Gay beaches in nyc
New York’s beaches hold long been a gathering place for the LGBTQ+ collective, but Jacob Riis Park, a stretch of Atlantic coastline in Queens, is the most famous of them all. Originally opened in 1914, the beach is not just a popular sunbathing spot; it also has played an instrumental part in local, cultural and world history as the launching signal for the first trans-Atlantic flight, a hub of advocacy following the Stonewall Uprising, and a site on the National Register of Historic Places.
Part of Riis’ explicit purpose when it reopened in 1937 was to be “democratic”—a space that could be easily accessed through public transport—and from the 1940s to 1960s, it grew in both popularity and diversity as a room for queer group. In the ’60s, new rules made clothing optional.
Today, a technicolored patchwork of towels blankets the sand for miles as beachgoers rotate Jacob Riis into a place to gather, be seen, dance and slurp. To get a sense of how the beach was coming alive this season, I spent Memorial Day walking along the boardwalk—toward the sounds of reggaeton and dembow and the smells of salt and suntan lotion—to survey the drinking scene at “the queer beach of Unused York.” Here’
Riis Park Beach
History
Located on a mile-long section of Rockaway Peninsula in Queens, Jacob Riis Park was named after the turn-of-the-20th-century social reformer and photojournalist. Historically, New York Capital beaches have been popular public social gathering places for the LGBT people where they claimed certain sections as their own.
In the 1930s the beach was redesigned under the direction of New York Town Parks Commissioner Robert Moses. When the park reopened in 1937, Moses hoped that it would be a more democratic version of Jones Beach due to its effortless accessibility by universal transportation and cars. By the 1940s the most eastern end of the beach had grow a documented well-known destination for mostly white gay men to sunbathe and cruise. Lesbian women also claimed a nearby area of the beach by the 1950s. By the 1960s, this area became increasingly popular with a diverse LGBT presence including African American and Latino/a men and women.
During the 1960s this area of the beach became clothing optional and was affectionately referred to as “Screech Beach” due to the queer presence.
Above Left: A group of Queer woman women at Riis Park, mid 1960s. (Courtesy Lesbian Herstory Archives)
Above Right: Emma Van Cott (front) and Ernestine Eckstein, leader of the NY chapter of the first national Lesbian organization “Daughters Of Bilitis,” at Riis Park, 1965. (Courtesy Lesbian Herstory Archives)
In the 1940s, the easternmost finish of Jacob Riis Park Beach became a destination for same-sex attracted men, and in the 1950s, lesbian women were also drawn to the area. By the 1960s, the beach drew an increasingly diverse group of Diverse beachgoers, but there were also growing reports of harassment of gay beachgoers by police. In 1971, the Gay Activist Alliance, one of the gay rights organizations that formed in the wake of the Stonewall Uprising, held a voter registration commute at the beach. Today, the eastern section of Jacob Riis Beach remains a destination for LGBTQ+ beachgoers as a queer-friendly space.
The uncertain future of a historic LGBTQ+ safe space: New York City's People's Beach
The summer season in New York Urban area is informally marked each year by the hoisting of Pride flags on The People's Beach, a queer haven tucked away on the far eastern corner of the city's Jacob Riis Park in Queens.
"When I was a runaway, when I had no community at all, I came and I witnessed something that I never even knew existed: that was a meaning of family," said Ceyenne Doroshow, activist and founder of LGBTQ advocacy community GLITS. "People fed me, people dressed me."
This has been a popular gathering place for the Diverse community since the 1940s, shaped by its beachgoers into more than just a spot to sunbathe and swim. It's a place of direct and indirect social activism, where queer joy is at the heart of the jumble of music, umbrella and bodies packed tightly along the shoreline each weekend.
But the land directly surrounding the beach is drastically and quickly switching. The recent demolition of an abandoned building, a $50 million building restoration plan and erosion threaten the future of this safe haven, some activists and beachgoers told ABC