1 thought on “Open City: Governors Island, Manhattan”
The only time I’ve visited Governors Island was a few years ago, after I found out from a subway poster that ferry service was available to it on Saturday mornings through the summer. I was excited because I love visiting places in New York I’ve never been before. New York is like that. You can be here a long, long time and still find new, exciting places to see.
Governors Island had always been off limits because until fairly recently it was a military base. You weren’t allowed to visit without permission from the military. In all my years living in New York, the only person I’d known who’d been there was a woman whose husband was a Coast Guard officer. She lived there, of course.
Before the day of the trip, I consulted a copy of Sharon Seitz and Stuart Miller’s excellent book The Other Islands of New York City, which gives a detailed account of the island’s complicated history. It made me even more excited about visiting.
One boards the ferry from a somewhat run-down little building just east of the Staten Island terminal, near a heliport. The ride itself is only a few minutes. Upon arriving, me and the other visitors were greeting by a pleasant young employee of the National Park Service. He was there to give us a guided tour. I was surprised and disappointed – none of the literature I’d come across mentioned anything about a tour. I hate tours and was very much looking forward to wandering around on my own. I wasn’t alone. One young fellow in our group said he wasn’t expecting a tour. He asked if he would be allowed to look around for himself and was told no. He said he did not want to go on a tour and asked to be returned to Manhattan but was told he would have to wait for the next ferry (the ferry that brought us over had already gone back) and that would be an hour. He chose to wait.
The rest of us – about 15 – were handed a photocopied map of the island. The guide pointed out where we were on the map. He showed how the island resembles an ice cream cone and said that we would tour the “ice cream” part – because that part was park land. Another disappointment. The cone part, I knew, is made up of contemporary residences – low-rise brick apartment buildings that housed the Coast Guard families – the ones you see as you glide past Governors Island on the Staten Island ferry. They’re so mysterious and attractive. Too bad we wouldn’t get to see them up close.
The tour was interesting enough. We were shown historical sites such as Fort Jay, the house where Reagan and Gorbachev brokered détente, and, most memorably the horrible Civil War prison, where Confederate prisoners were badly mistreated.
Among the group were these two heavy set, late middle-aged men, one with a very ill-fitting toupee. I couldn’t help noticing them, not least because one – the one with the toupee – was unselfconsciously enjoying a cigar, and because they spoke to each other in the type of stereotypical New York accent that one almost never hears any more, at least not in New York City. I imagined that they were Mafia guys, visiting because they were scouting out new, formerly unavailable places to bury bodies. They asked questions of the guide like how cold it got at night, and if a bridge to the island were planned.
The tour ended about ten minutes before the arrival of the ferry back to Manhattan. When the tour group split up around the dock area, lingering while waiting, I tried to sneak away in the direction of the low-rise apartment buildings. A park worker spotted me and shouted at me to get back near the dock area.
The island is unlike any other place I’ve been in New York, probably because nothing’s been changed on it since it served as a military base. I’d love to return, in the unlikely event that I’d be allowed to wander freely.
The only time I’ve visited Governors Island was a few years ago, after I found out from a subway poster that ferry service was available to it on Saturday mornings through the summer. I was excited because I love visiting places in New York I’ve never been before. New York is like that. You can be here a long, long time and still find new, exciting places to see.
Governors Island had always been off limits because until fairly recently it was a military base. You weren’t allowed to visit without permission from the military. In all my years living in New York, the only person I’d known who’d been there was a woman whose husband was a Coast Guard officer. She lived there, of course.
Before the day of the trip, I consulted a copy of Sharon Seitz and Stuart Miller’s excellent book The Other Islands of New York City, which gives a detailed account of the island’s complicated history. It made me even more excited about visiting.
One boards the ferry from a somewhat run-down little building just east of the Staten Island terminal, near a heliport. The ride itself is only a few minutes. Upon arriving, me and the other visitors were greeting by a pleasant young employee of the National Park Service. He was there to give us a guided tour. I was surprised and disappointed – none of the literature I’d come across mentioned anything about a tour. I hate tours and was very much looking forward to wandering around on my own. I wasn’t alone. One young fellow in our group said he wasn’t expecting a tour. He asked if he would be allowed to look around for himself and was told no. He said he did not want to go on a tour and asked to be returned to Manhattan but was told he would have to wait for the next ferry (the ferry that brought us over had already gone back) and that would be an hour. He chose to wait.
The rest of us – about 15 – were handed a photocopied map of the island. The guide pointed out where we were on the map. He showed how the island resembles an ice cream cone and said that we would tour the “ice cream” part – because that part was park land. Another disappointment. The cone part, I knew, is made up of contemporary residences – low-rise brick apartment buildings that housed the Coast Guard families – the ones you see as you glide past Governors Island on the Staten Island ferry. They’re so mysterious and attractive. Too bad we wouldn’t get to see them up close.
The tour was interesting enough. We were shown historical sites such as Fort Jay, the house where Reagan and Gorbachev brokered détente, and, most memorably the horrible Civil War prison, where Confederate prisoners were badly mistreated.
Among the group were these two heavy set, late middle-aged men, one with a very ill-fitting toupee. I couldn’t help noticing them, not least because one – the one with the toupee – was unselfconsciously enjoying a cigar, and because they spoke to each other in the type of stereotypical New York accent that one almost never hears any more, at least not in New York City. I imagined that they were Mafia guys, visiting because they were scouting out new, formerly unavailable places to bury bodies. They asked questions of the guide like how cold it got at night, and if a bridge to the island were planned.
The tour ended about ten minutes before the arrival of the ferry back to Manhattan. When the tour group split up around the dock area, lingering while waiting, I tried to sneak away in the direction of the low-rise apartment buildings. A park worker spotted me and shouted at me to get back near the dock area.
The island is unlike any other place I’ve been in New York, probably because nothing’s been changed on it since it served as a military base. I’d love to return, in the unlikely event that I’d be allowed to wander freely.