At the time of writing, there are still eight weekdays (including Labor Day) and four weekend days left in the 2011 summer swim season to see this gargantuan product of the Great Depression.
The pool, just 30 feet shy of a football field's length, was constructed by the Works Progress Administration in 1936 under the directon of master builder and Parks Commissioner Robert Moses (the guy who also built the Lincoln Center, the United Nations building, the Triborough Bridge, the Henry Hudson Bridge, Jones Beach, and so on). The city recently celebrated the 75th anniversary of Astoria Pool, and ten others (http://www.nycgovparks.org/sub_about/parks_history/pools.html) created that fateful year in the city's history.
How apropos that my first visit to the giant pool (and to Astoria itself for that matter) coincided exactly with my place in "The Power Broker" (Robert Caro's Pulitzer prize winning biography of Robert Moses), which describes Moses's influence in bringing about the WPA pools that were built in 1936.
Even better, my Candian friend was in town, and after she made one too many jabs at the U.S. system of measurement, I decided I had to pull out some really big guns and show her something to silence any scorn for our nation.
We spontaneously caught a Q train north, which somehow came to a dead stop at a DOWNtown track around 57th and 7th. We made our way back to the uptown Queens-bound track and resumed our journey. As we approached the end of the line, we asked random people where the pool was, assuming that they were all locals. They told us that the very last stop at Astoria-Ditmars Boulevard was best, but the park was so large and obviously located that the penultimate stop at Astoria Boulevard would also do just fine.
At the exit, an MTA employee who refused to tell us a street number but impatiently hollered through the glass: "There's only one way to go out of here. I said TAKE A RIGHT and then keep walking past 25th!"
So we did that, walking past a quiet, old businesses and nicely shrubbed, conjoined residences with turreting and rail-less balconies.
When a family of four materialized in front of us, we could tell by their amphibious attire and the locks hanging from their rucksacks that they were headed the same way.
Speaking of locks, we hadn't planned on visiting a pool, and didn't have a single lock between us. So as the park appeared, bookended by the Hell Gate Bridge to the north and RFK bridge to the south, we strategized about how to deceive the pool guards.
We reached a downhill slope, at the bottom of which was a large brick building with the dreaded greenshirts guarding the door. On our level, was a rooftop terrace overlooking a lake....no, the Astoria pool!
In the 5 p.m. sunlight, the eternal rectangle looked like a slice of the Caribbean sea - shallow throughout, reflecting prisms of light from a dazzling powder blue bottom.
Once we tired of taking photos, we went to face the guards. "You got a lock?" one asked. I lied, and was admitted, but the tougher lady guard stopped my friend, exposed our locklessness, and directed us to the conveniently located concession stand right behind us. They had huge bottles of Coppertone, too, but after paying 7 bucks for a keylock, I wasn't in the mood to shop.
The signs above the locker entrances were in original art deco font. A chill went down my spine at the sight of the multitudinous robin's egg blue changing stalls. The showers were dark and extremely narrow to conserve space; a tribute to the economic hardships from which the facilities were built.
We walked out onto concrete terraces overlooking the pool, mirrored by identical seating on the opposite side under a shading structure.
The water was divided into mini-squares that in themselves were as big as regulation sized pools. Here and there, lanes were up, but most of the swimmers prefered to exult in the mayhem. Since there was a bit of a chill in the air, the pool wasn't as crowded as the thousand-capacity numbers known to crush this place at times. I wish they'd one day let people do laps lengthwise, just because a mere 8 laps would make a mile.
The sun was still strong - a lifeguard with an Aziz Ansari way about him lent us his own bottle of block at our request. We asked another guard where the bubbler was. He told us it was wayyy across on the other side, or we could just lap up the spray from the mushroom fountains because "it's the same water."
An empty diving pool with a triple decker diving platform rusting above it was tactfully screened off so that the more dominant scenery we enjoyed while floating belly up was the sight of hundreds cavorting in the water under ex-large banners of the very first publicity posters for the pools.
Everyone should go here and witness the simultaneous presence of economy and grandeur. One may clearly feel that this is what New York is made of. Top that, Canada! (jk...sort of) read more