When
we were growing up, there wasn't any money for trips or vacations.
Summers were spent at the city beach, where it cost a $1.00 for a
summer pass and a dime a day admission for kids and a quarter for
adults. The beach was small, but we knew most of the people there and
we had a bunch of relatives who kept us company each day.
Since we moved back to the area, we took our kids to see the beach.
(My husband grew up a block away and often went to the beach, and we
fantasize that we may have sat blanket to blanket, yet never met.)
We drove into the parking lot on the Sound and said to the children:
"This is where we spent our summers."
"Where?"
"At the beach."
"What beach?"
Pointing out car window with impatience:
"There, see that sand, see that big concrete pier?"
"That little thing of sand with the steps coming out of the water?"
"Well, it's high tide."
"Gross. You really were deprived."
Looking at it through my kids' eyes, it did seem a lot smaller and
pretty, well, gross. Not much has changed since I was a kid. There's a
half-moon spit of sand with concrete steps leading into the murky water
of the westernmost part of Long Island Sound. There’s a long, narrow
concrete pier with iron railing and, a recent addition, a few tubs of
flowers. There are uncomfortable benches, a small snack stand, and I
swear, the exact same outdoor showers with the flaking paint and slimy
bottoms that were there thirty years ago. There’s actually two beaches,
the “new”, forty-year old beach, and the Old Beach, which must be 75
years old. Early photos of the area show the natural, lovely, rock
formations that lead down to the water. I assume there were dynamited
away to provide a sandy beach and to avoid people injuring themselves
if they tried to climb from the rocks into the water.
The swimming area itself is quite small, bounded by a set of ropes.
There used to be a float that we swam to, the goal of all kids past
seven, and from which we would dive and climb back up about a million
times, or push each other in until the lifeguard blew his whistle,
because what else was there to do? Even when I was young, the water was
periodically closed when we had heavy rains because the waste treatment
plant would overflow, or a “red tide”, which I believe were organisms
that caused itchiness, was present. Today, there’s actually a sign at
the pier that says that from time to time there may be "organisms" in
the water that may make swimming hazardous to your health.
I thought my kids would gag.
The other beach-going choice for our city, known as "The Queen City of the Sound"
is a county park that boasts a long, narrow beach that virtually
disappears at high tide. Before we used to go, we'd check the tide
charts and plan our day for low tide so we'd find a place to sit. At
least at this park, you could lie on the sand, as opposed to the city
beach, where you had to lie on concrete. However, if you didn’t have a
pool in your backyard, and I knew no one who did, and if you didn’t
belong to a beach club, and we certainly never would, those were your
swimming choices, unless you drove the thirty miles to Jones Beach on
the ocean, which we did once a year.
There were plenty of beach clubs, beautiful clubhouse with pools and
sandy beaches in choice spots all along the coastline. There are also
private yacht clubs, many on the small islands that dot our end of the
Sound. And there are commercial and industrial uses that block even a
view of the Sound for miles.
You can blame the cities and counties of Westchester County for 1)
greed; 2) poor civic planning; and 3) greed when it comes to asking why
the ownership of the southern coastline of the County is mainly private
ownership, industrial use, and land barons. My city,
after putting in a marina and a beach, leased out the rest of the cove
to a waste treatment plant and energy plant. Isn't that what you'd like
to share the water with as you sail out of the harbor? There's a
passive use park a mile down the coast, where it struggles to retain
its footing amid private beach clubs and now, McMansions shoehorned
twenty to a spot. The city is now making noise about cleaning up the
harbor, tearing down the industrial and commercial uses, and allowing
the end of Main Street to actually look out on the water. Of course,
it's caught up in terrific legal wrangling over environmental impact,
private use, and money, money, money. I hope my children get to see it,
but I doubt I ever will.
This is not out of the ordinary for the rest of the County. The Town
of Mamaroneck's large, sandy beach shares a driveway with a county
waste treatment plant. The beach was closed for, oh, I think three
years, while they tried to figure out
how to protect the five beaches on the water from the routinely high
coliform counts from spillage from the plant. Read here about Up a ways
in Rye, there's a small, pretty city beach
next to a county beach, but it's a twenty minute drive from here, and
very little parking to be had. There's one or two conservancy areas
where one can walk, but very little of the coastline is accessible to
the public for any reason.
My "favorite" declaration of public vs. private use is the town of Larchmont's implementation of a chain link fence with barb wire
to keep out the riff raff from their town beach. It looks quite
charming running along between the shoreline and the million dollars
homes. You'll note that in these photos
of the town, there are not shots of the fence! And “kudos” to the town
of Greenwich, Ct, that has only opened up their beach to non-residents
after a local lawyer made it a crusade and went all the way to the
Supreme Court to win his case. However, the town still has authority to
charge for parking, so they turn away non-residents at the gate, direct
them back into town about five miles away to find the town hall where
they must purchase a parking ticket for about $35, then drive back to
the beach. By then the kids are screaming and crying, the parents are
totally fed up, and half the day is gone.
Stan and I were out on Long Island over the Fourth of July. We drove
through towns on the North Fork like Oyster Bay and we were impressed
as we passed open coast and accessible beaches for mile after mile.
Each town has a large beach, and many streets just end at the Sound.
Although there were plenty of wealthy, private enclaves, there also
were plenty of blue collar beaches, as I call them, and municipal
marinas where a family can spend the day and not have to drive forty
minutes in traffic and spend $25 to park.
Only in the last twenty years have people woken up to the impact on
Long Island Sound and taken measures to stop the pollution, increase
public passive use, and to literally try to breathe life into the
nitrogen-rich waters that once hosted a grand biodiversity. It is a
balancing act to manage the Sound and access to it, but consideration
must be given to equal access for the rich and the poor, which nowadays
is anyone who is trying to raise a family on less than $100,000 a year
in Westchester County.
I love Long Island Sound. It was one of the attractions that drew me
back here. But I won't swim in the watersat the western end of the
Sound, and couldn’t in good conscience urge anyone to do so. If you
live in an area that has public access to water, protect it, support
it, and use it judiciously. And become active in your municipality's
governance of the waters around you.
