The Newtown Pentacle

Altissima quaeque flumina minimo sono labi

Posts Tagged ‘Brooklyn

skeptical, cynical, and disinclined

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Note: This is another one of my “notebook” postings, which are often a little unfinished. When I’m studying something, all sources are initially considered, and sometimes a blind alley or false lead turns out to be wrong. I’m studying Greenpoint at the moment, not unlike the “Bloody Sixth Ward” posts that were presented a few months ago.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Another one of those little observations which serves to shock and stun the more recently arrived and strictly modern populations of the ancient cities found along the Newtown Creek, municipalities like Greenpoint or Long Island City, is that both long time residents and newcomers alike fish in these waters and consume their catches. Same thing happens along the Hudson, of course, and often it is financial necessity which demands that even suspect sources of protein such as those organisms routinely observed in New York Harbor make it to the dinner table. My Dad used to go crabbing along Fresh Creek, for instance, and off the Canarsie Pier.

According to the EPA, fish caught in Newtown Creek have been observed to be offered on neighborhood restaurant menus, so not everything that wriggles out of the water is meant for personal consumption.

It’s also fun, a chance to hang out at the waterfront with friends, as in the case of the anglers pictured above- a group of good natured Greenpointers who were exploiting (as I was) an open street end bulkhead on Kent Street, just off West. Don’t bother looking for it, or them, as fences have been thrown up around this spot at the end of the summer and it is no longer accessible by the general public.

from nycgovparks.org

When European mariners arrived here in the 17th century, they called the entire peninsula “Greenpoint” because of a grassy bluff on the bank of the East River. The Dutch bought Greenpoint, including what would become Williamsburg and Bushwick-Ridgewood, from the Keskachauge in 1638 and named it Boswijck (Bushwick) Township. A Scandinavian ship’s carpenter, Dirck Volckertsen, acquired Greenpoint from the Dutch in 1645. The land then passed to a Dutch military captain, Pieter Praa, and afterwards to an inventor and industrialist, Neziah Bliss.

For almost two centuries, the area thrived agriculturally and remained isolated from the rest of the region. At the time of the Revolutionary War, only five families lived in the Greenpoint area. Annetti Bennett, Pieter Praa’s daughter, and her husband Jacob built the first house near the playground site. This house was close to present-day Clay Street, between Manhattan Avenue and Franklin Street. The first road was built in Greenpoint in 1838, and a regular ferry service followed soon after.

When Greenpoint’s streets were further laid out in the mid-19th century, they received a letter designation in alphabetical order, running roughly southeast starting with A Street and ending with O Street. Many neighborhood residents did not like these initial names, and the streets were renamed with more colorful names, while keeping pattern. A Street became Ash Street, followed by Box, Clay, DuPont, Eagle, Freeman, Green, Huron, India, Java, Kent, Lincoln, Milton, Noble, and Oak. Lincoln Street was later changed to Greenpoint Avenue.

Industrialization and an influx of residents soon followed, flooding the newly laid streets. The area became known for shipbuilding, as well as for what were known as the five “black” arts: printing, oil refining, cast iron manufacturing, and glass and pottery making. By 1875, more than 50 oil refineries were located in Greenpoint, Williamsburg, and Bushwick. Charles Pratt’s great Astral Oil Works were located along nearby Newtown Creek. Notable products from Greenpoint include the first ironclad warship, The Monitor, built by Thomas Rowland’s Continental Ironworks at Calyer and West Streets. Examples of the wrought ironwork created during that period can still be seen in the details of Greenpoint residences and businesses today. Immigrants from Ireland, England, Russia, Italy, and Poland crowded into Greenpoint during the late 1800s to work in the factories.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Kent is just down the riverfront from Java street. The duo in the right corner of the shot above are actually sitting on the bulkheaded shoreline of Java, which was the location of the Meserole House- once found on the East River shoreline between India and the aforementioned Java street.

The Meseroles were one of the original Dutch families which populated Greenpoint, and were crazily well off by the financial standards of the time. In 1810, one of their descent- one Mary A. Meserole- married a particularly important person in Greenpoint (and Queens) history- the yankee engineer Neziah Bliss, and this is where their home once stood.

