Coexistence No Walk in the Park, Despite Open Spaces

On the first morning of summer, Central Park is reborn once again. Flanked by a Dixieland band playing “The Sidewalks of New York,” city officials are celebrating the reopening of the North Meadow--a shimmering, 28-acre expanse of lush lawns, baseball diamonds and soccer fields.

Less than eight years ago, it was a dust bowl marred by vandalism, graffiti and neglect. But after a $71-million campaign to restore the meadow and other parts of the park, it sparkles with promise and new civic pride.

“There are only two rules for this beautiful area,” says Parks and Recreation Commissioner Henry Stern, as Little Leaguers sprint onto a newly manicured field. “Rule No. 1 is: No concerts. Rule No. 2 is: No concerts.”

The crowd laughs, yet Stern’s comments underscore the dilemma that has plagued America’s most famous urban park since it opened in 1858 and was highlighted this month when packs of young men sexually attacked women as a parade was ending.

What--and whom--is Central Park for? Should it be a museum-like space reserved for quiet recreational use, a heavily policed haven from the tumult of Manhattan? Or should it be a vibrant and spontaneous place for concerts, rallies and other events that energized the park in the 1960s and 1970s, yet left it badly scarred?

More than 20 million people this year will visit the park, and it’s easy for in-line skaters, tourists, musicians, students, stockbrokers, nannies and homeless people to get on each other’s nerves, even though New York’s public backyard seems wonderfully spacious.

Despite this month’s sexual attacks, overall crime is down 66% since 1993, and if anything, Central Park seems to be a victim of its own success: The increase in social friction is a result of more people using the park, a testimonial to New York’s booming recovery. And the question for many is no longer whether it’s safe to go into the area, but whether people can do what they want once they get there.

“These are not parochial concerns, because Central Park has become a Rorschach test, a reflection of the state of urban America for millions of people, and whatever happens here good or bad tends to be magnified,” says Gordon Davis, a former city parks commissioner. “If someone is attacked on West 84th Street, it’s a newspaper brief. If the same crime takes place in the park, we’re suddenly talking about the quality of urban life.”

But the park is more than a barometer of crime or good times in American cities. On a languid afternoon, the area’s newly restored lawns, lakes and trails are more beautiful than ever, and much of the credit goes to the Central Park Conservancy, a nonprofit group formed 20 years ago that has raised more than $270 million from the private sector. The organization, which has become an enviable model for other cities, is charged with restoring and maintaining the park.

In a novel arrangement, the conservancy runs the park day to day, contributing more than 85% of its annual budget and paying more than 260 employees. Although New York retains overall control of the area--renting permits for the use of park facilities and making larger policy decisions, such as the scheduling of concerts--the conservancy has had the greatest single effect on the space.

Similar private park groups have been launched in Atlanta, Miami and San Francisco, and other cities have contacted the conservancy about its operations. But the organization’s success can be misleading, experts say, because most communities are unable to tap the same amount of corporate and private wealth as that surrounding Central Park.

Moreover, “other parks in New York City are not receiving the kind of private investment that Central Park gets,” says Elizabeth Cooke, executive director of the citywide advocacy group Parks Council. “In the last 10 years, there’s been a 60% reduction in staffing and spending on recreation programs, but you’d never know it if you looked only at Central Park.”

From the start, conservancy leaders have tried to forge a consensus over proper use, aiming to create “the most democratic possible experience you could have on any given weekend,” according to conservancy Chairman Ian Smith.

Still, the 843-acre rectangle is often filled with conflict: Guitarists who want to honor John Lennon at the Strawberry Fields memorial irritate people who wish to enjoy the site quietly. Joggers shouting into cell phones jar the calm of seniors out for a stroll, dog owners rattle the peace of sunbathers and bird-watchers jostle for space on street corners with tour groups admiring park trees.

In recent years, some visitors have been fined for “quality of life” violations that were unthinkable 10 years ago. Last year, a father was given a $1,000 summons by officers when his children climbed a rare Japanese tree. Groups of more than 20 people have been told by City Hall that they must get a $25 permit for such gatherings, such as a family picnic.

While Stern and other officials have generally frowned on the massive free concerts that were once routine, they have made exceptions to the rule. Last year, American Express paid New York $1 million to hold an invitation-only concert by Sheryl Crow in the park, an event that drew criticism from those who did not have tickets.

