems (and often is) during the week. Except for small assemblies at sports facilities, there was only the occasional dog walker or jogger in view. During my tramp through the woods, I encountered only one other solitary walker.

Soon after, my camera battery died. By then I was already well into my return trek, which took me, via a different route, through the smaller, more formal and more manicured Silver Lake Park, also remarkably empty on such a beautiful day.

Distance of this ostensible 'errand' walk: 7 miles, roundtrip.

*         *         *

June 2, 2009

B/W OR 4/C?

Michael Falco's photographs, reproduced in my review of Erin Urban's book on Caddell Dry Dock in the May 29 issue, have a kind of nobility that doesn't declare itself but instead invites discovery. I'm thinking in particular of this photo from Caddell Dry Dock of the Barbara E. Bouchard pulled up to the pier, awaiting repair.



Notice how Falco has sliced the image in half, laterally, and by doing that has made the reflection as important as the objects--a ship, a crane--that it reflects. Or the way the pier comes out of the lower left corner and arrives almost at the center point of the image, before turning a hard right and marching off somewhere we'll never see.

This image holds you because of Falco's eye and his talent, not because it's shot in black and white. Yet when I looked at Falco's photos and then at my own, the color in my photos seemed garish and insistent, not an enhancement but a distraction from the content of the image itself.

So in the next few issues, I'm going to try to reproduce photos not in color but in black and white. I imagine it'll be interesting to look at the world in shades of gray again. I welome your comments.

#         #         #

FROM THE ARCHIVES: The Vertical Life, or Hill-Walking on Staten Island's North Shore

WIT READERS LOVED THIS SERIES WHEN IT FIRST APPEARED.
PERHAPS BECAUSE IT CELEBRATES THE SPECIALNESS OF LIVING HERE.

This post appeared originally in October, 2007. It's the first of a series of eight photo-packed entries on what it's like to live in a place as hilly as the West Bronx and as beautiful, in places, as San Francisco. All eight entries will be re-run, starting today.

Fiedler Avenue, Ward Hill, Staten Island, looking down at Victory Boulevard at the bottom of the street and across at Tompkinsville and the New Brighton hills. The ferry is a 15-minute walk away.

WHO KNEW?

We'd both grown up in Manhattan. She in a spacious, old-fashioned walk-up flat facing Morningside Park, near Columbia. I in a cramped two-room apartment in Chelsea before it became a gay mecca.

These experiences hadn't prepared us for a move to a place where the ferry is the boat, where Manhattan is the city, and where PTAs hold Chinese Auctions, which after 30 years of living here are still a total mystery to my wife Ellen and me.

I'm talking about Staten Island. Specifically, the north shore of that island, and more specifically the neighborhoods of St. George, New Brighton, Tompkinsville/Ward Hill, and Stapleton. All within walking distance of the ferry and the island's bus and rail lines, and all hilly. Sometimes very hilly.

GETTING UP THE HILL WITHOUT A CAR

What I've come to appreciate are the ways in which people have adapted to living on hills, the same way they've adapted to the ferry schedule.

One of the most interesting of these adaptations is a collection of still-functioning stairways, walkways and paths up and down the hills in the older close-to-the ferry neighborhoods. As well as the bizarre arrangement of retaining walls and stairways some residents have to negotiate, just to reach their front doors.

What follows is the first of a two-part entry about these adaptations in the neighborhoods of St. George and Tompkinsville, many still in active use, others well along in the process of reverting to nature. The second part of this entry will cover Tompkinsville/Ward Hill, New Brighton and Stapleton.

HILLSIDE STEPS AND STAIRS
St. George and Tompkinsville

Stone retaining wall and public stairway, St. Peter's R.C. Church, St. Marks Place, St. George, connecting St. Marks and Carroll places.

Stairway from Carroll Place to St. Marks Place. St. Peter's R.C. Church, left.

Stone wall and steps leading from Sherman Avenue, Tompkinsville, to Fort Hill Park, which is both the name of a street and a recently dedicated 'Forever Wild' park on the adjacent property.

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The three photos directly above show (1, 2) the steps leading down from Fort Hill Park to Sherman Avenue; and (3) the road up Fort Hill Park to the top, from the corner of Hendricks and Westervelt avenues.

STEPS AND STAIRS TO HILLSIDE HOUSES
St. George and Tompkinsville

Our first house on St. Marks Place near Westervelt Avenue, St. George. The negatives of living 18 steps above the street are obvious. Less obvious are the sense of privacy and relative solitude that, most of the time, were adequate compensation.

Garden gate and stone retaining wall and stairway, Carroll Place, St. George

Stone wall and slate step entry to the Schoverling mansion, a New York City landmark, Westervelt Avenue at Benziger Avenue, Tompkinsville.

