Evolving Together: Human Interference Not ALL Bad

There is no denying that humans have had a lasting impact on the environment, however biologist Jacques Blondel (2006) suggests that these ideas overlook the ways human activity has actually contributed to the maintenance, diversity, and embellishment of landscapes (714). Blondel acknowledges that there is a middle ground between these ideas when it comes to the relationship we have with our landscapes—a balance must exist between resistance and resilience, between disturbance and recovery. While Blondel focuses his discussion largely on the Mediterranean, perhaps these ideas can also be applied to our own local landscapes, and help us understand how biodiversity can evolve in these circumstances.

The Five Points and the Collect Pond: Ripples Through Time [FP3]

The story of the Collect Pond is integral to the story of the Five Points itself, and it is a prime example of the how the relationship we have with our landscapes can impact our social order.

The Five Points Then and Now: Landmarks [FP2]

The landmarks of the Five Points were not artistic and architectural triumphs, but rather tenements, prisons, and churches. Using maps found here, I plotted the locations of sites that loomed largest in the history of the Five Points. Stick close—the streets are dark and possibly a little dangerous.

[Above: Map showing points of interest.]

Balancing Progress and History

I had some time at Penn Station yesterday before my train was announced, so I hung around on the concourse level for a change instead of descending immediately to the track. I really wanted to get a good look at a bas-relief that I walk past every day. You see, it features a bare breasted woman—and it's rather well detailed. Do I have your attention yet?

[Above: Bas-relief artwork at Penn Station.]

Penn Station in its original form was a grand testament to New York City's architectural enterprises. Completed in 1910, the original station was a spectacular example of the Beaux-Arts style of architecture. It featured a soaring 150-ft ceiling that allowed sunlight to illuminate the concourse from which you could watch the trains entering and leaving the station, as well as a 277-ft waiting room fashioned after the Roman Baths of Caracalla. It occupied eight acres of real estate, spanning 7th and 8th Avenues from 31st to 33rd Streets. Its completion marked a golden age in terms of development and architecture for the city, but it was not meant to be.

[This photo of Penn Station c. 1911 gives a sense of it's sprawling majesty.]

In the late 1950s, plans were quietly made to demolish this colossal building. It came down to money and development, as most things do in this city. The growth of the automobile industry and the building of highways greatly reduced the popularity of passenger rails, and Pennsylvania Railroad, the owner of Penn Station, was nearly broke. The land that Penn Station was sitting on was far too valuable to the growing city for Penn RR not to sell. So they entered into quiet talks with the owners of Madison Square Garden, which was then located on 26th Street near Madison Square. The owners of the Garden felt that given the popularity of the sporting complex, if they had the right opportunity to provide for larger crowds in a central location, they could not only boost their own commercial success, but that of the city as well. At this stage in NYC history, the midtown area was suffering. With the building of the Brooklyn and Queensboro Bridges earlier in the century, the outer boroughs were experiencing a residential boom, which drew construction and commercial enterprises out of the city. The Madison Square Garden Corporation felt that the Penn Station site was perfect for their plan: the railroad would be moved underneath the facility so that it would continue to bring people into and out of the city, with the new Madison Square Garden serving as an an epicenter for commercial development. They negotiated a deal that left the resident railroads with 25% ownership, and retained the remaining percentage for themselves, effectively seizing control of any future development of the site. [Left: Penn Station concourse, c. 1962.]

All of this happened without public knowledge until the NY Times got wind of the development plans and ran an article in 1961 revealing the plans for demolition and causing a public outcry. Architects, artists, writers, and private citizens quickly rallied to save the building, but it was to no avail. Beauty and history were no match for economics in this instance, and the case for demolition for the growing city was just too strong. So in 1963, the building came down and by 1966, the midtown landscape had changed considerably. A Time editorial stated:

"Any city gets what it admires, will pay for, and, ultimately, deserves. Even when we had Penn Station, we couldn’t afford to keep it clean. We want and deserve tin-can architecture in a tin horn culture. And we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build but by those we have destroyed."
-- "Farewell to Penn Station," New York Times editorial, October 30, 1963