Even the Metropolitan Opera’s annual free concerts can spark contention. As the sublime opening notes of “Madame Butterfly” filled the Great Lawn last week, angry purists shushed party-goers uncorking bottles of wine, drawing baleful glares in response. Meanwhile, members of office softball teams who had shown up for scheduled games were angered that the opera and its 20,000 noisy fans had wiped out their plans.

“These conflicts over who gets to use the park and what its larger purposes should be are perennial,” said Elizabeth Blackmar, a Columbia University history professor and co-author of “The Park and the People.” “And there will never be an easy solution to this, because while the park may be a haven, it reflects all the people surrounding it.”

Indeed, Central Park’s borders highlight four different worlds, all of them key ingredients in New York’s social mix. On the east are some of America’s wealthiest and most privileged residents; on the west is the funkier but increasingly affluent West Side. Harlem borders the park on the north, and the southern tip, where the wilding attacks occurred, is a mecca for the city’s booming tourist industry.

“Our view is that everyone should have access to this park, and not everyone always does,” says Dave Lutz, executive director of the Neighborhood Open Space Coalition. “It’s great that there are new baseball fields, but you need a permit and have to pay a fee to use most diamonds. The days when you could wander into Central Park and divide up 18 guys for a game are gone.”

Similar tensions surfaced from Day One. When Frederick Law Olmstead created the extraordinary park, the 19th century landscape designer envisioned a magnificent open space to rival the grand public places in European cities, as well as a democratic gathering spot.

Wealthy New Yorkers quickly took to the park on foot and in carriages, but political fights broke out over the rights of working-class people. It was years before the city finally agreed to hold concerts on Sundays, the only day when less-affluent people could get to the distant site.

Children are ubiquitous in the park nowadays, but there was a bitter fight in 1926 when the city tried to build the first playground. Conservationists were alarmed that an influx of children and others would ruin the area’s carefully manicured design.

Today, Central Park is a source of pride or frustration, depending on whom you talk to.

“How could you not love this place?” asks attorney Fred Levine before the opera begins. “It’s amazing to think that this park exists in the heart of some of the most expensive real estate in America, and for more than 100 years, they have left it alone.”

Elsewhere, many park-goers are outspoken about the recent attacks on women following this year’s Puerto Rican Day parade. So far, police have arrested 20 suspects in the assaults on at least 53 women.

Some dismiss the incident as a horrible aberration, yet others could not help but recall the 1989 rape and beating of a female jogger that gave the park, and New York, a black eye.

“I wish they could make these parades go away, because there’s always the potential for trouble when crowds rush into the park,” says Deborah McKenzie, a pregnant mother of two who loves to relax in Sheep Meadow. “The city has got a lot of new rules about what you can and can’t do in the park, but I think that’s a small price to pay for enjoying the place in peace and quiet.”

Others wish the park could be left alone. “What are you going to do, put a policeman in here for every person and ruin it?” counters John Nelligan, a sax-playing skater (and market researcher) gliding past Bethesda Fountain. “At some point, this has to be a natural, spontaneous place.”

As he speaks, two acoustic guitarists who just met begin jamming on a version of the Eagles’ “Hotel California.” A bicyclist zooms out of nowhere, putting on the brakes in front of them. “I came for the chorus,” he explains, contributing a high harmony before pedaling away.

“It’s great playing in the park, but you have to worry about a lot of rules,” says Nathan Joslyn, a stay-at-home dad who tries to visit the park at least once a week. Joslyn recently played a set of John Lennon songs at the Strawberry Fields memorial site, before he was asked to stop by a park attendant.

And that regulation rankles John Williams, a small-business owner who speaks wistfully of an earlier era as he pushes his daughter in a stroller.

“There used to be great scenes here, man,” he says. “It’s really nice now, for sure, but it used to be real. There was a lot more music, a lot of sex in the open and people were passing reefers around too. It was much more relaxed.”

Relaxation means different things to different people. At Strawberry Fields, a sign spells out appropriate behavior: “Help us protect this lawn. No: sports. Yes: reading, relaxing, sunbathing, daydreaming.”

A couple necking on the lawn apparently pass the test, but Matthew, a conservancy worker who tends Strawberry Fields, is not pleased by an electric guitarist who is sitting on a nearby rock playing Jimi Hendrix riffs. He patiently tells the man that this is a noise-free area. The guitarist smirks, picks out the notes to “Beautiful Dreamer,” then walks off in a huff.

“In this park, you have to remind people that they can’t just impose themselves on others,” says Matthew, spearing cigarette butts. “It works best of all if people get along.”