Hidden Hastings by Lena Rubin

Hidden Hastings Lena Rubin

For me, Hastings the town I’ve lived in for close to 13 years but still know very little about has three components, three identities. Hastings’ identity as “hipsturbia,” penned by the February 2013 article in the Times, has been a little overblown. Visitors to Hastings from Williamsburg can indeed find glutenfree cupcakes here, but they might also be surprised to bump up against some decidedly unhipster history. Across the street from the French named bicycle shop and the ambientlylit yoga studio is familyowned Arturo’s Barber Shop, where the bantering barbers keep watch over a slice of older, more humble, Hastings. And at the Center Restaurant, the waitresses might raise an eyebrow at you if you ask for your waffles without gluten or your milkshake without dairy. Walking down Main Street is only one way to glimpse the patchwork of old and new that makes up Hastings life, of its blue collar, Anacondacopperera past mixed with its proximity to urban gentrification and a shift toward a distinctly new type of culture. And of course this duality is laid out upon a third framework of suburbia. The suburbs are a singularly American concept in American movies, music, and novels they bespeak monotony, homogeneity, and from the teenager’s point of view, something to escape from. I’ve never found Hastings to match up exactly with the stereotype of American suburbia. But by definition, 12 miles north of Manhattan, that’s exactly what it is. At the same time, it’s a place unaffected by corporate franchises, where deer often show up on your doorstep, so it’s easy to forget how close you are to a metropolis. I am fascinated by the way these three identities of Hastings manifest themselves visually and culturally. Over the past few weeks, I’ve begun to explore this question, and here is what I have found so far.

Ever Rest To visit the home of the late Hastings resident and artist Jasper Francis Cropsey, you first have to know that it exists. The property, called Ever Rest, is tucked away behind a gate on Washington Ave. It is not open to the public unless you call or email to schedule a tour; often you must do so a week inadvance. But it’s well worth it. Inside the pale yellow house, enveloped by gardens, are high ceilings, dusty books and aging furniture, the smell of history, and paintings! Everywhere! Cropsey, who was mainly self taught, created over 2400 works of art between the ages of 19 and 75. Born in Staten Island, Cropsey was trained in architecture as a boy. Architectural sketches were what sparked his interest in the fine arts. He was elected to the National Academy of Design in 1844. After marrying his wife, he spent several years travelling in Europe, opened a studio back in New York City, and retired to Hastings, to a house where he could paint the Hudson (in fact, the house is turned backwards, away from the street, so the front porch looks out onto the river). In a glass case in the drawing room, where he and his wife Mariah entertained, you can see his watercolor and oil paints, as well as brushes and palette. The paintings displayed around the house depict mainly Hastings from 1885, when Cropsey moved here, until his death in 1900. his scenes of the Palisades are especially beautiful. Anthony Speiser, my tour guide and the director of the Cropsey Foundation in Hastings, tells me that despite his remarkable talent for landscapes, Cropsey was “not great at portraits, and he knew it.” Anthony points out a somewhat disproportionate depiction of one of Cropsey’s daughters. But for bringing the gift of the arts to Hastings, as well as a pretty cool slice of history, you’re willing to forgive him.

At the Memorial Day Parade, which I attended this year for the first time, there are very few traces of hipsturbia in sight. Instead, there is a procession down Main Street: volunteer firemen, policemen, the mayor waving from his car, girl and boy Scouts, the Hastings Mothers' Club. A elderly veteran sells me an American flag pin for a dollar. Kids eat red Italian ice and stick out their red tongues. There is concentrated, pure patriotism, a rare sight in Hastings. For the day, this is not Hastings, this is real small足town America.

Zinsser Community Gardens “East of Broadway’s Babel and bordered by Edgar’s Lane in Hastings on Hudson the land lies open… quilted by over 30 gardens,” reads an article in a 1966 volume of the Hastings News. Since the beginning of the 20th century, the patch of land beneath what is now the Zinsser baseball field has been a haven for fresh fruits and vegetables grown by Hastings residents. During World War I, Colonel Frederick G. Zinsser owned a chemical plant on the Hastings on Hudson waterfront. He gifted plots of land on what is now Zinsser Park to the families of the men who worked at there, in the tradition of Victory Gardens gardens in residential areas which served to reduce pressure on the public food supply as well as boosting community spirit and morale. When the Zinsser family sold the property in 1965 and the park became public, the gardens were available to whomever could claim them. A century after they were first given to the village, the gardens are being more than well taken care of. In fact, “the land is in such demand that some gardeners make provisions in their wills to pass along their piece to children or grandchildren,'' said the Hastings Recreation Supervisor, Raymond M. Gomes, quoted in a 1990 New York Times article. Each family’s plot is marked with a name, generally on a cheery hand painted sign. Some have decorative windchimes or lawn chairs inside. The fenced off plots create small alleyways that you can walk through from one garden to another, sometimes crossing small bridges over streams. It’s like a very small, very quiet, self sustained city. On a chilly morning earlier this month, a young man tending his plants explained that he hadn’t had much luck yet, but that “things really start to bloom” in late summer. “If you look around, you’ll see people have already done well,” he said, a tad ruefully, “I’ve seen some really nice tomatoes.” I wish him luck. The sky above the gardens was overcast, so I think he found it.

The Marble Quarry In the late 1930s, a philanthropist named Arthur C. Langmuir purchased a parcel of land in Hastings from the Anaconda Wire and Cable company. His aim was to take what was already a functioning marble quarry and give it a dual purpose as a green area, a place of natural refuge. According to a May 1985 issue of the Hastings Historian, he “conceived of the idea after seeing the quarry gardens at Buttes Chamont in Paris… where gaping holes had been transformed into places of natural beauty.” He assembled a team; a 1936 photograph of “the Quarry Gang” shows a group of young workers in crewcuts, brandishing shovels. Langmuir imported exotic trees from abroad and created a pond that was available for swimming, as well as walking trails. And the quarry continued to provide Hastings with industry, producing what was known as White Westchester Marble. As this industry declined later in the 20th century, and after Langmuir died the area located off of the Croton Aqueduct, about a block off of what is now Washington Avenue, became repurposed as essentially a dumping ground for the village’s trash. In 1977, the Village Conservation commission recommended that the area be repurposed into a park “once its capacity for refuse is reached.” It was officially closed from dumping in 2002, yet work to repurpose it has stalled. Currently, it’s populated by weeds and empty beer bottles and little else. Though the bridge bears some impressive graffiti, it’s a shame that what was once a thriving park in Hastings now has little to offer the town. As of late, a group of citizens, who call themselves the Quarry Study Committee, has taken preliminary measures toward restoring the quarry. Hastings resident, and novelist, Christine Lehner says, “we are trying to start a nonprofit soon… to restore the quarry to its natural origins.” Lehner has a strong interest in and passion for the Aqueduct trail system, which provides “a link from Croton all the way to the Bronx,” and she believes that it would be a great benefit to Hastings both to restore the quarry and “to make it part of the trailway system in order to keep people connected.”

This is Christopher Stephens, the owner of riverrun bookstore for 21 years and counting. He has been in Hastings since 1975 and has witnessed quite a bit of change. More activity in and around town 足 more people working within Hastings, rather than commuting. "It was nice to get rid of those miserable buildings by the river," he says 足 referring to the industrial eyesores that marked Hastings' shift into the 21st century. The store's location, more than a little hike up Washington Ave, provides a view down the hill to the river 足 hence its name. I asked Stephens what his favorite place in Hastings was. "Besides here?" he asked, as he raised an eye brow and gestured to the piles of new, used, and collectors' books you see above.