What does our naked friend have to do with tale of destruction? In the 1990s, to address the complaints that Penn Station was nothing more than a glorified basement, the facility underwent renovations under the Penn Station Improvement Project, which included the installment of a collection of bas-relief artwork throughout the station titled the Ghost Series. Done by Andrew Leicester, the artwork was meant to invoke the grandeur of the Roman design of the original building. The woman and her clothed friend, as well as the other Roman images, remind those who pass through the station that the remnants of the past are still with us. [Right: All that remains today of the original Penn Station are a few artifacts, such as this overlooked stairwell which still contains the original brass hand rails from the building Photo Credit: NYT.]

New York City is a place where progress and development are primary concerns. Most buildings in this city have short life spans. From the very beginning, this city has defined itself by constantly (and sometimes ruthlessly) reconstructing itself. In discussing the story of Penn Station recently, I found myself involved in a severe disagreement with someone. When I told the story of how the building had been torn down to install the new Madison Square Garden, he expressed approval at demolition for the sake of progress, citing the real estate value of land in NYC where space is at a premium and the economic and commercial benefits of redevelopment. I countered somewhat hotly that perhaps he would like to raze Ellis Island and construct a row of skyscrapers. At this point, he reminded me that even my beloved Federal Hall would one day be gone—the site where George Washington was sworn in reduced to a plaque!—as even the facade would be beyond saving. He pointed out that New York City does not capitalize on its history—it is a city far more concerned with capital itself. He asked: "If all the historic sites, the cultural sites, were removed from the city, would tourists still visit?" And I was forced to admit reluctantly that I thought the answer was yes. People travel here to see Times Square, to see the Stock Exchange, and to take pictures in front of Tiffany's. There are very few people clustered around the site of the Stadt Huys or Bowling Green.

[Above: Will a plaque like this be all that remains of Federal Hall one day?]

In any case, we volleyed a few more well-placed shots at each other before reaching a truce of sorts. I had to ultimately agree to a certain point with his argument: things must change for us to move forward. (And truthfully, I'm glad we now have building codes!)  My debate partner does have a deep respect and appreciation for history, but is perhaps less emotionally vested in the past than I am. While I agree with redevelopment for revitalization, I believe we can't lose all of our history for the sake of progress. We need a sense of who were were. We simply cannot have progress for the sake of progress. I think the Ghost Series reminds us that we build on the efforts of others—buildings may physically disappear, but their spirit lingers in unusual ways if we care to look. As recent construction in Times Square has proven, in this city nothing is ever truly gone. We build on our past, incorporating it into our present even without realizing it.

The demolition of Penn Station has been credited with mobilizing preservation efforts in New York City. Fairly recently, I discussed efforts to save the building facade of 211 Pearl Street, which was slated to become the site of a condominium. This story had a fairly happy ending, but I have to acknowledge that despite genuine efforts at preservation in other places, sometimes the price of history will be too high. The key in these circumstances will be finding ways to remind our present that we have a past.

[Above: Information under statue of George Washington at Federal Hall.]

What are your thoughts on the price of history?

Back in Time: Walking the Wickquasgeck Trail

That Broadway has played such a central role in recent events is fitting given the history of this street. It is perhaps New York City's oldest thoroughfare, growing with the city from its days as a coarse settlement to a bustling hub on the eastern seaboard. And in fact, it may be older than the New Amsterdam settlement:

The Manhattan Indians used the Wickquasgeck name for the path they took through the center of the island to [the] northern reaches. Coming south along it, Indians of various tribes reached the Dutch settlement at the southern end of the island. The Europeans could likewise follow it north—through stands of pin oak, chestnut, poplar, and pine, past open fields strewn with wild strawberries ... crossing the fast running brook that flowed southeast from the highlands in the area of Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue, more or less where the Plaza Hotel stands, to empty into a small bay on the East River—to hunt in the thick forest at the island's center and to fish the inlets that penetrated the eastern coast. As it was clearly destined to be the most prominent lane on the island, when the Dutch widened the path they referred to it as the Gentlemen's Street, or the High Street, or simply the Highway. The English, of course, called it Broadway (Shorto 2005: 60).

