Plymouth Colony - a View of Sycamore St

The years of 1926-27 were ones of unprecedented transformation in West Hempstead, brought on by changes to the two major modes of transportation to New York City, rail and highway. In 1926 the LIRR moved the WH station south of Hempstead Ave and built a fine new station house. More importantly, the LIRR electrified the rail line so that the branch would be served by more efficient electric trains rather than steam engines. Then, in 1927, the first portion of Southern State Parkway was completed connecting West Hempstead to NYC. The LIRR upgrade and the new parkway made WH an attractive option for home buyers who were looking to move out to 'the country', while still within commuting distance to their workplaces. Many local farm owners took advantage of the rise in property values and sold their farms to developers.

Two such farmers were Edwin Duryea and his brother Frank, who owned a farm between Hempstead Ave and Woodfield Rd, with Woodlawn and Chestnut Sts forming its north & south borders, respectively. Ed Duryea was a prominent local citizen who was deeply involved in WH's early progress including the establishment of its school district in 1911 and its fire dept. in 1919. In Dec 1926, the Duryeas sold their 35 acre farm to the Spiro Realty Corp. who contracted the Bach Construction Co. to develop 'Plymouth Colony', the cluster of quaint tudors that now line its streets.

The image below, taken from a Nov. 9, 1930 Brooklyn Eagle article, shows a rare glimpse of Sycamore Ave. looking east from Hempstead Ave. The development for the most part was divided up into uniform plots and buyers were offered a choice of three similarly styled tudors, resulting in the neat row of homes you see below.


Having been converted from farmland, expectantly absent from the photo are the trees that now line the streets and fill the back yards of the homes. The one tree that can be made out in the "then" shot (on the left in the foreground) evidently did not survive. Though the photo was printed in the Eagle in Nov. 1930, it must have been taken sometime in mid 1928, because by the end of that year, a brick business building went up at the far left that would have almost totally obscured the house at left in the foreground, as can be seen in the "now" shot below. After nearly eighty years, two of the original occupants of that building are still there - the Community Cafe and Riesterers Bakery.

The First International Auto Race in America – in West Hempstead

The following originally appeared in the Winter 2008 edition of the West Hempstead Civic Association News & Views newsletter -

Here’s a pop question. Name the first ever professional sports event to take place in West Hempstead. If you answered the home opener of the ABA New York Nets 1969-70 season at the old Island Garden, you would be wrong. You’d have to go back another 65 years before that when contestants in the Vanderbilt Cup, the first ever major international auto race in America, zoomed past the West Hempstead farms that lined the Hempstead & Jamaica Plank Road on what is now Hempstead Turnpike. The 300-mile race was the first of its kind in this country and it has an intriguing tie-in to West Hempstead history. Here is the story:

In 1904, heir extraordinaire and sports car aficionado William K. Vanderbilt II organized an auto race on Long Island for the purpose of what he claimed was to stimulate the advancement of the American automobile which lagged behind the innovation and performance of its European counterpart. The contest would be modeled after popular European auto races that were held for a few years since, and would be as much a measure of sturdiness and endurance of these early machines as it would be of performance and speed.

The plotted course would run clockwise along Jericho Turnpike, Route 106, and Hempstead Turnpike, forming a virtual triangle though parts of North Hempstead, Oyster Bay, Hempstead and Queens, and the driver who completed ten circuits around the course in the shortest time would be declared winner. To deal with the risk of running through the highly populated areas, two ‘control’ sections were designated where drivers were required to slow down to under 20mph - a three-minute control at Hicksville and a six-minute control through Hempstead Village. (The western end of the Hempstead control was located in West Hempstead, around where the IHOP is now situated on the Turnpike).

But not everyone was convinced of Vanderbilt’s altruistic motives. Many Long Island farmers viewed the race as a needless form of entertainment for the wealthy and thought of the race car as nothing more than a rich kid’s toy. The disruptions caused by using public roads for an event of this type were obvious, as the affected rail lines and roadways, the primary means through which farmers delivered their goods to market, would essentially have to be shut down for the day. The perils to locals and their livestock that might inadvertently wander onto the course presented a serious risk. The filth created by the 90,000 gallons of oil that was to be spread over the roads as an anti-dusting agent, the belching exhaust from the cars, and the profusion of fuel turned Hempstead into what the NY Evening World called a ‘gasoline village’ and left it ‘smelling like Hunter’s Point’.[1] During the trial runs, well-bred ladies who kept fine homes along Fulton Avenue in Hempstead were so incensed about their rugs being soiled by people dragging in oil from the street that they considered suing the promoters of the race for damages.[2]

