An Evening at Brooklyn Bridge

Text and Photography by L. Boshuyzen

Flow on, river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide!
Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg’d waves!
Gorgeous clouds of the sun-set! drench with your splendor me, or the men and women generations after me;
Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers!
Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta!—stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn!
Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers!
Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!

115; 83 Crossing Brooklyn Ferry

Leaves of Grass, Whitman, 1900.

 NEW YORK, Nov. 17— For more than a hundred years New Yorkers have walked the Brooklyn Bridge to step from one world into the other, and they have mainly done so because of work; consciously deciding to commute or being forced by circumstance. Whiteman, born and raised in Brooklyn, focused on the commuter’s experience during their daily journey, dedicating several poems to the crossing of the river.

With more than 120,000 vehicles, 4,000 pedestrians and 3,100 bicyclists crossing this national historic landmark every day[1], but what is left of the experience?  To find this out two and a half hours were spent at the Brooklyn Bridge on a crisp Tuesday evening from 5 till 7:30 pm. During this time the bridge gave passage to countless bikers, and runners, some strolling couples, calling commuters, friends in consultation, police, photographers, musicians hurriedly walking their instruments back to warmth, two scarcely clad girls despite the 46ºF bravely involved in an amateur photoshoot, and a man singing in Hebrew his payots swinging softly at the pace of his walk. And then there are of course the tourists. 

“Take a look New York!” “Let’s go New York, let’s go!” When pointed to the fact that, surely he must be catering to tourists there comes an unexpected response: “Everyone in New York is a New Yorker. People from all over the world—they make up New York.” This astute observation belongs to a street vender who introduces himself as Antoine Williams, but the look on his face suggests something like "If you believe that, I've got a bridge to sell you…" Bridges, hats, trinkets postcards… What he sells isn’t specifically tailored to the Brooklyn Bridge, and Antoine explains that he stands at places all over New York, and sometimes he needs to fight for his place to set up.

Picture does not portray Antoine Williams

A new batch of “New Yorkers” eagerly flock to his stand, asking him the price of that ‘selfie-stick’ to which Antoine replies it’s “just five dollars Ms” before continuing his siren call: “Take a look New York!” “Let’s go New York, let’s go!”. Walking towards the Eastern River his calls blend in with the traffic before the bridge slowly lets its pedestrians rise above the tumultuous scene.

Despite the cold wind three ladies take their time to walk this bridge, bright-eyed and with shopping bags in their hands. Niamh, Catherine and Valerie flew in from Dublin Ireland yesterday. Valerie is turning 50—“You never think you’ll actually do it, but we decide to go for it this year!” Valerie says. When asked about their bridge experience they describe it as very scenic: “We especially made sure to walk back from Brooklyn to Manhattan, and not they other way around, because the scenery is best this way.” “We asked many New Yorkers how to do this, it was quite complicated you see, but they didn’t really seem to grasp the concept. I don’t think they still see the beauty of this walk.” Niamh says.  

Leaving the lavish snapshotting behind, it would still be easy to distinguish the tourists from the New Yorkers—their leisurely pace immediately betrays that this is not the city they wake up in every morning. New Yorkers walk with purpose, even when that purpose is fairly undefined.  

So does Anna, who is on her way home from Manhattan to her flat in Brooklyn. Faced with the allegation of the three Irish tourists, she exclaims, (while barely slowing down her pace) “Oh no, the views are definitely the main reason I walk the Brooklyn bridge every night after work, I’ve been doing it for 13 years, it never gets old!”.  Yes, there are days that she doesn’t like it, and there are days when she gets irritated “specially when I can’t walk because people keep cluttering the lane.” What she get out of it? “It’s good exercise.” And after a small pause: “It clears the head.” 

An older man in trench coat doesn’t fit the mould—walking slowly although clearly not a tourist, one can sense he walked this bridge many times. When the light of the bridge glides over his face, turned slightly to the waterside, two wet streaks on his cheeks catch the light.

Elevating her pedestrians above the bustling traffic, with the wind blowing carelessly over the water and the east river flowing freely underneath, this bridge becomes the place to reflect, find, relinquish. The east river seems unclaimed territory between two worlds, the bride every so shortly suspending entry. The Brooklyn Bride becomes a rite of passage—a rite of passage into contemplation. A small repose before plunging into whatever it is that is waiting for them on the other side. 

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[1] source: nyc.gov