In October 2012, I made an excursion to the South Bronx to visit the Vernon C. Bain floating prison. My confidence in photographing the facility was rather foolhardy, as I wrote about in Crossing Over. On that particular excursion, I explored the immediate area, driven by my interest in seeing the enigmatic North Brother Island, which sits in the East River and is generally off-limits to visitation. From studying maps, it appeared that one of the best potential viewing locations of the island would be from nearby Barretto Point Park, a place I had never visited nor heard of. A big feature here is the Floating Pool Lady, a seven-lane, 25 meter pool on a barge. I had the luxury of driving to the park and pool, so my visit was relatively blissful and the park a surprising jewel in a daunting land. Accounts of those who have taken public transportation (the nearest subway is over one mile away), however, sound rather harrowing. Here are excerpts from one woman’s account of the journey:
 

My friend and I decided not to be put off by others’ fear of the Bronx or derision of public pools as being “ghetto.”

We surfaced to a dirty street full of no-name discount businesses. No big deal – it looked just like North Williamsburg or something, and there were plenty of people going about their daily business. Walking East, we went under the Bruckner Expressway, and suddenly it was like the post-apocalypse. The pockmarked streets got super wide and empty, and there was not another human being around. There was a four-way intersection with no lights or stop signs. Random trucks and low-riding cars with lights creepily on slowed, honked, and stared.One dude screamed, “Goin’ to the POOL???”

At an intersection where there were apartment buildings, hope was restored. But then we took a right onto Tiffany, and then it was all junkyards, auto shops, and warehouses with broken (or bulleted? Seriously…) windows. Here, the catcalls from groups of men, whether they looked like kind grandfathers or teenage thugs, became worse. A couple times, they followed us , making sucking noises, clapping their hands, and shouting. Staring at the stains on the ground, I wondered if they were blood or rust as a montage of every mafia and gangster movie I had ever seen ran through my head. In a moment of hilarity, we saw a wholesome looking “Baby Spinach and Arugula” truck  up on a curb…with a shattered windshield. For the first time in my life, my heart palpitated with fear in broad daylight (and I’ve walked alone in rough and poverty-stricken areas all around the world before.)

The last 100-yard stretch was permeated with an incredible stench of trash and opened up to a tiny little park with a ribboned gazebo. Someone was actually having a wedding reception there, and there were women and children frolicking in fountains. So weird.

As we walked towards the boat, a young girl with a park shirt on screeched “HEY! Over HERE!” We walked to the entrance, where she was standing with a woman who asked us if we were wearing bathingsuits. “Show me your bottoms,” she commanded.

The locker room was spotless. One freezing cold spigot in the showers spurted water endlessly. I asked a guard if it was possible to shut the water off. “It’s just running,” she said with indifference.

A ramp led us to a blue 82′ x 52′ rectangle of 4-foot deep water filled with tattooed men in wifebeaters and exultant children. I asked how they’d all gotten there, and they’d done The Walk, too. There was no other way.

And my friend had her breasts touched by the 12-year old fatty perv. But no matter; we did what we came to do. We saw that the pool existed, and that some locals can get there.

Hey, this is a great, well managed pool, but if you have a vagina, pack a crowbar and some thugs to get to it. I worry about what the people in the East Bronx (especially women and children) have to go through to get to their local pool. As for me, having a choice in the matter, I will probably never come here again.

 
As for me and the friend that accompanied me, by driving and visiting off-season, we found our journey uneventful and the park quiet and serene. The pool was closed, so I have neither direct experience with swimming there nor tales of public pool horrors. Men were fishing on the adjoining pier and children were playing on nearby beach.  The sirens of North Brother lured me in the distance. It was a perfect day and a beautiful spot in one of the most unlikely spots in the entire five boroughs of New York City  – the South Bronx, a neighborhood more known for urban decay and crime than anything else (two vendors I use in my business are located there and actually park their vehicles INSIDE their factory facilities, which have no windows).

Like so many of life’s arenas, it is often true that there is nothing new under the sun. I was surprised to learn that the floating baths and pools in New York City waters date back to the 1800s (shown in the collage of vintage photos). You may need a bit of nerve to get there, but here, in the South Bronx, behind a chained link fence, on a barge with views of Rikers Island (prison), you can have a swim in the Floating Pool Lady 🙂

Another NYC pool: Page or McCarren