The Old Beer Cans and the Sea

THE sand at the southern tip of New York, sad to say, is filthy. That much is clear even from a dozen feet above sea level, on the covered deck that overlooks the beach in Tottenville, the town at the bottom of Staten Island. Walk down to the beach and the picture is no prettier: the remains of a case of Coors Light, some takeout containers, and a scattering of broken glass not yet rendered charming by wear.

James Estrin/The New York Times

South Beach, Staten Island, in 2004.

Even on a clear afternoon with temperatures climbing above 90, this is not the place to find swimmers — though one of the fishermen standing amid washed-up jellyfish and casting into the opaque reddish-brown water said that yes, he does sometimes eat the striped bass he catches.

Up on the deck, Marilyn Lavin, a native islander who was there with her 2-year-old grandson, agreed that it was a shame; she doesn’t go in the water, she said. Still, her grandson liked watching the sailboats off Perth Amboy, N.J. It was a peaceful scene, relatively speaking.

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“Those of us that grew up on Staten Island, you see how much it’s changed and how much it’s developed,” said Ms. Lavin, who is 62. “When you drove down Hylan Boulevard, you used to have to stop and wait for the cows to go by on Mount Loretto.”

The boulevard, which runs along the island’s eastern side, now has more strip malls than pastures. And, several residents said, it seems even more crowded than usual this summer. Often, they said, the island in the summer falls into a sleepier mood, as residents decamp to the Jersey Shore. But with gas prices high, more people seem to be catching their waves closer to home.

“People aren’t going to ride out to Jersey for a couple of hours,” said Bill Kearns, a retiree who was gazing out as a line of small sailboats circled a red buoy. “You’re only going to sit in the sun.”

A long bus ride up the shore, at Midland Beach, an ice cream man named Vinny DeMarco said he had also noticed larger crowds this year. Residents of richer areas probably still leave town on weekends, he said, but people who live near Midland Beach seem to be making do with what they have. That is good news, he added, because the Vinny Freezer Fresh truck runs on $5-a-gallon diesel, pushing Mr. DeMarco’s fuel bill above $70 a day.

On a short walk north to the inaptly named South Beach, the nautical landmarks of Brooklyn — the Coney Island parachute jump, the Toys “R” Us on Bay Parkway, the Veterans Affairs hospital in Dyker Heights — were visible through a yellow-brown haze. Red flags prohibited swimming in long stretches of beach without lifeguards, but in a spot closer to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge where there were guards on duty, the crowd was lively, at least for a weekday afternoon.

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Climbing up the stairs from the beach to the boardwalk, as an oil tanker eased past in the distance, was Christian Kuhlmeier, a 37-year-old former boxer who lives nearby. His friends call him Rocky, and the nickname seems to have been earned: He has thick shoulders and arms, and scars on his torso that came, he said, from being stabbed, once while protecting his mother from a robbery.

Now, Mr. Kuhlmeier comes to the beach to hang out with the lifeguards, and help out if there is trouble — though there usually isn’t much. “This place can be heaven,” he said.

Just then a man walked by with Aerosmith blaring from a boom box. “You got your nitwits here and there,” Mr. Kuhlmeier said. “But it is what it is. No big deal.” Looking out at South Beach, he went on: “It’s not about depression and sitting home, ‘Woe is me.’ It’s about trying to do good for yourself, spend time with people you love.”

The boom box was now playing the Beach Boys’ “Help Me, Rhonda.” What, Mr. Kuhlmeier was asked, about the Jersey Shore?

“There is no comparing,” he said. “You know why? We live in Staten Island. So as far as wasting time to go out to New Jersey, when we have all this — what they have, we have right here.”

By JAKE MOONEY

New York Times