This amazing group of cliff dwellings is on the north side of Corson Avenue between Jersey Street and Westervelt Avenue, Tompkinsville.

STEPS AS SIDEWALK
St. George and Tompkinsville

In this photo, walking west from Westervelt Avenue, the rise on the north side of Scribner Avenue, Tompkinsville, is gradual.

These photos show the stairways leading to the north and south sides of Corson Avenue, Tompkinsville, walking west from Westervelt Avenue. The north sidewalk also rises gradually as it continues west, becoming fully elevated, with entries and lower stairways leading to each house cut into the massive retaining wall that looms over the roadway.

An approach to the elevated sidewalk on the north side of the street, looking east.

[Up next, the second part of this entry, covering New Brighton, Tompkinsville/Ward Hill and Stapleton. Coming very soon.]

WIT READERS LOVED THIS SERIES WHEN IT FIRST APPEARED.
PERHAPS BECAUSE IT CELEBRATES THE SPECIALNESS OF LIVING HERE.

This post appeared originally in October, 2007. It's the first of a series of eight photo-packed entries on what it's like to live in a place as hilly as the West Bronx and as beautiful, in places, as San Francisco. All eight entries will be re-run, starting today.

Fiedler Avenue, Ward Hill, Staten Island, looking down at Victory Boulevard at the bottom of the street and across at Tompkinsville and the New Brighton hills. The ferry is a 15-minute walk away.

WHO KNEW?

We'd both grown up in Manhattan. She in a spacious, old-fashioned walk-up flat facing Morningside Park, near Columbia. I in a cramped two-room apartment in Chelsea before it became a gay mecca.

These experiences hadn't prepared us for a move to a place where the ferry is the boat, where Manhattan is the city, and where PTAs hold Chinese Auctions, which after 30 years of living here are still a total mystery to my wife Ellen and me.

I'm talking about Staten Island. Specifically, the north shore of that island, and more specifically the neighborhoods of St. George, New Brighton, Tompkinsville/Ward Hill, and Stapleton. All within walking distance of the ferry and the island's bus and rail lines, and all hilly. Sometimes very hilly.

GETTING UP THE HILL WITHOUT A CAR

What I've come to appreciate are the ways in which people have adapted to living on hills, the same way they've adapted to the ferry schedule.

One of the most interesting of these adaptations is a collection of still-functioning stairways, walkways and paths up and down the hills in the older close-to-the ferry neighborhoods. As well as the bizarre arrangement of retaining walls and stairways some residents have to negotiate, just to reach their front doors.

What follows is the first of a two-part entry about these adaptations in the neighborhoods of St. George and Tompkinsville, many still in active use, others well along in the process of reverting to nature. The second part of this entry will cover Tompkinsville/Ward Hill, New Brighton and Stapleton.

HILLSIDE STEPS AND STAIRS
St. George and Tompkinsville

Stone retaining wall and public stairway, St. Peter's R.C. Church, St. Marks Place, St. George, connecting St. Marks and Carroll places.

Stairway from Carroll Place to St. Marks Place. St. Peter's R.C. Church, left.

Stone wall and steps leading from Sherman Avenue, Tompkinsville, to Fort Hill Park, which is both the name of a street and a recently dedicated 'Forever Wild' park on the adjacent property.

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a>

The three photos directly above show (1, 2) the steps leading down from Fort Hill Park to Sherman Avenue; and (3) the road up Fort Hill Park to the top, from the corner of Hendricks and Westervelt avenues.

STEPS AND STAIRS TO HILLSIDE HOUSES
St. George and Tompkinsville

Our first house on St. Marks Place near Westervelt Avenue, St. George. The negatives of living 18 steps above the street are obvious. Less obvious are the sense of privacy and relative solitude that, most of the time, were adequate compensation.

Garden gate and stone retaining wall and stairway, Carroll Place, St. George

Stone wall and slate step entry to the Schoverling mansion, a New York City landmark, Westervelt Avenue at Benziger Avenue, Tompkinsville.

This amazing group of cliff dwellings is on the north side of Corson Avenue between Jersey Street and Westervelt Avenue, Tompkinsville.

STEPS AS SIDEWALK
St. George and Tompkinsville

In this photo, walking west from Westervelt Avenue, the rise on the north side of Scribner Avenue, Tompkinsville, is gradual.

These photos show the stairways leading to the north and south sides of Corson Avenue, Tompkinsville, walking west from Westervelt Avenue. The north sidewalk also rises gradually as it continues west, becoming fully elevated, with entries and lower stairways leading to each house cut into the massive retaining wall that looms over the roadway.

An approach to the elevated sidewalk on the north side of the street, looking east.

[Up next, the second part of this entry, covering New Brighton, Tompkinsville/Ward Hill and Stapleton. Coming very soon.]