Bliss, of course, was a superintendent of the Novelty Iron Works in Manhattan and was instrumental in laying out the early roads that connected post colonial Greenpoint with the larger towns of Brooklyn and Queens, and ne of the fathers of the industrial city which would emerge later in the century.

from nyc.gov

Greenpoint is generally defined as the district bounded by North 7 Street on the south, the East River on the West, Newton Creek on the north and the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway on the east, corresponding approximately to the area of ward 17 in the 19 century. th

Once also known as Cherry Point, Greenpoint, got its name from the eponymous spit of grassy land that extended into the East River near the foot of what later became Freeman Street. The name came to designate all of the 17 ward when Greenpoint, Bushwick, and Williamsburg were joined to Brooklyn in 1854. At that time, the 17 ward was home to approximately 15,000 inhabitants. A sandy bluff, over one hundred feet high in some parts, overlooked the shoreline between Java and Milton Streets, but it was leveled before the middle of the 19 century for use as building material and landfill both in New York and locally. The original Greenpoint spit disappeared between 1855 and 1868 when the western half of the blocks along the once white sandy shoreline west of West Street were created by landfilling. During this period, the blocks west of Commerce Street between Ash and Eagle Streets were also created or in the process of being filled.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

By the late 19th century, and the first half of the 20th, this part of Brooklyn was defined by heavy industry and maritime interests. Vast agglutinations of what Dickens or Milton might have described as “dark satanic mills” lined the shore, until they were crowded out by the growing petrochemical industry. In the case of this locale, Kent Street that is, it was Jones’ Lumber Yard. The shot above is from a couple of blocks away near the remains of the Brooklyn Terminal Market around Noble Street complex, exhibited just for context.

also from nyc.gov

For Greenpointers in the first half of the 19 century, the waterfront was a place for both work and play. Before oil refineries lined the shore, the waters of Newtown Creek were ideal for boating, fishing and swimming. At the mouth of the creek, where it joins the East River, Pottery Beach, named for early pottery works that operated there, was a favorite place for swimming. Above the beach rose Pottery Hill, where spectators gathered to watch the start of yacht races up the East River. At other times, thousands lined both sides of the creek to watch oarsmen race their sculls from the Manhattan Avenue Bridge to the Penny Bridge at Meeker Avenue, two bridges that no longer exist.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

Friends who grew up here warn me not to talk with people you might meet along the waterfront, lest I find out more about the ancient place than is desirable, and that the whole stretch of West Street was once a stupidly dangerous place to be at any time of day- but especially at night.

One buddy of mine, a highly corruptible italian irish hybrid employed by certain union interests, swears that the entirety of the East River waterfront in Greenpoint is haunted- “and I mean effin ghosts- bro- izz-all-fockt-up down there”. He describes odd shadows cast by impossible forms, and half imagined faces that appear in the flash of automobile headlamps.

Greenpoint is a very, very strange place- apparently.

and finally, also from nyc.gov

Another important shipbuilder of the time was John Englis of New York City, who established a ship yard on the Greenpoint river front between Java and Kent Streets. He manufactured some of the ships that were used in the blockade of the Confederate states during the Civil War; vessels for the China trade, and passenger steamers. Englis’ shipyard, established in 1850, endured until 1911. The Sneeden and Rowland shipyard, formed as a partnership between Thomas Fitch Rowland and Samuel Sneeden in 1859, was also located along the East River waterfront. The first contact awarded to Sneeden and Rowland was for the manufacture of the wrought-and cast-iron pipes, 7½ feet in diameter, to carry the water over the Highbridge Aqueduct of the Croton system. The partnership was dissolved in 1860, and Rowland reorganized the company, renaming it the Continental Works.

Written by Mitch Waxman

October 7, 2010 at 4:17 pm

the very worm that gnaws…

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– photo by Mitch Waxman

Forays into those insidious malignities which can be found only along the storied cobbles of Greenpoint, a village of ancient days which stretches out from a long island into a tidal straight, have been committed by your humble narrator during the torrid months of summer. Blasted in the manner of some second world war set piece, the fire stricken area found along West Street fascinates, and reveals a centuries long industrial tale. This post isn’t about that though (the Greenpoint Terminal Market, that is), this is just one of those weird stories that people like to tell me.