Well, the strawberries are long gone, but today we are going to walk the Wickquasgeck Trail—well, part of it anyway—and follow in the footsteps of early Dutch venturing into a lush wilderness and Native Americans coming to trade with the Dutch West India Company.

We begin our walk at the southern end of the island, at the site of Fort Amsterdam. The Fort provided protection for settlers and served as a business center where trade for the Dutch West India Company took place. When Keift's War prompted retaliatory attacks from the Native American population, settlers would have taken refuge at the Fort—close your eyes and imagine them huddled here for protection. The area would grow to be a hub of activity—adjacent Bowling Green was at times a market and a promenade. It was also the site where Peter Minuit made the famous trade that shifted "ownership" of the land to the Dutch from the Lenape. Today, the Alexander Hamilton Customs House stands at the site, which is also home to the New York branch of the Smithsonian's American Indian Museum. As Shorto notes, it is somewhat fitting that the site now preserves American Indian artifacts when it was meant to keep these people out. [Image Top Left: US Custom's House Nov. 2009, original site of Fort Amsterdam. Image Bottom Right: Bowling Green, Nov. 2009.]

Broadway remains a bustling artery through the city. Running north-south, parallel to the Hudson River, it is the only avenue to span the length of the island. The names of surrounding streets—Pine, Cedar, Spruce, Beaver, etc.—remind us of the woods that populated the land and of the heavy trade in furs that occurred here. Broadway was a choice residential area until the early 19th-century, when well-to-do residents began to move uptown as Manhattan expanded. The shipping industry moved in and the area came to be called "Steamship Row" (see page 8) for the shipping industries that took up the vacated town houses. [Image Left: Broadway, looking uptown. Nov. 2009.]

To follow the Wickquasgeck Trail, we need to continue along Broadway to Vesey/Ann Streets. It is here that present-day maps diverge from the original trail. To follow the original trail, we need to follow Park Row into the Bowery. The Bowery is another remnant from New York City's days as a Dutch settlement. The name Bowery comes from the Dutch bouwerie, meaning farm. And the area was perfect for farming in the days of the early colony. First settled by Africans, the Bowery was well outside the original settlement, and offered a respite from hectic daily life in the port settlement (as well as the settlement's taxes). [Image Right: Broadway diverges from the Wickquasgeck Trail at Broadway and Ann Street. Broadway is seen here on the left. The trail continues down Park Row, shown here on the right. Nov. 2009]

At some point as Director-General, Peter (he preferred Petrus) Stuyvesant packed his wife and two young sons and his belongings into a wagon, and traveled to the Bowery to set up a farm. Perhaps his wife had gotten tired of living in the Fort—with two young boys and soldiers thundering in and out, it can't have offered many chances for peace and quiet. Whatever the reason, Stuyvesant would live out his days here after the colony was seized by the British—petitioning to do so after answering summonses by the Dutch to answer for the management of the colony. Today, Stuyvesant Street is the only remnant of his vast estate. He is buried in his family's vault located next to St. Marks-in-the Bowery. St. Marks was constructed in 1799, but prior to that, in 1660, Stuyvesant ordered a family chapel, the Dutch Reform Chapel, to be built on that spot. [Image Top Left: Stuyvesant Street is an short diagonal road that intersects 9th Street. Stuyvesant's Manor would have stood approximately where the red van is located. Nov. 2009. | Image Bottom Right: Stuyvesant's family vault at St. Marks. Judging by the stains on the marker, it would seem that the stern Director-General remains none too popular. Nov. 2009.]

