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| Alexander Hamilton Custom House, site of the conference |
Last weekend I had a great time in New York City. It was really the first time I have ever been
on my own, for multiple days, in a large metropolis. No kids, I kept looking for them but they
really weren’t there. Nerve wracking at
first but an absolute delight once I got the first minor anxiety attack out of
the way.
I was there for a conference but secretly I had a
plan. A family heritage plan. I unfortunately was not able to make it to
the NYC Archives (drat you for not being open on the weekend) but I did make a family
history pilgrimage of sorts to a very small green space in the middle of the
concrete jungle.
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| Soldier's Monument, Trinity Church |
In a previous
post I talked briefly about Anneke Jans and her 62 acres on Manhattan
Island. She and her husband, Roelof
Jansen, were originally granted the land in 1636. After the English government came into power
she and her heirs continued to own the land through a grant from the Governorof
New York, Col. Francis Lovelace. Unfortunately,
due to a technicality (missing signatures on the deed) the family lost the land
after 1671.
New York City and Trinity Church purchased parts of the
land at that time but it was not the end of the story. For over 150 years, in 16 lawsuits, the heirs
of Anneke Jans sued the city for their land.
Then in 1847 the final decision was made that the land was purchased
legally.
The last remaining remnant of the Jans farm is now a
small park that if you didn’t know was there you would miss. On my last day in NYC I was determined to
find it. Heck it was only a mile walk
from my hotel! What’s a mile when you
are on a mission?
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| Plaque at Duane Park |
My route took me past Trinity
Church, which, of course, I had to stop at.
Sunday services were occurring so I didn’t go inside but I spent a good
20 minutes looking around the graveyard.
There were quite a few beautiful tombstones that I stopped to admire. I also discovered the Soldier’s Monument, which was quite moving and a piece of history I did not know about.
I continued up Broadway from there eventually crossing
over to West Broadway until I came to the little diagonal street I was looking
for, Hudson. The small triangle piece of
land that lies on Duane and Hudson Streets lies in the middle of one of the Tribecca neighborhoods. Row houses with red bricks and brown stones
lined the streets. The local market was
putting out fresh flowers and arranging pumpkins on the front steps. Families were out for a stroll and joggers
ran by with their headphones in oblivious to the wonder I was experiencing.
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| Duane Park |
Standing there reading the plaques at Duane Park I got that familiar sensation
again. You know the one you get when you develop a connection to something that
had an impact on your past. My family
once walked here. They farmed here. They lived and they died here. I just sat and took in the late blooming
flowers for a minute trying to feel them.
I started back south and crossed over at Church Street. This route took me past the new World Trade Center. Stopping on a corner I looked up and
appreciated the beauty of the new tower, but unlike the mass of tourists
heading to the memorial I had no desire to go.
I am not ready yet, and if you don’t know why, go back and read this
post. Thankfully, I know I am not
alone.
Across the street from all of the construction was St. Paul’s
Chapel. Of course it was another
attempt to feed my growing addiction to cemetery research so I stopped in. I did not go in the building and look at the
exhibits on 9/11 and the church, but I once again spent a good 20-30 minutes
meandering on the path around the church craning my neck to see the markers
from the flagstones. However, my searching
was not in vein. I did find heraldry
marking one of the graves and I am now researching who this person was.
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| The Immigrants, Battery Park |
From there I did the “touristy thing” and wandered around
the area of my hotel. Took a nice stroll
through Battery Park, discovered the
NY Stock Exchange was 2 blocks from my hotel, saw the steps where George
Washington was inaugurated out
first president, and watched silly foreign tourists try to feed the squirrels
acorns. Yeah, can’t make up that last
one.
By the time I was done I walked 7 ½ miles in
downtown. No wonder I was so tired on
the 5 hour train ride home. However,
sleeping is nearly impossible on a train I’ve decided. It’s not like an airplane where the constant
hum of the engines lulls you to sleep. Instead
I finished my new book (The Juggler’s
Children) and did some work. Ah, the
life of a train commuter.
