I grew up on a small island in the middle of New York City.

Roosevelt Island is…

I grew up on a small island in the middle of New York City.

Roosevelt Island is like the Oreo filling between Manhattan and Queens.

It’s 2.5 miles long and smack-dab in the middle of the East River.

You can’t miss it.

Yet, if you ask any New Yorker, they’ve probably never heard of it.

You mean Randall‘s Island?
No, that’s where the concerts are.

You mean Governors Island?
No, that’s the Coast Guard Island.

You mean Rikers island?
No, that’s the prison.

🚡The one with the Tram.

It’s also the one with …

» Ruins of a smallpox hospital.

» The FDR memorial.

» Cornell Tech’s futuristic campus.

» An old, haunted farmhouse.

» The free red bus

» Cherry blossoms every April(ish)

» Amazing skyline views at every step

I’ve traveled the world — Roosevelt Island is still the place I most want to go back to.

Roosevelt Island is my happy place.

It’s home — even though I haven’t lived there in 13 years.

When you walk the outer rim of the island, it feels like The City is a world away.

I have so many timeless memories from every inch of that walk.

So many conversations and shenanigans with so many amazing friends over the years.


In the 1980s, the island was mostly grass, trees, parks, and nature.

There were only four buildings, one street, a free red bus, and a narrow drawbridge to let cars on and off.

You needed a pass to park on the street. These large, colorful pieces of paper could be obtained from a booth near the bridge when you entered the island … or, from the public safety office.

You couldn’t have dogs because they didn’t want them pooping all over the place.

I got to ride an aerial cable car over the river to get to school every day.

Because of our proximity to the United Nations, we had countless dignitaries (and their kids) living on the Island.

On the southern tip, a tall, green, wooden fence blocked off a collection of dilapidated ruins. It was very easy to climb around the fence and explore the other side.

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