Letters to the editor

Volume Number 1 Issue Number 11 / December 8 - 14, 2006

More cars on park path

To The Editor:

I am a cyclist who rides the Hudson River greenway every day from my home in Washington Heights to work at Borough of Manhattan Community College on Chambers St. In addition to being a cyclist, I am a volunteer with Time’s Up!, a volunteer environmental advocacy group that promotes bicycling and other environmentally sustainable lifestyle choices.

The bicycle path is my route of choice at all hours not only because it is the fastest and most convenient way to travel from my home to work, but also because it is a car-free safe space to ride where I do not have to worry about cars. I say that because I am hearing impaired. This makes city riding even more challenging for me. In fact, on my way to work recently, I was hit by a car that passed me illegally on my right while riding on the street!

This is the second time someone has been killed on the bike path, and each time I hear about these deaths I think that it could have been me. When a car goes onto the path, it is very easy for a cyclist to be hit, because from a distance car lights are difficult to distinguish from bike lights, and the sound of the engine blends with the sound of the West Side Highway/West St. traffic. Most important, one should not expect any cars to be on the path.

Over the more than two years I have ridden the length of the path daily, I have been disturbed by the rising number of vehicles on the bike path. I have seen passenger cars, limousines, taxis and contractors’ vehicles, including those of the Police, Sanitation and Parks Departments. The metal posts that prevent cars from entering the bike path are often removed, left on the side of the path and never replaced. These posts appear to be designed to lock into their bases and probably have to be removed with a special tool or key. I suspect that drivers and contractors remove them and do not replace them. I think they use the bike path so that they do not have to stop at traffic lights and to avoid traffic.

One night in June, I was riding up the bike path after dinner with my partner, and on our way home we saw the aftermath of an accident on the bike path. The victim of this accident was Dr. Carl Henry Nacht, who was also riding home after dinner with his partner when he was hit by a Police Department tow truck. Although I did not know Dr. Nacht, I later participated in a memorial ride organized by Time’s Up! to dedicate a ghost bike to him near the scene of the accident.

The area around Chelsea Piers is a confusing mix of car, bus and taxi lanes that crisscross each other, but there are no signs directing drivers where to go. Sometimes there is a plastic bollard at some of these intersections, but most times there is no barrier. Even if there is a bollard, these can be easily driven over. Several weeks ago I saw a taxi on the bike path near the north end of the Chelsea Piers. He actually asked me how to get onto the highway, saying that he was lost. Fortunately, he was driving slowly and paying attention to cyclists. Had he been going fast and/or had been drunk, it would have been a lethal mix.

I am deeply saddened by the death of Eric Ng and hope this will bring about a complete ban on car use on the Hudson River greenway.

Philipp Rassmann

Poor little Stuy Town

To The Editor:

Growing up in Stuyvesant Town, I thought the people living in Peter Cooper were rich people. My friend Peri lived across 20th St., which ran between the two, identical-looking groupings of 12-story buildings. Her mother was quiet and demure and wore earrings and a necklace. Her hair was coifed. Peri shopped at Orbach’s, not Klein’s. These were the telltale signs of being rich. I equated wealth less with apartment size — or the presence of air conditioners or an extra bathroom — and more with grooming styles. Of course, Peri wasn’t rich. Her parents just decided to pay a little extra. Coming from Bryant Ave. in the Bronx, my father, shocked enough to increase his rent from $33 to $76, stuck with Stuyvesant Town.

More than lack of air conditioning made the culture of the 1950s and early 1960s stifling, even in New York City, but Stuyvesant Town wasn’t ashamed of what it was. Mothers stayed home, waiting to go back to work when their children started kindergarten. While home, they created the elementary school program, now P.S. 40, and saw to it that Simon Baruch Junior High School was built. Day-to-day life was simple, with dinner at 5:30, at home, every day.

Now, my little Stuyvesant Town wants to toss its humble beginnings aside, and play with the rich buildings. Even Peter Cooper is gussying and gating itself up. But, just as they start to pull up their middle-class bootstraps, the ante has been upped. I fear for my little Stuyvesant Town. Will it be humiliated? How can it compete with the hotshots that have it all, when it is such a plain Jane?

Metropolitan Life sold Stuyvesant Town and Peter Cooper to the (almost) highest bidder. The local press is buzzing. Perhaps they will add doormen, an Observer editorial noted. Alas, just as my poor little Stuyvesant Town thinks it’s going to be cool, all the really good buildings have doormen — and a concierge.

Stuyvesant Town has always had a problem with that neighborhood thing. It is its own neighborhood, but really, where is it? Across 14th St. from the East Village? A few blocks away from Gramercy Park? Take the L, and you’ll be in Williamsburg or the Meatpacking District. No one ever knows where Stuyvesant Town is. Even the Financial District is becoming the place to live with residences named “Five Nine John Lofts.” Guess what is “regarded as one of the world’s most celebrated and exclusive addresses” — 45 Park Ave. That’s on 37th St.! But, here’s the catch, they have “Juliet balconies from nearly every room.” Stuyvesant Town? Not even a window ledge.

It breaks my heart after all these years of Stuyvesant Town’s working hard and being good buildings, of its having to always say, “No, I’m not a housing project.” Stuyvesant Town gets its chance to be luxurious but its practical room layout, frugal closet space, utilitarian cabinets and doors, and sparkling new laundry room signs will look dowdy and belittled by the “posh amenities” of new luxury buildings.

If my new landlord makes me an offer, I won’t refuse, if I can afford it. But I’ve seen what lies beneath the walls of my beloved during the yearly demolition and re-tiling of my bathroom (necessary because of the strange middle-age building condition known as wet wall). Even though my tiles may not match, and I have no radiant-heated stone floors or a lap pool, I say, don’t worry my little Stuyvesant Town, the middle class are the new rich.

I was born in Beth Israel Hospital and moved into Stuyvesant Town a few days later. I promptly moved out when I was 18 and traveled throughout the Bronx, Brooklyn, Staten Island, but never Queens. I returned to Stuyvesant Town in 1990, giving up a $388-a-month apartment on E. Seventh St. for which my friends have never forgiven me.

Marilyn Russo