The lumber yards and rope factories mentioned in the ubiquitous quotation below were located along this strip in the independent City of Brooklyn, in those halcyon days of the late 19th century.

from wikipedia

Greenpoint is the northernmost neighborhood in the New York City borough of Brooklyn. It is bordered on the southwest by Williamsburg at the Bushwick inlet, on the southeast by the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway and East Williamsburg, on the north by Newtown Creek and Long Island City, Queens at the Pulaski Bridge, and on the west by the East River. Originally farmland (many of the farm owners’ family names, e.g., Meserole and Calyer, still name the streets), the residential core of Greenpoint was built on parcels divided during the 19th century, with rope factories and lumber yards lining the East River to the west, while the northeastern section along the Newtown Creek through East Williamsburg became an industrial maritime reach.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

A transformative process, the elimination of these abandoned and tenantless structures- viewed from Manhattan as a drain on the tax base, and a magnetic location for the lower eschelons of Greenpoint Society to conjure deviltry and hooliganism’s, a pure waste of prime land- is under way. A few temporary tenants- mechanics and warehouse operations, artists and artisan studios might be found in certain structures- all will make way for development of private residential structures operated under the condominium or cooperative concepts. The transformation has already begun, at former pencil factories and iron foundries all along the shallow banks of the East River.

Greenpoint has always been all about real estate ultimately, all the way back to the beginning.

from wikipedia

Greenpoint was originally inhabited by Keskachauge (Keshaechqueren) Indians, a sub-tribe of the Lenape. Contemporary accounts describe it as remarkably verdant and beautiful, with Jack pine and oak forest, meadows, fresh water creeks and briny marshes. Water fowl and fish were abundant. The name originally referred to a small bluff of land jutting into the East River at what is now the westernmost end of Freeman Street, but eventually came to describe the whole peninsula.

In 1638 the Dutch West India Company negotiated the right to settle Brooklyn from the Lenape. The first recorded European settler of what is now Greenpoint was Dirck Volckertsen (Dutchified from Holgerssøn), a Norwegian immigrant who in 1645 built a one-and-a-half story farmhouse there with the help of two Dutch carpenters. In was in the contemporary Dutch style just west of what is now the intersection of Calyer St. and Franklin Street. There he planted orchards and raised crops, sheep and cattle. He was called Dirck de Noorman by the Dutch colonists of the region, Noorman being the Dutch word for “Norseman” or “Northman.” The creek which ran by his farmhouse became known as Norman Kill (Creek); it ran into a large salt marsh and was later filled in.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

My purpose in coming here from the blessed hills of raven haired Astoria- for reasons connected with that name which must not be mentioned, and my attempts at its discovery- when described to a saturnine neighbor back in that ancient village elicited him to tell me to stay away from Brooklyn’s rusting shoreline.

The older man, an octogenarian at least, described to me an occasion in the 1960’s when business obligations brought him to West Street to receive a package which had been shipped to him from behind the Iron Curtain.

Already a major percentage of the local population by then, the local Poles had developed certain underground shipping methods which allowed them material and emotional egress to a distant and politically isolated homeland, and my neighbor had contracted with some of them to import certain goods from his native Czechoslovakia. His parcel was wholesome, of course, as he was a record producer who specialized in eastern european folk music and its contents consisted of taped recordings of hundreds of hours of choral singing and wild instrumentals, as performed by Roma musicians, which he planned to sell for use as office elevator Muzak. (you actually can’t make this stuff up- I love Astoria)

The ancient Czech, already pale and wan due to advanced age and fragile health, grew whiter still when he described something he saw happening on West Street.

from nytimes.com

Dirck Volckertsen, one of the early settlers, “was known as ‘Dirck the Norman’ despite being Scandinavian.” This also seems to have confounded a number of local historians. Actually, he was called “de Noorman” precisely because he was Scandinavian. Norman/Noorman means Norseman or Northman in Dutch.

Volckertsen’s 1645 house was probably not the first house in Greenpoint either. A group of settlers, mostly of Scandinavian origin, had already settled in the area (illegally, I might add) by the time the Dutch West India Company purchased the land in 1638. Volckertsen did not secure legal title until 1645, when he may have decided to build a more substantial dwelling.

