When I first arrived in New York, Tompkins Square Park was the site of one of numerous homeless camps around the city (one stood not far from the UN). The camp held nearly 200 people and had been around for years. At one time, the residents had been quite organized. I knew people who knew some of the originals, particularly the ‘mayor’, but after the original riots in 1988, I suspect much of the true activist element had dispersed. By the time I arrived on the scene, it seemed like just a homeless camp.
Walking through the park, while not really unnerving, was always surreal. I never quite got over seeing campfires and mounds of blue tarps in the middle of a park in one of the world’s most powerful cities, the smoke rising through the trees like from a campground, the grass worn away to bare earth. Most of the residents seemed to want to be left alone, but there were always a few wandering around with that angry, zombie crackhead glaze. A friend – more or less homeless himself at the time – saw a man with his throat slit, lying under one of the trees one night. I can’t remember if the police were called or not.
Photo by Bob Arihood
On Memorial Day, 1991, a concert was held at the bandshell. The bandshell was a favorite for hardcore shows and activist rallies. I can’t remember the details now. Some hardcore band played. A lot of angry white kids were there. They looked like they’d come in from outside – they were big and clumsy, a little too earnest in their protests, too hungry to take on the police who were amassing nearby. After the concert, bottles were thrown, and the police moved in. I’d never seen a riot before, and it was more tame than I’d expected, almost like it had been choreographed. The kids threw bottles down Ave. A , down 7th from B. They pulled debris and even a dumpster into the street. The cops pretended to chase them (I watched a woman loping through the park – and a riot cop loping after her). I was pretty much free to move around, so long as I stayed away from the main conflict zones and didn’t have a bottle in my hand. On Ave A, I started talking to an old Jewish lady who had lived in the area for years.
“They say they’re anarchists. They ain’t anarchists, they’re just drunks. I’ll be glad when the homeless are gone, then we can use the park again.”
A thunderstorm cleared out the rioters and the police and the park was closed off that night. Mayor David Dinkins reclaimed the park for the city, and the homeless were moved out, the park closed for the next 14 months while the city replanted the grass, fixed up the battered fencing and the playgrounds – and tore down the bandshell. I rode by a couple nights later with some friends. It was eerie: blue traffic barriers lined the park, and lines of cops stood in front of the barriers, gazing blankly through the hazy summer night. When I went down a week later, the cops were still in place, and I think the ten foot metal fence was already going up. Yet the cops were relaxed, and seemed not at all concerned about people taking pictures or vaguely suspect characters like me hanging around peering inside the barricades.
Photo: Bob Arihood
I don’t know where the bulk of the homeless had gone. A few lingered on in the sidestreets. The oddest thing was the sudden emergence of obviously affluent people. You’d never have thought they were in the area before. I remember once incident in particular. A little black woman hung around on Ave A. I remembered her from before the crackdown. She must have weighed about 90 pounds and I don’t think she even had shoes. Mostly she muttered to herself, but at one point she screamed an obscenity at a white lady walking past. The white lady, well-dressed, one of those affluent people I mentioned earlier, went ballistic, rushing over to one of the cops at the barriers.
“Officer! Did you see that? She assaulted me! Do something!”
The cop said: “We can’t do anything, ma’am. That’s not our side of the street. If you want an officer who can do something, you’ll have to call 911.”
I guess they had jurisdictional issues or something. The lady ran around screaming for awhile, enlisting other well-dressed people in her cause, while the little black woman, a few steps away from death and clearly deranged, muttered obscenities to herself. Finally a big black cop appeared and told the lady to calm down. When she protested, he looked exasperated a moment, then picked up the still sputtering crackhead and carried her around the corner, out of sight, out of mind.
I left for a year or so. When I came back, the Village, like similar areas in London, Montreal, Paris, everywhere, was already becoming a different place.
Tompkins Square Park Photo Essay
Bob Arihood’s account of the Memorial Day Riot
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spectacular post. thank you. And I remember the night in 1988. the cops were from other precincts and they were thrilled to beat up people… they weren’t used to video cameras catching everything they did.
CO – Thanks. I remember hearing about that night. Operation Blue Thunder. I guess it loomed large in the imaginations of the people behind 1991. You could tell they wanted it to happen SO BAD. Tough for the homeless people, who seemed to have little to no interaction with the protestors. I wonder where they all went (that was an ongoing question we all had in the middle 90′s as NY began to be cleaned up – where did the homeless go?).
