Reimagining Rockaway: The Boardwalk

The wooden Rockaway Beach Boardwalk was an icon. Begun in the early 20th-century, the boardwalk was completed in the 1930s and helped maintain Rockaway’s status as a grand summer resort on the Atlantic.

If you’ve never been to Rockaway before, I encourage you to take a visit there. When I was a sophomore in college, a classmate in one of my Environmental Science courses said that, “There’s no nature in NYC.” She wasn’t from New York, so I told her to get out of Manhattan sometime if she had the chance. I told her to take the A to Rockaway. Lay on the beach, visit Riis Park, wander Fort Tilden and Edgemere and Bayswater. Go kayaking in the bay and step foot onto one of the marshes. She’d even have a nice view along the way.

You won’t be able to experience the wonder that was the original wooden boardwalk, however. That structure was destroyed by Hurricane Sandy in 2012. I was a senior in high school at the time, and I can remember my last time on the boardwalk- practicing volleyball with my friends while I forgot about college applications for a little bit.

Just a week later, our communities had been ravaged. Sections of the wooden boardwalk lay scattered in the street amongst overturned cars and other debris. Concrete pilings stretched for miles through the rubble, like soldiers readying for battle. I took a picture of my friend as we made our way through the destruction; it felt like the end of the world.

The new boardwalk is objectively safer, sturdier, and more resilient than the last one. But in the minds of long-time Rockaway residents, is it better? Can the modernists’ love affair with concrete ever emotionally compare with the dear memories of wooden planks?

When you drive in from Queens over the Cross Bay Veterans Memorial Bridge, head straight toward the beach. Once you’ve parked, continue to the boardwalk and you’ll be met by an entrance scene that spills out onto the sidewalk, embracing you with open arms and beckoning you to view the superb coastal scene on the other side.

The promise of a new Rockaway is symbolized in this entrance way. No longer forgotten by the city, no longer known for its dog attacks and deteriorating homes and infrastructure, Rockaway now welcomes visitors in troves as it strives to return to its fin-de-siècle glory.

All along the boardwalk graceful and playful vistas reign. In the Beach 30s the boardwalk is a faithful companion to the new Far Rockaway Park by WXY Studio, whose physical structures recall parasols, gull wings, and beach towels blowing in the wind. In the Beach 70s the boardwalk acts as an esplanade for the inhabitants of the sturdy new development of Arverne by the Sea. Through the Beach 80s and 90s smaller but no less marvelous entrance pathways that wind like serpents and are lined by native beach plants lead the way to revamped concessions. Passing through the Beach 100s the boardwalk provides the backdrop for historic, mural-ed bus stops that depict striking aquatic scenes, and it ends in the Beach 120s in a look-out station for kids and curious adults a like.

The new boardwalk was highly contested. For many, concrete represented an end to the beach-style life that Rockaway residents prided themselves on living.

But the City of New York no longer wanted Rockaway to be known as the city’s refuse. Residents were included in the design process so that the final structure would represent there hopes and ambitions for a united community; a community that will not lift up a white flag as it stares down the harrowing face of climate change and sea level rise.

Portions of the boardwalk were turned to concrete before 2012. These sections were a mess. Meant to reflect the look and texture of sand, the individual blocks seemed too chaotically different from each other: they weren’t all the same texture and never seemed to line up correctly. They did, however, hold up in the storm, a foreshadow of change to come.

The new boardwalk is an engaging light grey-blue color, inlaid with stone and glass, and it doesn’t shallowly try to imitate the environment it lives in. Instead it works with it, offering a contrast of color and sliding nicely into, and fortifying, the natural dune ecosystem. Undulating lines that look like waves separate the bike lanes from the walking paths, and thoughtfully designed lifeguard stations, water fountains, and wooden benches (made from the original boardwalk wood) abound.

I find the boardwalk a beacon of environmentally sound and beautifully designed infrastructure that sets up Rockaway Beach for its long awaited renaissance.

Emblazoned in light-blue is the community’s signature. Can you spot it as you take-off from or land at JFK? Or perhaps you can figure it out using a different perspective from right there on the ground.

You only have to cast your eyes on [architecture] to feel the presence of the past [and] the spirit of a place… – I.M. Pei

Good? Better? No, the Best of Beaux-Arts Architecture.

