A Second Chance for Vision

by Cynthia Cox
photo by Sean Hammerle

The sentinel elders are gone now.

The Maspeth holder tanks are down, lying peacefully like two slain giants after a fierce battle. With magisterial grace and dignity, it seemed like they gently knelt down, realizing that their wounds were mortal, their uselessness betraying. They valiantly relinquished their steadfast watch, over a beleaguered community struggling to assert its validity as more than a dumping ground. Their passing was greatly mourned. Grown men’s voices cracked with feeling immediately after the fatality. Surprisingly, indifferent residents found lumps in their throats and tears in their eyes. Lit candles and flowers appeared as a final paean to “Checkers & Chess”, so affectionately nicknamed. And two residents, perceived to be instrumental in their passing, were booed off the morning street as a reporter tried to speak with them.

What is behind this emotional gallantry? Is it quaint metaphor from a historically blue-collar populace imbuing mortal animation into their mechanistic surroundings? Or have these feelings not grown from the genuine function of the tanks, enhanced by human association, which was started and maintained through generations by a beneficent, family-operated company? Think about what they did.

They held the gas at a constant pressure alleviating the danger of explosions and poisoning. They saved the community from perhaps countless blasts in their homes. Is it ironic or pathetic for them to have so met their own demise?

The vigilance reversed during WW II; adjacent army units assured that the filled holders did not become enemy targets. Then came the FAA, requiring that their peaks be instantly recognizable, establishing them as the checker-top beacons seen from four boroughs. Sitting on my back terrace the night of the implosion, I observed planes that oddly veered off to the right instead of, directly overhead of where their nightly, illuminated markers once stood. I wondered what some of those pilots were thinking having lost their guides of three-quarters of a century? The icons identified home for countless area residents, from within the maze of city streets or returning home from afar. Then, for $1.00 in annual dues, Brooklyn Union matched their reach into the sky horizontally by constructing four baseball fields, whose home teams adopted the checkered imagery as their emblems and recently marked their 50th anniversary. Together, I feel they became a city rendition of what Thoreau lovingly coined, a sense of place.

Was the question, what could we constructively do with this historic sense of place, ever asked of the community itself? Community Board 1, in whose jurisdiction the tanks resided never asked that question. In fact, they were somewhat hostile towards a protesting crowd at a monthly meeting onto which Keyspan hastily scheduled their implosion presentation plan, one month prior to its scheduled date. We demanded copies of the proper city permits that were never presented and received their Health & Safety plan just one-week prior. Simply seeking more time to have our experts examine it more thoroughly, as there were serious concerns regarding the ignition of the lead paint, a legal injunction was frantically filed but lost; the judge insensitively said, “you didn’t sue in time.” Shame on Judge Robert Kreindler as well as Community Board 1, for not assessing the input of its constituents and standing more steadfastly against big business dictates and questionable city signoffs.

Do we have another chance? Perhaps. The question now of course is what is Keyspan’s intent for this place and will we, the community have a say? They say they are undecided. Keyspan received an offer for the land with the tanks on them; they turned it down. What could possibly be slated to be deemed so financially feasible, that it would justify the $6 million dollar explosive price tag?

The fifty yr.-old ball fields must be torn up; the soil is now contaminated with lead from the blast. A community coalition is hopeful for monies from the Borough President as well as a Neighborhood Preservation Corporation to pay for continued, independent monitoring of the surrounding area. But with rumors of a power plant, that would entail further environmental degradation, can we hope for support from our elected officials or can we expect the city to sign off once again, without the proper Environmental Impact Statements being fully conducted?

I’d like to answer that initial question of what we might have constructively suggested for this sense of place. As an artist, I feel that any cultural addition is positive in any community’s purview and remind us that we classify our city as the pinnacle of cultural of the world. Or does that only apply to certain areas of the boroughs? As a direct comparison, city officials in Obershausen, Germany turned two Gasometer tanks into a multi-media art center and a theme park. Before the Maspeth tanks were blasted, holes for the explosives that meticulously followed the top circumferences were made. An interior photograph of one tank, with the light streaming in, illuminating the freshly grazed metal, was truly spellbinding, like an interior constellation, labeled ‘art’ even by the longtime caretaker. In the hands of say, the famous light sculptor James Turrell who could have envisioned such a spectacle, these icons could have become architectural wonders, a city Mecca, like his Roden Crater in Arizona. The new experience may have produced income, exemplified savvy corporate publicity, (to which a $6 million budget would have contributed nicely), but most importantly, would have been the foundation for an altogether different use of place here in East Williamsburg/Greenpoint.

Coincidentally, a young boy who helped me climb atop several tractor-trailers to capture a sweeping view of the aftermath suggested a theme park. At least we know our youth still hold to vision. Let us hope that for their sakes, for the time span of their budding lives, that we will not have to worry about even more particulate matter, clouding their air and the visionary minds of the community and its responsible board.

Cynthia Cox, Installation Artist
Williamsburg, Brooklyn