In addition, although it is not improbable that Greenpoint received its name because of its verdant appearance when viewed from the East River, the Dutch version was Hout Hoek, or Wood Point, which must have been translated into Greenpoint at a later date.

– photo by Mitch Waxman

It was late in the day he said, nearly 7 p.m. during the late summer, and as any resident of Greenpoint or Long Island City knows- a bright time of high contrast, deep shadows, and crimson glare typifies the setting as that thermonuclear eye of god itself dips beyond the shield wall of that Shining City across the river of Sound.

The old man said that he saw something…

…he pretends that his english is lacking to avoid describing it in detail at this point in his telling…

…reach out of a sewer , grab at and seize upon a sleeping dog.

My witness describes the appendage as a greasy black sinewy thing with the texture of a burnt sausage, yet possessed of a hideous strength which allowed it to drag the hapless canine into the sewer and under the street. When pressed, he just says the word “vodník” to describe it and crosses himself.

Shaken by the display, my Czech informant iterates that he heard the dogs panicked barking abruptly stop, and that he has never returned to Greenpoint in all the decades since that day.

He later contacted one of the stout Slavs – via telephone- who oversaw the clandestine network that ran mail, packages, and comestibles between the Soviet world and New York City and offered an insignificant sum to deliver the present and all future shipments to my aged friends Astoria offices – an arrangement which lasted well unto the end of the Cold War and pleased both parties.

Greenpoint is a very, very strange place- apparently.

from nycgovparks.org

The native Keshaechqueren originally inhabited this part of Brooklyn. Dutch mercantilists and farmers, arriving in 1638, rapidly developed it into a hub of seafaring commerce. In the 1850s, the community swelled with new residents, of primarily Irish and English descent, when two ferry lines began regularly scheduled runs from the Greenpoint coastline to Manhattan’s East Side. With the almost simultaneous addition of big businesses like the shipbuilding firm Continental Iron Works and fuel provider Astral Oil Works, Greenpoint began to compete on a national level with older naval foundries in Boston and Norfolk.

From the decades following the Civil War through the 20th century, Greenpoint’s population has steadily grown. In the early 1950s, the community began to suffer strain as several waves of immigration met with limited economic opportunities in the neighborhood.

Written by Mitch Waxman

October 6, 2010 at 3:37 am

Do you dare?

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– photo by Mitch Waxman

On October 24th, your humble narrator will be assisting with the hosting duties on a voyage which will depart from the South Street Seaport’s Pier 17 in the Shining City of Manhattan, crossing the East River, and will be entering that hypnotic cataract of forbidden history called the Newtown Creek.

The tour will be led by the photographer and historian Bernard Ente, and will be operating under the auspices and sponsorship of the Working Harbor Committee.

A certain long winded and humble narrator can be expected to speak to the crowd, as well, lords and ladies.

Please join us, on the “American Princess“, a modern and comfortable vessel- for a fully narrated three hour tour of the Newtown Creek which will journey all the way back to the “Heart of Darkness” at English Kills. All attendees will receive a brochure of historic maps, and thanks to the fully narrated tour, observers will be able to discern those ancient forces which govern the Creek to this very day.

A sturdy and modern vessel will be collecting the group at Pier 17 (South Street Seaport) and returning attendees there afterwards. Invited speakers and guest narrators will point out and discuss various points of interest encountered by the ship- whether they be historical, environmental, or conservation based in nature.

The itinerary will take the party some distance along the storied waterway, and both the Greenpoint Avenue Bridge and the Metropolitan Avenue Bridge will activate and open for us as we plunge toward the “Heart of Darkness” at English Kills. The trip will be conducted no matter what the weather might hold for us, as the ship engaged provides ample comfort both within and upon its covered top deck.

Photographers will be granted unique vantage points along the industrial and currently undefended border of Brooklyn and Queens, with vast panoramas of the greater city forming the backdrop, as our modern and comfortable vessel passes through Long Island City, Greenpoint, and East Williamsburg. There will be a galley onboard, and refreshments will be available for purchase at reasonable prices.