This week’s post is dedicated to a person who had an astounding impact on my life, Mrs. Annmarie Todes.

Mrs. Todes was my 6th grade humanities teacher. She was a person of the most devoted, humble, and loving nature. 6th grade was a huge transition for me: I started middle school relatively far from my home in a new school where I knew almost no one else and where the academic rigor challenged me. Mrs. Todes helped me through that.

Looking back, I think that she saw something in me that I did not and could not see in myself. My grades were poor in 6th grade and I did not feel as if I was living up to expectations. But Mrs. Todes treated me no differently than the other kids in my grade. Though she didn’t work one-on-one with me often, in the moments she could she did her best to help me understand what I was doing and why it mattered. She cultivated in me, though I did not sense it at the time, an affinity for writing, for history, and for art. Without her guidance, in 6th grade and beyond, I don’t think I would have found my passion, or many of the successes I’ve achieved. For that I am forever grateful.

Mrs. Todes passed away last week. Just a week earlier, when I found out she was in hospice, I sent her an email asking her what her favorite building and/or public place in New York City was. Her two answers surprised me at first: the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the New York Public Library (NYPL) Main Branch at 42nd St.

I expected her to tell me a little known place in NYC that she frequented, someplace she found solace in. Perhaps it was home to some obscure knowledge that she loved to enlighten other people with. But after sitting with her response for a few hours, I realized that it made perfect sense.

Where else in NYC can you find such generous reserves detailing the history of humankind in all of its splendor? Where else in NYC might a person with the utmost curiosity in the human experience, its grandeur and its grief, and the passion for sharing it with others, spend her time learning? The Met I am saving for another post; here, I’d like to take a look at the NYPL Main Branch, one of the finest examples of Beaux-Arts architecture, through Mrs. Todes’ eyes.

Beaux-Arts architecture works because it inspires. Eclecticism reigns: the beaux arts combines the grandiosity of Ancient Greece and Rome with the humanism of the Renaissance and the theatricality of the Baroque. At the NYPL, Carrére and Hastings brought Dr. John Shaw Billings’ scrap paper vision into breathtaking reality.

Austere and commanding, the lions Patience and Fortitude sit outside. They welcome researchers, tourists, students, families, explorers… anyone really, the library is proud to be a public institution, into the over 100 miles of written knowledge found inside.

As Vincent Scully might have felt, you enter the building like royalty. Astor Hall fills you with a belief that anything is possible by sheer virtue of its bright, beautiful Vermont marble. You have two options, continue forward through the majestic archways, or give in to the gravity of the grand staircases on either side- like I always am.

Ascending these stairs, and those beyond, is an act of wonder and anticipation. The intricate bronze-work of the chandeliers, the delicate stone moulding, and the stature of the strong marble blocks finds no match in almost any other building in the country.

Waiting for you at the end of it all is the McGraw Rotunda and the Rose Main Reading Room. These burst alive with panels and corinthian pilasters of dark, walnut wood. Stunning paintings depict the virtuous history of the written word and the pure revelation of a blue sky infused with dazzling light and wispy clouds. How could one not feel the urge to learn as much as they could about the world?

The Main Branch, and other successful Beaux-Arts buildings, embody a striking duality: they are filled and adorned with opulence, yet they are humble, and strong. Mrs. Todes did more than just peruse the building and garner intelligence from its books, she became the living embodiment of the Main Branch and its doctrines. Resilient and strong-willed, she also gave as much as herself to other people as she could. Mrs. Todes opened her heart to others like the library, with thrall, offers its liveliness and wisdom to the citizens of New York.

The 20th-Century International Style rejected the Beaux-Arts and its frivolity. But in the best examples of Beaux-Arts architecture, in which care and consideration for design and materials are upheld, frivolity vanishes. Grandeur takes its place, which lends itself to inspiration and transformative experiences. I think that Mrs. Todes recognized this. I can imagine her walking through the halls and stairways of the Main Branch in exhilaration, forever leaving her touch on the building- and then on all that she encountered.

For that, I and so many others are forever grateful.

Gaudeamus igitur
Iuvenes dum sumus.
Post iucundam iuventutem
Post molestam senectutem
Nos habebit humus.