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Exploring The Old Motor Parkway

April 23, 2024

When I was ten, my cousins and I would often play in the Old Motor Parkway.  To us, it was a wonderful long grassy space surrounded by little trees and overgrown shrubbery. We could see remnants of concrete pavement, and deep paths of the road way as reminders of the travelers that once captured this now quiet place.   


The Long Island Motor Parkway system was developed by William K. Vanderbilt Jr. in the very early 1900s as one of the first roads dedicated to automobiles (as opposed to horses and carriages).  Car racing at the time was a great pastime, and residents did not want the dust, noise and danger to run through their neighborhoods. The Vanderbilt Cup Races were famous in the early 1900s.  So he created the roadway as a toll road system from Queens all the way out to east end of the island in Suffolk County.  Over the years, these road ways were also attractive for Sunday drives in the family Model T and later in the Roadsters with the jump seats in the back. The whole concept is reminiscent of the culture of the Great Gatsby as people moved back and forth from New York City to the Hamptons and to the marinas of Montauk Point throughout the 1920s and 1930s.  Then in between 1938 and1942 this private roadway was sold for back taxes and it was no longer kept up. World War II came along and afterwards, this decaying roadway was replaced by more modern roads that connected communities and provided access to shopping areas, fishing villages, beaches, marinas, and golf clubs. By the time we were ten, it was the Old Motor Parkway. There are still stretches of this marvel that weave through various neighborhoods as bike and walking paths.  

Families and Sunday Drives 

So while all this modernizing was taking place, the second generation immigrant children in the ethnically oriented communities of Long Island explored the remnants of this road system.  Sometimes the vestiges of the of roadway provided boundaries between the Italian and Irish communities and the Swedish, Polish, and Jewish communities. In the 1920s and 1930s that next generation of families left Brooklyn, Williamsburg, and other boroughs of New York City, and settled their extended families in quiet neighborhoods surrounded by skinny forests and come-along vines that were connected by the Old Motor Parkway.  My mother’s seven brothers and sisters lived within a few miles of each other, with several families living on the same street.  The same was true in my father’s family.  The original family home was the center point for the brothers and sisters of that family. We never knew whose house we would be at for lunch and sometimes dinner!   And, there were other families who lived in the neighborhood with their extended families.  So as children we encountered the rich variety of cultures, religions, foods, and holidays that added adventure to our lives.   
 
The Old Motor Parkway was hidden by the trees, grass and weeds, by the time I was 10. It was magical for me and my cousins to run two blocks out there and realize that we were standing on space that 30 years earlier was a busy road where ancient racing cars rumbling, clattering and vrooming down the road. We imagined families driving their fine Model Ts and then, their 1930s Roadsters with the jump seat in the back. We thought we heard the
ahoogas of the old horns. And imagined the pretty ladies in their brightly colored scarves streaming in the wind. It was the Sunday afternoon adventure—from the stories our old relatives told. 

Forts, Fancy and Fame

But when we were 10, it was different.   My cousins and I built forts to make ourselves comfortable on the leafy ground where we could stay hidden and watch the big kids from the other neighborhoods (mostly Italian) come out for baseball games between the neighborhoods. The teams were ethnically organized:  Irish against the Italians, Swedes against the Poles.  We learned a lot about language from these adventures— all the wrong kinds of words— as we would find when we repeated them at the dinner table!  It is funny to think about that now!   

  

The other memorable thing that we learned was how important status was to some of the boys with cigarettes rolled up in their tee shirt sleeves. These boys were followed by their girlfriends in bright colored short shorts, with big shiny belts — they were so grown-up with their red lipstick and hoop earrings.  These kids, for some reason looked more sophisticated than our brothers and sisters.  They were from the community on the other side of the Parkway.  They would brag about their older brothers who were sent to reform school, and they wanted to be like them—get their street cred, and then go to Riker’s Island (the prison).  My cousin and I were appalled!  Why would anyone want to give up their freedom, to go to jail!  She and I dismissed them as strange. We would then retreat to her attic bedroom and dance to the rock and roll records, dream about meeting Buddy Holly, Ricky Nelson, or Elvis Presley, or singing like Patsy Cline and Patty Paige.  My cousin eventually married one of the Italian boys who went to Catholic High School with her. 

History and The Old Country Pastries 

We also learned a lot from our Jewish neighbors who lived nearby.  Old Mrs. Freidman, brought pies, pastries and bread to my Aunt’s house, poured herself a cup of coffee and chatted on about a variety of things from what life was like in the old days in Poland (interesting to me because my mother’s family was Polish), to what the tattoo on her forearm meant, to what we needed to know about various other people in the neighborhood, and that there was farmer’s market in the synagogue parking lot this Saturday. Her visits were a treat, especially when she asked each of us to play the piano for her. 

Gratitude and Adventure

My cousin and I were horrified and fascinated by the stories. It was hard to believe that such awful things happened so recently.  My cousin and I were thankful that we lived in a place where we wandered across the weed and grass covered roadway where only the ghosts of the old cars drove by and talked about how lucky we were that we were not losing our family members in death camps. And we resolved to be kind to Old Mrs. Friedman because she had had such a hard life. While we always looked forward to her visits (and the pastries), soon it would be mid-morning, and we would give both my Aunt and Mrs. Friedman a hug, as we dashed out of the kitchen door on our way to find out what the next adventure in the Old Motor Parkway might be. 

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