Prospect: A Year in the Park

Meeting the men of the Vale

Photographs by Thomas Roma/Steven Kasher Gallery from "In the Vale of Cashmere."

It's not a very well-kept secret that the lovely, secluded and currently neglected Vale of Cashmere has long been a furtive meeting spot for men seeking men. Today's New York Times introduces a book of hauntingly evocative photographs by Thomas Roma, In the Vale of Cashmere.

Roma explains: "I photographed the landscape between 2008 and 2011 and introduced myself to the men I encountered. I’d ask them if I could make a portrait for a possible book, explaining that the long exposure I had to use, between 1 and 6 seconds, meant they’d have to stay very still. Many declined, but many said yes, and I was grateful every time they did.

The resulting photographs are about a time and place — a meeting place, where black, Latino and other gay and bisexual men have long sought one another out to fulfill their wish for community and to satisfy sexual desire."

There's no knowing how the future renovation of the Vale area, now in its early planning stages, will affect these assignations. The Vale's seclusion, sadly, has also made it an occasional haven for possible hate crimes against gay men, and parks in general are not the right places for sex--especially when it involves leaving behind the disgusting detritus once targeted by the Litter Mob in Prospect Park's historic woodlands. But these photos bear witness to the poignancy and human dignity of their subjects. I wish them health, safety, and love--elusive prizes on a walk through the Vale.

Photographs by Thomas Roma/Steven Kasher Gallery from "In the Vale of Cashmere."

 

Who ya gonna call? Not these louts.

A local blog, Park Slope Stoop, reports on a new activity for the bored, boozy young: a "Brooklyn Paranormal Society" whose waggish stated mission is "finding ghosts while inebriated." Their recent eveing in Prospect Park apparently attracted a big crowd of Bluto-meets-Venkman wanna-bes, who headed off with some paraphernalia and a "psychic" to laff it up. Here's a shot of the merry-makers on a previous trip to Fort Greene Park last month.

 

Not to go all Sam the Eagle here, but behind these tippling ignorami is the Prison Ship Martyrs' Monument, which marks the site of a crypt containing just some of the mortal remains of more than 11,500 patriots who died hideously of overcrowding, starvation, and disease after the Battle of Brooklyn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My husband is a big fan of "ghost tours," a staple of cute historic towns; I find them hokey and tedious, occasionally brightened by a talented out-of-work actor. Either way, they're a harmless diversion; I've even thought of leading one myself, to recount some of the haunting tales of the park's lost souls as I recounted here. But am I alone in finding the jokey pretext-for-drinking thing here a bit more off-putting? On their Prospect Park ramble, the tour-goers gamboled at the sites of five modern-day murders, some quite fresh in memory. I'm sure the victims' families would be thrilled to know their loved ones live on as post-frat fun fodder. Let's acknowledge them here with respect, so that their deaths in our beautiful park, this month of the dead, may be marked by something other than snickering and getting loaded:

Patricia Shea, a 40-year-old physician's assistant from Rockaway, found strangled in the park in 1982.

 

 

 

Allyn Winslow, a 42-year-old drama teacher from Brooklyn, shot to death while resisting a group of teen-agers trying to steal his bicycle on Quaker Hill in June, 1993

 

 

 

 

William Oliver, 61, a "peaceful soul" and avid walker stabbed to death while walking in the Vale of Cashmere in April, 2006

 

 

 

 

Mohammad Afzaf (photo unavailable), 41, reportedly suffering from mental illness and possibly homeless, beaten and left for dead in a wooded area near a jogging path in July, 2008

 

 

Julio Locarno, 23, shot near the Parade Grounds in 2011 while himself facing a homicide charge

 

 

Of course, this douchebaggery has drawn a little burst of media coverage, and the next outing--to Green-Wood Cemetery--will undoubtedly be a hit. (The trip, not listed on Green-Wood's official events calendar, promises, "We’ll stroll through the cemetery, visiting points of interest, while swiggin’, gigglin’ and taking pictures...pack a flask." Perhaps the cemetery's caretakers could follow the gang with a portable urinal.) Count me out.  

BBG Discovery Garden Redux: No place to hide

It was with some trepidation that I visited the new Discovery Garden at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden late in August. The Children's Garden farm--where my tiny daughter leaned over a plot of seeds in "KinderGardeners"--was unchanged, a tangle of crops worthy of Beatrix Potter with the charming cottage at its heart. But the dear little Discovery Garden that used to be at the Flatbush Avenue/Empire Boulevard entrance has been wiped away for a spacious new entry, and a whole new Discovery Garden created.

 

As a former BBG docent ("garden guide"), I still feel a fierce proprietary interest in its every development. I was very underwhelmed by the much-heralded new Visitors' Center, a sprawling vanity project that manages to incorporate every LEED-certified trend while seeming utterly unconnected to the Garden's historic vibe (and, mysteriously, facing the parking lot with a vast swath of blindingly white concrete). I had high hopes for the new Discovery Garden, but it didn't thrill me, frankly.

 

 

 

It's...very educational, I guess, and far better designed for large groups, laid out as a series of environmental habitats. I'll bet they all "align to Common Core standards." The boardwalk-like paths and rope bridges are fun to explore, and I liked this nest with some building materials in it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But everywhere there are signs urging you to be a Young Scientist, suggesting questions and experiments like an earnest progressive textbook. This "meadow" seemed more man-made than meadow-like to me. In the Poconos as a kid, I'd wander in meadows for hours on end--they were wild, lush, untracked, humming with life. Wonderful places to dream and do nothing--not even science. Are kids still allowed to just dream in meadows?

 

 

 

 

The pond feature needed some work; I highly approve of investigating pond scum, but at least at this early juncture, the pond seemed without much (at least of the macroscopic variety) to investigate. No fish, frogs or turtles, for sure. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a variety of bug-houses but a warning not to disturb the bugs (good for not getting sued by kids who forgot their Epi-Pen, but not much fun), and a station for adding to the Curiosity Collection, whose display jars were sealed shut. As a kid, my chief private game was something I called "nesting," which consisted of collecting just this sort of thing--but for a fantasy winter survival cottage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Silky, irresistible treasures like these bursting milkweed pods--it will be hard to balance the "hands-on" thing while keeping kids from "harvesting." The whole project, while state-of-the-art in its eco-friendly zeal, was somehow dispiriting. You could get lost in the old kids' exploration area, amid towering hedges and sunflowers; you could stand at a table full of pine cones and, well, mess with pine cones, with no one asking you to sort, hypothesize, or analyze. It was flowery and messy, full of beauty and a bit mysterious.

 

 

 

I guess that's not on the Common Core. Neither is rolling down hills, but the only two kids I saw really enjoying themselves were doing just that.