Consequential Strangers

Everyone’s talking (at least in New York) about the new High Line park in lower Manhattan, an urban oasis built on old elevated railway overlooking the Hudson River. It’s not quite complete, but verdant enough for picnics, photos, and parades of people–18,000 to 20,000 visitors on the weekend.  In my parlance, it’s not just a new park, it’s a “being space.”  And, as reported in a recent New York Times article, High Line is doing its job–encouraging people to connect:

It even inspires crusty New Yorkers to behave as if they were strolling down Main Street in a small town rather than striding the walkway of a hyper-urban park — routinely smiling and nodding, even striking up conversations with strangers.

“Here people tend to be more friendly,” Kathy Roberson, who is retired but does volunteer work with the poor, said on Saturday. “Those same people, you might see them someplace else and, you know,” she broke off, raising her eyebrows, “they’re kind of stressed.”

One of the best things about the park is that residents in the area are proud of it:

Despite the complaints about noise, gentrification and tour buses spewing forth their cargo, many locals have fallen so hard and fast for the park that they are acting as impromptu tour guides, eager to show off their new love interest.

I also can’t help but love the High Line’s history, because it exemplifies the power of consequential stranger relationships–people from different worlds coming together on common ground.  Referred to in another New York Times article as “something of a New York fairy tale,” the once-upon-a-time began ten years ago.  Joshua David, a writer, and Robert Hammond, a painter met at a community board meeting and discovered that they both wanted to save the abandoned railroad trestle.  They then founded Friends of the High Line and recruited others to help make their dream a reality.  The High Line opened in June of 2009, and even in this economic downturn, it is revitalizing the neighborhood–not to mention putting smiles on people’s faces.  Jane Jacobs would be proud.