Lost in Times: Staten Island’s Many Sides

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A friend who, bless her soul, still reads the New York Times sent me a link to an article about Staten Island, where I’ve lived for the past 28 years. After reading “Walking on the Wild Side,” I was again amazed at how Times writers manage to produce news articles that reflect their own preconceptions, rather than the simple facts.

Andy Newman’s August 13 article, describing his six-day trek around the island, sought to present a rarely seen side of the forgotten borough of New York City. You know: the boondock side. Mr. Newman thinks Staten Island is, “in its peculiar way, the Alaska of New York City.”

He explains: “That is, a place where nature, however debased, still plays a role in daily life and where there is room to pursue a dream, whether that means amassing a mansion-full of musty antiques or a yard full of cars up on blocks patrolled by roosters, or building an artwork along a quarter mile of beachfront, or simply drinking a beer outside the corner store without having to hide it in a paper bag.”

Can’t you hear the banjos playing that “Deliverance” tune? Hey, this may be new material for Jeff Foxworthy: If you have cars up on blocks in your yard, you might be a … Staten Islander.

Just about everyone Mr. Newman met on his trek comes across as somewhat quirky or quaint — hardly your everyday New Yorker. I rather suspect that he was looking for just these types of characters to confirm his conception of this conservative borough as something akin to flyover country, rather than part of the most urban city in America.

Although I’ve been a Staten Islander for nearly three decades, I was born in Manhattan and can still recall having no idea what land lay beyond the Staten Island Ferry terminal. Goodness, Staten Island wasn’t even close enough to be included in the bridge and tunnel insult hurled by snobby Manhattanites.

I confess to knowing very little about the other boroughs, but if I were assigned to write about any of them, I’d be more likely to go inland rather than just skim the outer ridges, as Mr. Newman did. What I found strange about the article is that he visited Tottenville yet never mentioned the Conference House, where Benjamin Franklin and John Adams met with the British peace commissioner, Admiral Lord Richard Howe, to discuss an end to hostilities.

Mr. Newman then trekked up to Great Kills Park but ignored the area that always reminds me of Fire Island. Instead, he wrote: “There, far beyond pilings crowned with cormorants, the Brooklyn skyline shimmered, a jarring reminder that there was a rest of the city.” Pining for the other boroughs, are we?

Very close to this area down Arbutus Street is a complex of multimillion-dollar homes that rival Malibu’s and are anything but quaint. These beachfront homes are rumored to have revolving rooms that rotate to share the spectacular water vistas.

The simple truth is that Staten Island is the fastest-growing county in New York State — and with good reason. It combines the urban, the suburban, and sometimes even the rural, but no one aspect dominates. Perhaps that is what I found so jarring about the article.

There may very well be quirky, quaint personalities on the island, but it is also the home to the movers and shakers of New York. Mr. Newman should have checked the Times archives for an article in 1990 by Jerry Cheslow, who wrote about Todt Hill, the highest natural point on the Eastern Seaboard south of Maine. There is nothing more spectacular than its panoramic vista of the Manhattan skyline, the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, New York Harbor, and the New Jersey shore. He wrote: “Because of its elevation, Todt Hill is also one of the most secluded, rural and expensive residential neighborhoods in New York City.” When the article was written, the writer describes houses that cost as much as $6 million. One can only imagine what they go for now.

I trust I’ve been able to offer a more balanced picture of the smallest borough, but perhaps I should be grateful that Mr. Newman portrayed Staten Island as a backwater. If everyone knew what a terrific place it was to raise a family, they might swarm in, and traffic is already bad enough. Just ask the folks at NASCAR.


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