Back on the trail, we would continue along the Bowery which becomes Fourth Avenue to 23rd Street—the edge of Stuyvesant's property. From here it is harder to follow it as it passes through present day buildings, but it crosses the northern end of Central Park westward to join Broadway, which continues through the Bronx, eventually becoming Route 9. [Image Left: Bust of Petrus Stuyvesant in graveyard of St. Marks near family vault. Nov. 2009].

At the end of the Wickquasgeck Trail we would perhaps have encountered a American Indian village. It would have been a journey that took days, not hours. Who would have thought that a simple footpath would evolve into one of the most traveled routes in New York City.

I urge you all to step off the beaten path today—walk off the turkey and stuffing and explore. Let me know if you uncover any history along the way.

Cited:

Shorto, Russell. The Island at the Center of the World. New York: Vintage Books, 2005.

Hey, I Know That Tree! Extracting Social Understanding from Local Landscapes

The New York Times recently ran a story about a 600-year-old oak in Douglaston, NY that had to be cut down as a result of rot. Six hundred years (age estimated—determining the age of a tree is actually way more complicated than just counting rings) is a long time. If the estimates are correct, that tree was here long before the Dutch arrived and "purchased" this land from the Lenape—and if trees could talk, it would probably have a lots stories in the tree vein of "When I was your age, I walked 10 miles in the snow to get to school, barefoot and uphill, both ways" to share. There's been a mixed reaction to the removal of the tree. Clearly, it's a part of the neighborhood and local history—it has seen generations of children grow up—and the people who don't want to see it go are in fact incensed that it's being dismantled. Others seem to think that the tree has had a long life and is being removed with the closest thing to dignity one can afford a tree.

So why am I talking about this tree? Anthropology focuses on people, right? In fact, the cornerstone of anthropology, ethnography, makes people its primary subject. But more and more, anthropologists are looking to alternative sources for information regarding the social lives of the people whom they study. Landscapes are one such alternative. Much of social life is lived unconsciously—we know how to be in our societies, and don't spend much time deliberating over nuances of daily life. Landscapes offer a physical way to track the changes a population experiences. They are therefore a reflection of social world for specific populations, and can be looked to as a source of ethnographic information because they are constructed in two very real ways. First, landscapes are shaped by aesthetic and ideological histories to reflect interpretations and symbols of the people who live there. Second, they are shaped by the evolution of human labor. According to the former idea, the tree has been permitted to grow and thrive even as Douglaston grew and developed around it as a symbol of the neighborhood. And with regard to the latter idea, the tree is being removed because we can remove the tree instead of letting it rot naturally. So in theory, landscapes are not natural—at least they haven't been since humans have learned how to manipulate the environment. But this also is the reason landscapes are such rich repositories of social knowledge: they have been specifically crafted to have meanings.

Image: Wall Street 1867 (Public Domain). View looking East from Nassau St. toward the East River.

Image: The Buttonwood Tree on Wall Street (Public Domain), year unknown. 

New York recently marked the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson's voyage into New York Harbor and up the river that now bears his name. National Geographic's feature article for September explored some of the changes the land has undergone since Hudson marveled at the lush greenery—for example, I doubt you've encountered a stream in Times Square recently, or had to navigate around the polluted Collect where Foley Square now stands. And if we've ever had anything close to Elfreth's Alley in New York City, it's long gone now as is the Buttonwood Tree under which 24 brokers formed what we now know as the New York Stock Exchange. (The Museum of American Finance has a copy of the Buttonwood Agreement here.)

Image: NY Harbor, 2009. Picture taken from Battery Park. It was a windy day and the surf was rather rough. The National Geographic article mentions that Hudson found the water to be "faire." In Hudson's time, this shot would not have been possible—the park was built on landfill in the 1800s. And yes, that is Lady Liberty in the distance. She was unveiled in 1886.

Of course, New York has a rich history in this regard. However, unlike places like Philly and DC, it's a not a place that really markets that history. Instead, more in keeping with the personality of the city, culture and history often get rolled into progress and are repurposed—cobblestones get paved over, buildings from the 1830s (such as 213 Pearl St.) are turned into parking garages, and so on. (You can read more about 213 Pearl St. here and here.) So while we might know that Captain Kidd was a resident of what we now call the downtown area, an office building now stands where his home once was. (Hey, at least you don't have to pay admission to see the office building!)