But yeah, I heard ’88 was the real deal. I miss everything.
T.
Some homeless moved to Brooklyn, or maybe the homeless in Brooklyn kept their stations on the street. I feel for the slight black woman, not at all for the more affluent woman who felt threatened. Not at all for the protesters. Seems like there are better ways to fight or otherwise support the homeless. Is that hopelessly bourgeois of me?
Hi Bucko,
No, not hopelessly bourgeois. I do remember now hearing reports that the homeless had fled to the outer boroughs . . . but not for long I don’t think. As for the protests – well, I do admire the passion and these days we could use a lot more of that. What struck me at the time, was the disconnect between the protesters and the homeless – like no one thought to ask the homeless if they might actually want this. In the end, they were the ones that paid for it – though living in tompkins square by that point really couldn’t have been that great.
T.
I think that was what I was reacting too the most–the disconnect. But perhaps some good came out of it though? Increased aid to homeless shelters and the like?
Bucko – Yeah, I wish I could remember the whole thing in more exact detail. I was probably half-drunk myself at the time. But i do recall how there was almost no contact between the homeless and the protesters.
What good came out of it? I think Dinkins had already launched an ambitious housing program. Possibly this had started even before Dinkins – NY had a lot of empty housing at the time. But I think people underestimate the power of street protest. They can keep authorities honest. Look at the tea party. They get all the press only because they’re the only protest game in town. If the left ever managed to organize something like that, maybe we wouldn’t be drifting rightward again. Or maybe we would . . . by ’91, the left had really run out of steam and they’ve never really got it back.
T.
Lovely post. It’s hard to imagine homeless people being allowed to take over a park in London.
Hi Shan,
Thanks for the compliments. Yeah, it was pretty amazing when I first came to New York. After London in the late 80′s, where squatting was normal and the dole was freely available, NY seemed like capitalism run amok. There weren’t just homeless in the parks, but every second, third doorway all over Manhattan, on the trains, even in the tunnels.
There were a lot of reasons for it – not least the mass release of the mentally ill from state institutions – but yeah, it was kind of amazing to see. Pretty hard life though. I was struck, going to Asia after the first time I’d lived here, how being homeless didn’t mean quite the same thing. People retained family, even community. The homeless here, even in the parks, seemed mostly alone.
All gone now though.
T.
I lived in front of the Tompkins Square, between Avenue A and Avenue B. From 1989 to 1990 and remember the riots of May 1, 1990. The whole area was very characteristic, by the people who lived in the park to the roofs. But I have never been disturbed, welcomed me with warmth and friendship
Frank,
Thanks for the comment. Yeah, it was rough but you’re right, I don’t remember it being too heavy, or not as much as people might expect. Though I did hear of things.
T.
Hi Frank,
Sorry it took me so long to get back – been neglecting the blog of late. Yeah, I miss the feeling of the Village in those days, it was a little rough, definitely had a dark undercurrent, but there was a warmth there too. You felt community, and spirit. Thanks for the reminder.
T.
I lived 2 house’s in on ST. Marks @ ave A. I wathed the 91 riot from my roof. You may forget, but it was heavy. The year leading up to that riot… I moved in from graduatiing from grad school.. had grown up in suburbs. After a short stint on east houston… a touph part of loeasida I was unprepaired for the street scene on that square. Very agressive pan handlers who smelt, crackheadss wineos. Heroin junkies with anarchist punks and ecco grunge junkies… not 15… like 100 kids”spare some change” yelled hostilly once every 2 steps. First I gave…but at minimum wage I became angry and cold… to this day I can dog any scam bumb with no fear and a sociopaths smirk on my face… or some days I am very generous…not llike a mark but on my whim. Its odd, after several months I feel likei developed Stoch holme syndrem.(am dyslexic..hence spellin?). I felt like one of them… living in a slaves hobble.. eating cereal and pizza. Then my anger turned where it belonged…towards my boss, slumlord, banker… it remains there. 20 years after. Even with my 3 story house, morgage and tenants of my own. So I had begun eating my single slice a day on the park bebches nearthe soup line for the homless tent city Soon after the riot the barricades kept me from my bench. People disappeared… not all to boroughs… I saw homeless put in police cars and paddy wagons… for years never seen again…Pot dealers too. The parkis vry pretty now.. but I miss my hooverville. I feltlike someone cameinto my backyard and arrested my crazy aunts and uncles.. I fellt violated by. The state..I think we were violated.