One West Hempstead farmer, Edwin C. Duryea, was so vehemently against the race that he was determined to prevent it from taking place. (Duryea, along with his brother Frank, tended a farm that was bounded by Hempstead Ave and Woodfield Rd., between Woodlawn Ave to the north and Chestnut St. to the south.) Together with fellow West Hempstead locals William Stringham and George Langdon, he formed the People’s Protective Association of Nassau County and appealed to the County Board of Supervisors to block the event. They retained another West Hempsteader, Francis B. Taylor, as their legal counsel, and circulated a petition that garnered hundreds of signatures in opposition to the race.[3] When the Board of Supervisors rebuffed their appeal on the grounds that, dangers notwithstanding, the Cup was good for commerce in the County, they filed an 11th hour injunction in court the day before the race to declare the race illegal. The judge refused to intercede and so the stage was set for an event the next morning, October 8th, the magnitude of which was never before witnessed on Long Island.

Cartoon depicting Long Island farmers' protest of the 1904 Vanderbilt Cup. Photo Courtesy of The Suffolk County Vanderbilt Museum (via the Vanderbilt Cup races website)

Throngs of people came out to see the big show. The NY Times claimed that 50,000 fans were at hand[4] while the NY Sun estimated a much more conservative 20,000 at the course at any one time[5]. While the true number was probably somewhere in between, it’s certain that not a vacant hotel room nearby was to be found the night before the race. As one observer put it, “every hotel within three miles of the highways concerned [was] sold out at Waldorf-Astoria prices”[6]. The Sun reported that even the barbers’ chairs in Garden City had been rented for the night[7]. In West Hempstead, it’s doubtless that Henry Woest, keeper of the Munson House, had all his 5 rooms quickly booked for the event.[8] His little inn was located at the intersection of Nassau Blvd and Hempstead Turnpike, where it’s likely that guests could have opted to merely lean out of their beds to have a front row seat of the race from their windows.

Perhaps Woest's guests may have just as well stayed in bed, for despite all the hype generated prior to the event, newspaper accounts described the affair as a real snoozer. There was only so much excitement produced by watching a loud machine whiz by in a flash, only to have to wait another five to ten minutes for the next five second thrill. Bored spectators who had motored out from New York City that morning hopped back into their touring cars while the race was far from over and used – what else? – the Hempstead & Jamaica Plank Road to get back home, creating a veritable obstacle course for horrified contestants who still had laps to finish. (Think of that next time you see a speeding car zig-zagging in and out of traffic along the Turnpike).

To the chagrin of the home crowd, a French car won the race, though as a small measure of consolation, it was an American-born who was at the helm. Overall, the competition was enough of a success as to warrant its establishment as an annual event. A couple years later, a spectator fatality finally convinced the organizers of the recklessness of hosting auto races on public roads, so as a result, the famed Long Island Motor Parkway was built. The LIMP was one of the first concrete roadways in the nation built specifically for the automobile and the first auto road to utilize bridges and overpasses to eliminate crossings. The LIMP was the archetype for the second oldest controlled-access highway on Long Island, the Southern State Parkway which, when completed in 1927, contributed more than any other factor to the housing boom in West Hempstead during the roaring 20’s.

Recognizing the realities of the demands in the local housing market brought on by the construction of the Southern State, the Duryeas sold their 35 acre farm in December, 1926 to a developer who built the “Plymouth Colony”, the name chosen for the cluster of homes and businesses that now occupy that site[9]. Soon after the sale, Hempstead Avenue then quickly transformed from a dusty country road that fronted Ed Duryea’s former property into a budding business corridor. For the erstwhile farmer, after watching his crops grow year after year, the 1927 growing season yielded a different sort of crop – in the form of the brick and stucco homes that sprouted up over his old farm.

By then, West Hempstead had bigger problems like finding more space for its school district that was experiencing an explosion in its student population. Ed Duryea sat on the Board of Education that presided over the expansion of the Chestnut St. School and the construction of the George Washington School in 1930. (You can find his name on the dedication plaque in the foyer of the GW School).

This June 6th marks the 100th anniversary of the dedication of the Long Island Motor Parkway, a road that literally paved the way for the proliferation of the modern controlled-access highway, and by extension, for the development of West Hempstead.

