The Borders of Blissville

Blissville is real.

It's a triangle of land that lies on the border of Brooklyn, separated by the Newtown Creek. One way to get to Blissville is across the Greenpoint Avenue Bridge.

At the top is a drawbridge, with a keeper of the bridge inside the tower. When a barge or ship needs to pass underneath, he opens up the bridge. All traffic stops then, whatever the hour.

Down underneath the bridge are railroad tracks. In this direction they head east, out to Long Island.

In the other direction, they lead west and stop at the East River. Manhattan lies just on the other side. There are numerous train stops along the way. Blissville is one of them, though I've never seen a train stop there.

Back in 1837 the triangle that's Blissville was farmland. Neziah Bliss bought it with a business partner, Eliphalet Nott. But for some reason, his name dropped out in the naming of the neighborhood.

Over the next fifty years Blissville evolved into a neighborhood of factories and distilleries that grew up along the Newtown Creek. A trolley ran through its center. If I look carefully, I can see remnants of that other age.

Today Blissville factories that make plumbing parts to souvenirs.

It has the city's largest fortune cookie factory.

Every block has at least one factory.

But Blissville has always had residents.

And backyards.

In the 21st century, garages dominate Blissville. A stranded motorist has over 20 garages to choose from.

It also has one gas station.

One check cashery.

One scrap metal yard.

One monument,

dedicated to one soldier killed in World War II.

A hotel, The City View Inn.

And a bar around the corner where patrons thump to ceili music on Saturday nights .

It even has its own architectural marvel, a mini-Flatiron Building, built in 1916.

The Old Calvary Cemetery makes up the second of Blissville's borders.

For the residents living alongside of it, the cemetery is just a stone wall.

Back in 1848 the diocese of St. Patrick's Cathedral bought the land for the cemetery.

Its first burials were children and the poor Irish immigrants who lived in the tenements of the Lower East Side.

Of course today, it no longer serves the poor.

The third and last leg of the triangle that makes up Blissville is the Long Island Expressway. It extends 150 miles out to the end of Long Island. In summer it's jammed with cars loaded down with surfboards, kayaks and beach toys.

Looking in the other direction, it leads Manhattan, a mile away.

The daily commuters don't see much of Blissville. They see only the billboards lining the way into the city.

Of things to buy and things to see.

Down on the ground, the dreams are simpler.

Welcome to Blissville.