Boat departs from South Street Seaport, Pier 17 at East River, Manhattan NYC

10:15 A.M. boarding- 1:30 P.M. return

Tickets $60.00

Ticket price includes brochure of vintage maps.

Refreshments available onboard. Fully narrated tour.

For ticket order form or more information:

contact Tour Chairman Bernard Ente:

bernard@workingharbor.org

photos from an earlier expedition upon the Newtown Creek, in 2008

Written by Mitch Waxman

October 2, 2010 at 12:15 am

…from the landward side…

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– photo by Mitch Waxman

from “The Horror at Red Hook” by H.P. Lovecraft

That same June evening, without having heard a word from the sea, Malone was desperately busy among the alleys of Red Hook. A sudden stir seemed to permeate the place, and as if apprised by ‘grapevine telegraph’ of something singular, the denizens clustered expectantly around the dance-hall church and the houses in Parker Place. Three children had just disappeared—blue-eyed Norwegians from the streets toward Gowanus—and there were rumours of a mob forming among the sturdy Vikings of that section. Malone had for weeks been urging his colleagues to attempt a general cleanup; and at last, moved by conditions more obvious to their common sense than the conjectures of a Dublin dreamer, they had agreed upon a final stroke. The unrest and menace of this evening had been the deciding factor, and just about midnight a raiding party recruited from three stations descended upon Parker Place and its environs. Doors were battered in, stragglers arrested, and candlelighted rooms forced to disgorge unbelievable throngs of mixed foreigners in figured robes, mitres, and other inexplicable devices. Much was lost in the melee, for objects were thrown hastily down unexpected shafts, and betraying odours deadened by the sudden kindling of pungent incense. But spattered blood was everywhere, and Malone shuddered whenever he saw a brazier or altar from which the smoke was still rising.

He wanted to be in several places at once, and decided on Suydam’s basement flat only after a messenger had reported the complete emptiness of the dilapidated dance-hall church. The flat, he thought, must hold some due to a cult of which the occult scholar had so obviously become the centre and leader; and it was with real expectancy that he ransacked the musty rooms, noted their vaguely charnel odour, and examined the curious books, instruments, gold ingots, and glass-stoppered bottles scattered carelessly here and there. Once a lean, black-and-white cat edged between his feet and tripped him, overturning at the same time a beaker half full of a red liquid. The shock was severe, and to this day Malone is not certain of what he saw; but in dreams he still pictures that cat as it scuttled away with certain monstrous alterations and peculiarities. Then came the locked cellar door, and the search for something to break it down. A heavy stool stood near, and its tough seat was more than enough for the antique panels. A crack formed and enlarged, and the whole door gave way—but from the other side; whence poured a howling tumult of ice-cold wind with all the stenches of the bottomless pit, and whence reached a sucking force not of earth or heaven, which, coiling sentiently about the paralysed detective, dragged him through the aperture and down unmeasured spaces filled with whispers and wails, and gusts of mocking laughter.

Of course it was a dream. All the specialists have told him so, and he has nothing to prove the contrary. Indeed, he would rather have it thus; for then the sight of old brick slums and dark foreign faces would not eat so deeply into his soul. But at the time it was all horribly real, and nothing can ever efface the memory of those nighted crypts, those titan arcades, and those half-formed shapes of hell that strode gigantically in silence holding half-eaten things whose still surviving portions screamed for mercy or laughed with madness. Odours of incense and corruption joined in sickening concert, and the black air was alive with the cloudy, semi-visible bulk of shapeless elemental things with eyes. Somewhere dark sticky water was lapping at onyx piers, and once the shivery tinkle of raucous little bells pealed out to greet the insane titter of a naked phosphorescent thing which swam into sight, scrambled ashore, and climbed up to squat leeringly on a carved golden pedestal in the background.


Written by Mitch Waxman

September 29, 2010 at 12:15 am

lucky shot

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– photo by Mitch Waxman

Luckily, there seems to be some effort underway to paint the Brooklyn Bridge. A sheathing of reflective metal scaffolding recently heralded a fortuitous confluence of solar azimuth and camera vantage point as evidenced above.

Luck, pure luck. Check out the larger sizes at flickr by clicking the image (as always).

Written by Mitch Waxman

September 17, 2010 at 2:34 am