To learn more about the Vanderbilt Cup, see the recently published Vanderbilt Cup Races of Long Island by Howard Kroplick or visit his wonderfully informative website http://www.vanderbiltcupraces.com/.
[1] NY Evening World, Oct. 8 1904, pg. 6
[2] NYT, Oct. 3, 1904, pg. 1
[3] NYT Sept. 29, 1904, pg. 7
[4] NYT Oct 9, 1904, pg. 1
[5] The Sun Oct. 9, 1904 pg. 2
[6] NYT Oct. 8, 1904 pg. 1
[7] ibid.
[8] Long Island, 1905, (A Lodging Guide Published by the Long Island Railroad Co.), pg. 134
[9] NYT Dec. 5, 1926 sec. 11 pg. 1

Lindbergh St. or Lindberg St.?

In December 1926, a prominent local farmer named Edwin Duryea sold his 35 acre farm bounded by Woodfield Rd. and Hempstead Ave. to the east and west, and Bedell Terrace and Chestnut St. to the north and south, to a development company that was to build the homes and businesses upon that parcel. Edwin Duryea had lived in West Hempstead for years and was instrumental in the formation of its public institutions such as its fire dept. and school district. The new development would come to be known as Plymouth Colony, a commemoration of the 300th anniversary of the famed settlement of that name, celebrated only a few years earlier. (The colonial home off the northeast corner of Spruce St. and Hempstead Ave was originally built as the headquarters of the development, and for a time the developers showcased some artifacts from the original Plymouth Colony at that location).

The main street cutting through the new tract would be named Plymouth St. and a cross street would be called Colony St. To honor Edwin Duryea's maternal grandfather, William B. Bedell, who also lived nearby and tended the farm, the street forming the northern border would be named Bedell Terrace. The names of the four remaining streets running east-west would be taken from existing roads which the new cross-streets would be extending; Sycamore, Linden, Spruce and Wilson (Chestnut St. already ran through from Hempstead Ave. to Woodfield Rd.)

Then in May 1927, as the Plymouth development began selling off individual plots to prospective buyers, an incident occurred which changed aviation history. An army reserve pilot named Charles Lindbergh became the first man to fly solo, non-stop across the Atlantic Ocean, taking off from nearby Roosevelt Field, Long Island, and landing 33 hours later in Paris, France. The feat instantly made Lindbergh a huge American hero. In the days and months following the flight, Lindbergh was showered with parades and honors throughout the country.

In West Hempstead, the Plymouth Plan developers were so enamored by Lindbergh's accomplishment that they took the street they designated as Linden St. and decided to name it Lindbergh St. instead. On June 26th, a crowd of 2,000 people came out on a Sunday afternoon to witness a dedication ceremony in honor of Lindbergh at the corner of Plymouth St. A bronze propeller upon which Lindbergh's name was engraved was erected at the intersection, while an airplane made a special flyover to scatter rose petals over the street and the neighborhood .

Fast forward to today. If you look at the three street signs for Lindbergh St., you will notice something peculiar - the 'h' at the end of the name 'Lindbergh' is missing. In fact, the official spelling for the registered name of the street both at the County and the Postal Service is 'Lindberg'. Two of the street signs indicate that there was once an 'h' but that is was rubbed out (look closely at the picture below of the sign at the intersection with Plymouth St.). An examination of the County's property cards of homes along the street indicates a split - some of them have it Lindbergh while others have it Lindberg.


What happened to the 'h'? Here are two possible theories.

1) In a choice between Lindbergh and Lindberg, the more common and intuitive spelling is Lindberg. After time, people simply no longer identified the street name with its namesake and so the 'h' was eventually dropped.

2) It is well known that much of the luster of Lindbergh's reputation was tarnished in the 1930's after he made known his pacifist and protectionist views. His controversial statements, his frequent trips to Germany, his belief in Eugenics, and his resignation from his commission from the US Armed Forces made him considered by many as a Nazi sympathiser and by others as downright anti-Semitic. He was a leader of the America First Committee, which advocated that the USA stay out of the war in Europe. After Pearl Harbor, when the US was drawn into WWII, Lindbergh somewhat changed his tune and sought to reinstate his commission as Colonel in the Army Air Corps. But it was too late. The Roosevelt Administration denied his request, questioning where his true patriotic sympathies lied. (FDR once remarked to a cabinet member that, "if I should die tomorrow, I want you to know this, I am absolutely convinced Lindbergh is a Nazi.")

Though he still had many fans, it's clear that by the time WWII rolled around, Charles Lindbergh fell out of favor with many Americans. Perhaps neighbors who lived on the WH street named after him no longer wanted to be associated with the famous aviator, and so the 'h' was dropped.