Belvidere Street: The New Freeman?
I recently had to moderate a most curious comment regarding my latest post about Freeman Street. Jeffrey writes:
I actually donâ€™t find this entertaining or funny. I live on Freeman and have a kid, and I am so sick of people acting like idiots around here. 100 Freeman is an illegal loft building. They never shovel their sidewalk in winter. A few weeks ago, we saw a guy doing crack on the sidewalk outside the building at 2 in the afternoon. People never pick of dog shit on Freeman, and Iâ€™m not pointing fingers, but thereâ€™s a lot of dogs in that building. Why canâ€™t people grow the hell up! Iâ€™m about to move to Park Slope with the other adults.
When I was looking to move seven or so years ago, Greenpoint was on my list of neighborhoods to research. In order to make an informed decision as to whether or not I would commit to moving here, I made numerous trips to the neighborhood and walked around. I like to get a feel for what I might be obligating myself to ahead of time. My main criteria were:
- Access to transportation
- Good grocery stores
- Personal Safety
Greenpoint passed with flying colors, but I also noted there were a lot of drunks, crack heads and overall chicanery to be found. This was the compromise I had to make. I have learned that waiting for people to “grow up” as Jeffrey put it, is a fruitless effort. Most don’t.
Even Especially in Park Slope*. Which brings me to this, my final and finest Freeman Street story.
It was 2:00 a.m., and after a late dinner and cocktails, my friend Chin needed to walk her dog. I went to bed (a decision I regret to this day, read on and find out why); my husband accompanied her. They went to Freeman Street. As they approached Manhattan Avenue they saw something moving on the sidewalk. Assuming it was a homeless person, they paid it no mind. Fifteen feet away they finally noticed what it was— and it noticed them; it was two people fucking. Right on the sidewalk. Outside of Tommy’s Tavern. Twenty feet away from Manhattan Avenue.
It was an awkward moment for everyone involved: the fucker, the fuckee, my husband, my friend— even her dog.
The point I am getting at with this story is this: weird shit happens here— and some of it is funny. To expect things to change is, in my humble opinion, ridiculous. This is New York City. If someone sees fit to fornicate al fresco, he (and/or she) is going to do it. The previous is not exclusively a Greenpoint avocation either.
Looks like something happened.
Safe sex was involved.
Quite a bit of it.
And it was good enough to break the heel off a nice shoe. Wow.
Of course the punchline is where I found the above tableau…
The intersection of Belvidere and Beaver Street in… drumroll please…
*Go to The Tea Lounge and see for yourself.