Far Rockaway Beachside Bungalows, Queens
Once upon a summertime, Far Rockaway was the vacation spot for working-class New Yorkers. Although recent decades have erased much of this history, just off the Boardwalk on Beach 24th, 25th, and 26th Streets rows of beach bungalows built between 1918 and 1921 still stand. The Beachside Bungalow Preservation Association is seeking to preserve and revitalize this unique collection of approximately 100 buildings.
I grew up in the sumer at Far Rockaway in a 1 bedroom bungalow with my brother, sister & Mom. Dad would visit maybe once a summer. A union guy, he worked 6 days a week & 1012 hours a day, plus he burned so easily. Mom worked full time as a maid for a wealthy couple in Manhattan who went to Greece each summer, so she was off.
My folks paid 250 dollars for the summer rental in the 1960s. Our bungalow, with a porch, was in the back of the bungalow that fronted the sidewalk. It was across the street from the firehouse around Beach 55 Street. The block of bungalows is now empty, an eerie reminder of the past. My summers were magical as I basically lived in a bathing suit & NO shoes. The shower was outside, a novelty for a city kid, one I never tired of. To the beach early in the morning, staying until late at night was the daily rhythm of life there. barbecues on the rock jetties were frequently had & after the lifeguards left we had their chairs & played rescue, we were the lifeguards.
I read a lot & the local library was great, though the libraian never believed this Irish kid read all those books. That was my habit even in graduate school, then in law school, to read & read, just disappearing into another world. Travel made easy. My friend would visit for a few days every few weeks & we’d sleep on the open porch that had a roof cover. Rainy weather saw us on the porch making all kinds of things with the shells we collected. Of course, we also collected bottles which got us a deposit of 2 cents each, I recall.
Under the El, across the street, were wild blackberry bushes & like my Mom did in Ireland, we’d collect the berries & she’d make blackberry cake. I think it was Wednesday evenings at 9p that the weekly fireworks display took place. So, the boardwalk was THE place to be for the young folks, seeing & being seen.
Everytime I hear the words Rockaway or Far Rockaway, I am immediately transported back to that magical place, a haven from the heat for so many New Yorkers of modest means. It was destroyed, yes, destroyed, by the politicians in the interest of urban renewal. Look at it now, a ghost of what it had been for so many. I’m sorry my children, now grown, never knew it as I did. But that’s progress. Or, is it?
I grew up in the sumer at Far Rockaway in a 1 bedroom bungalow with my brother, sister & Mom. Dad would visit maybe once a summer. A union guy, he worked 6 days a week & 1012 hours a day, plus he burned so easily. Mom worked full time as a maid for a wealthy couple in Manhattan who went to Greece each summer, so she was off.
My folks paid 250 dollars for the summer rental in the 1960s. Our bungalow, with a porch, was in the back of the bungalow that fronted the sidewalk. It was across the street from the firehouse around Beach 55 Street. The block of bungalows is now empty, an eerie reminder of the past. My summers were magical as I basically lived in a bathing suit & NO shoes. The shower was outside, a novelty for a city kid, one I never tired of. To the beach early in the morning, staying until late at night was the daily rhythm of life there. barbecues on the rock jetties were frequently had & after the lifeguards left we had their chairs & played rescue, we were the lifeguards.
I read a lot & the local library was great, though the libraian never believed this Irish kid read all those books. That was my habit even in graduate school, then in law school, to read & read, just disappearing into another world. Travel made easy. My friend would visit for a few days every few weeks & we’d sleep on the open porch that had a roof cover. Rainy weather saw us on the porch making all kinds of things with the shells we collected. Of course, we also collected bottles which got us a deposit of 2 cents each, I recall.
Under the El, across the street, were wild blackberry bushes & like my Mom did in Ireland, we’d collect the berries & she’d make blackberry cake. I think it was Wednesday evenings at 9p that the weekly fireworks display took place. So, the boardwalk was THE place to be for the young folks, seeing & being seen.
Everytime I hear the words Rockaway or Far Rockaway, I am immediately transported back to that magical place, a haven from the heat for so many New Yorkers of modest means. It was destroyed, yes, destroyed, by the politicians in the interest of urban renewal. Look at it now, a ghost of what it had been for so many. I’m sorry my children, now grown, never knew it as I did. But that’s progress. Or, is it?