Seneca Village in Central Park by Kait Carson

Part of my growing up years were spent near New York City. My parents, both native New Yorkers, thought knowing the joys of the city was vital to their child’s formative years.

I should preface this by saying I was a late child. My closest sibling is nine years my elder. I was also the only girl. By definition in the fifties and sixties, I was Daddy’s girl. It was my father who undertook my NYC education. We made trips to the Metropolitan Opera twice a year, Radio City Music Hall for the Christmas show, the Statue of Liberty (climbed those steps a million times it seemed), the observation tower of the Empire State Building, the Museum of Natural History, the Hayden Planetarium, Carnegie Hall for a concert, and the Bryant Library (the one fronting Bryant Park with the lions). We also attended the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Christmas Tree lighting at Rockefeller Center, skated in the Rockefeller Center rink and the Wolman Rink in Central Park, and rambled through the park. So many visits to the Park that I had a personal acquaintance with Balto, the statue dedicated to the dog who carried the diphtheria antitoxin from Anchorage to Nome, and climbed the Alice in Wonderland statue annually until I was nine.

Had you asked me I would have told you I knew everything about Central Park. That it was designed by Fredrick Law Olmstead and Calvert Vaux. That it was entirely constructed in the center of the city from land that had been farms and a few small settlements in the 1850s. That Olmstead and Vaux were chosen because their vision was to populate the park with native plant species. A very advanced ecological view at the time. That nearly every park feature was manmade including the waterfalls. That there is only one straight walkway in the park, the Mall. That the carousel had golden rings and if you caught one, you got a free ride. Wonder if it still has the rings.

Yep, a lot to know. I also knew that unless you were going to Tavern on the Green, you did not go into the park at night. That the park was deteriorating and was a high crime area. That didn’t stop us from skating there—the Wolman Rink is on the periphery. Nor did it stop the youth of New York City from invading the park on March 7, 1970, the day of the full solar eclipse. We gathered in Central Park near the Sheep Meadow. There’s a large rock there. We proved our trust in people under 30 by diving off the rock and expecting to be caught by our fellow compatriots.

But what I didn’t know proved to be very interesting. Recently I saw a book on the Barnes & Noble discount shelf. Death Angel by Linda Fairstein. The cover featured a depiction of the Bethesda Angel, also called the Angel of the Waters who overlooks the Lake in Central Park. I scooped the book up expecting to visit again so many of the sites of my childhood--although in a cleaner, safer park than I knew in my youth.

Have you ever heard of Seneca Village? I never had. Seneca Village was an African-American settlement sacrificed to the building of the park. Now, don’t misunderstand, villages and farms dotted the park and all were lost to eminent domain when the park became a legislated reality. Seneca Village was not singled out. But it was unique.

Founded in 1825, Seneca Village was arguably the largest settlement of free African-Americans in the US and definitely the largest in New York City with residents (African-American, German, and Irish) numbering approximately 264 in 1857 when the property was purchased by city.  In addition to numerous houses, there were three churches and a vibrant village. It is believed that half of the residents of Seneca Village had the vote, which required owning property valued at $250. Residences in the Village ranged from shanty structures to property worth $4,000. I have no idea what that translates into in 2016 dollars, but I’m betting it’s a bucket. When the land was taken in 1857 the residents of Seneca Village were displaced and never again united in a community. What a sad commentary.

In 2011, Columbia University, my father’s alma mater, began the controlled excavation of Seneca Village. Among the relics found, were pottery shards and relics of the people who lived in the village long buried beneath the green fields of the park. These discoveries form part of the premise for the story of Death Angel.

Without Linda Fairstein’s book, I would never have learned of Seneca Village. Have you ever read a work of fiction that made you investigate further? What did you learn?