Image: An office building now stands at the site of the fearsome Captain Kidd's home in Hanover Square.

The island has been stretched, repaved, and rebuilt countless times. New York City is constantly reinventing itself to match the ever-changing population. This map provides a look at how the actual shape of Manhattan has developed over the years. (Natural coastline? Fugettaboutit! New Yorkers—particularly those downtown—are walking on ancient trash heaps in some places! Use the "Vertical Scroll" to see what I mean.) But just as the Old Oak of Douglaston will pass into memory, so too have many of the changes the city has undergone passed from the collective consciousness—and really, we can't remember everything or there'd be no need for history. But there are clues if you're willing to look—and what we have left with can tell us the story of Manhattan's development.

Image: Intersection of Water St. and Wall, 2009. This spot once marked the end of the wall constructed here—and the end of the island. View looking east toward the water.

Image: The East River, 2009. I had to walk an additional two blocks after taking the picture above to reach the water's edge, when I would have been standing on the water's edge at Wall and Water in 1609.

 

Image: Activity on the East River. 

The three images above provide a good example of the expansion the city has undergone. We've grown the equivalent of two whole blocks in this particular area! The "missing" land was filled in with shells (from the river) and landfill as the colony grew. We diminished the span of the river, but this did nothing to reduce it's importance in travel and commerce. In Activity on the East River, a ferry enters the shot from the right, with active Brooklyn shipping docks in the background. In the images below, we can see the same type of expansion.

Image: Looking west on Wall St. toward Trinity Church.

Image: A bit dark, but always welcoming, Trinity Church once marked the other end of the island. Life now extends well beyond the church—you can see buildings in progress in the background. Corner of Nassau St. and Wall St., 2009.

Downtown does not always follow the neat grids that outline the rest of the city. The streets follow the original lay of the land, twisting and turning at odd angles to reflect the paths people traveled to accommodate the small streams that were common to the area. And since the first settlers did not arrive with automobiles, most streets are only wide enough to permit carts to pass.

Image: Tourist map of the downtown area. Note how the streets deviate from the grid pattern found elsewhere in the city.

Image: Pearl Street, 2009. Pearl Street was once nothing more than a dirt path. It got its name when it was lined with shells. Instead of cars, you would have been more likely to see traffic jams with livestock and wooden carts.

Image: Exchange Street, 2009. Between William St. and Hanover Sq. Short "alleys" like this are common to the area. Their hodgepodge arrangement remind us that space was at a premium even in the early days of the colony. Today, this road is not really used (except for parking).

Despite the constant march forward, sometimes we do remember. There are still cobblestone streets downtown, and Wall Street just completed a massive project to repave portions of the street with cobblestones—I've heard that it was done for monetary reasons (film permits for cobblestone streets bring higher revenue than film permits for regular paved streets), but it is a nice reminder of the past. Of course, the days when carts trundled up the dirt track that would become a financial pulse in the global economy are long gone, but it forces us to recognize an element of our history.

Image: Wall Street, 2009. Re-cobbling of Wall Street.

There are some striking symbols here that have survived the passing of time to become integral to the landscape of downtown New York City, such as Wall Street, Trinity Church, and the reappearance of the cobblestones. There is also evidence of humanity's progression in the forced expansion of the island. Clearly a relationship must exist between the social world and the physical one—a relationship that lives on even after the removal of an icon, as in the case of the Douglaston Oak. If we can understand anything from these photos, it's that the removal of the oak will have a profound effect on the community. Something may be built where that oak once stood, with time the relationship residents of Douglaston have with their neighborhood will shift, and the oak will pass into the annals of history.

Our needs for growth and space have not changed much since the early days of the colony—who knows how we will shift the landscape to meet them in the coming days.

Has your neighborhood changed over the years? What landmarks from your social world have been removed and/or replaced? Chime in below!