The Rise and Fall (and Possible Resurrection) of NYC's Blue Park

In 2011, my journey as a 6th-grade teacher at Lyons Community School began, a small public school serving primarily low-income families. Little did I know, the playground overlooking Martinez Playground, affectionately known to skaters as Blue Park, would soon become a vibrant hub for the NYC skate community.

The story of Blue Park is not one of a planned, meticulously designed skate haven. Instead, it’s an organic tale of community collaboration, a testament to the DIY spirit, and a reflection of the complex dynamics within a rapidly changing city. It all started with a seemingly simple playground renovation.

Two years into my teaching role, I was informed that the city was installing skateable objects on the playground, a part of a larger renovation, coinciding with the arrival of Brooklyn Latin High School into the building. I remember being confused about what this meant for the school but, when I went downstairs, I found three concrete obstacles had been installed. The city had painted a large section of the yard blue and placed these three simple objects in the center.

A wide shot of the blue concrete surface at Blue Park, with three simple concrete skate obstacles positioned in the center.

However, the real story of Blue Park began when local skaters and DIY builders began enhancing the space with their own obstacles. Soon, the park was populated with a myriad of unique, handcrafted ramps and ledges. The city’s somewhat lax attitude towards these additions allowed Blue Park to evolve into a bustling epicenter for skateboarding. It became a venue for countless events, sponsored by local skate shops like Tenant and Labor, as well as major brands like Supreme. It was a space for queer skate meetups, Briana King’s “Push Like a Girl” event, punk shows, and countless epic skate sessions. It even witnessed Tyshawn Jones landing a kickflip over a picnic table.

Pro skater and Coda Skateboards owner, Pat Smith, describes the park’s organic development as: “There is a sense of belonging and community that can’t be achieved by spoon-fed parks. Blue Park was a blank canvas and the community painted it. It stands as our work of art.”

A skater performing a trick on a concrete ramp at Blue Park, with various other obstacles and people in the background.

Unfortunately, the vibrant era of Blue Park’s DIY skate obstacles came to an abrupt end in December of 2021. A teacher, attempting to move an obstacle, broke his toe and filed a complaint, leading the Parks Department to remove the objects. Fortunately, the skate community quickly mobilized and moved the obstacles to a new spot under the Kosciuszko Bridge.

Before Blue Park became a skater’s paradise, it was a “super crusty park to play ball,” according to Axel Mosso, one of my former 6th-grade students. The playground renovations were met with mixed feelings from teachers who saw it as another example of the city prioritizing magnet schools over neighborhood public schools. While we welcomed the upgrades, there was a feeling of resentment that our kids hadn’t been afforded these resources sooner. However, the upgrades provided our students with a place to play, and then, a skatepark in the middle of it.

Mosso recalls the early days of Blue Park when the only things that would last were slappy curbs. But soon enough, higher-quality obstacles were introduced. Smith notes, “There were big leaps, usually with funding. From me and CODA doing well personally, to Labor and Tenant getting involved or a job for Adidas, or Nike or Vans [leaving leftover ramps]. Why throw ‘em out? Upcycle that stuff.”

Blue Park had become a hybrid DIY/skate plaza, launched by the city but enhanced by the local skate community. It was a place where, on any given day, over 50 people could be found skating. Many teachers were positive about the skatepark but there were still challenges.

A close-up of a skater grinding on a low concrete ledge at Blue Park.

One teacher from Brooklyn Latin acknowledged the coolness of skating but also the challenges of sharing the space, citing issues with drug and alcohol use at the picnic tables. There were even conflicts between skaters and basketball players.

The question became how to address the challenges of sharing the space. Craig Willingham, a skateboarder advocating for restoring Blue Park, suggests skaters should be respectful of the site’s multipurpose nature. From my dual perspective as a skater and teacher, I think there are some simple sacrifices that could make Blue Park more sustainable.

Blue Park is a prime example of a classic New York City dilemma: how diverse communities find a way to get along in a tiny space. It’s up to all of us to decide what kind of neighbors we want to be.

After leaving the school and teaching elsewhere, I started skating at Blue Park again during the summer of COVID. It was amazing to see some of my former students thriving as skaters. These kids, who had their playground transformed, were now enjoying the skatepark and had been for years. It helped shape them into healthy adult skaters.

Mosso reflects on Blue Park’s pivotal role in his life: “I definitely grew up at Blue. Before school, I was skating there. At lunch, I was there. After school, I was still there. Blue was my second home for most of my teenage years.” He expresses his disappointment at the dismantling of the DIY obstacles, stating, “It’s unfortunate that Blue has lost its DIY [obstacles] mainly since they were its appeal to most and stood out compared to all the other parks in NYC.”

A variety of DIY skate obstacles scattered on the blue concrete surface of Blue Park.

Mosso’s comment touches on the complex issues of gentrification. The skatepark might not exist without the resources that came with Brooklyn Latin’s arrival, but the school is sometimes seen as an entitled neighbor. The skatepark’s demise and hoped-for return illustrates the dance the city does with skaters, allowing them to exist, knowing that they often precede gentrification.

One has to wonder about the financial incentives at play at Blue Park, as well as the proliferation of legal graffiti murals and skateable ledges under the Kosciuszko Bridge. What will happen there in a decade when the area inevitably gentrifies?

A wide shot of Blue Park, showcasing the blue concrete surface and surrounding buildings.

The story of Blue Park is not over. We can all help restore Blue Park by:

Following District 34 council member Jennifer Gutiérrez on social media and participating in participatory budgeting.
Reaching out to councilmember Gutiérrez’s office to advocate for the park’s restoration.
Contacting the chair of the parks committee, Shekar Krishnan, to ask for his help.
Contacting the new Brooklyn Borough President, Antonio Reynoso, to advocate for the park.

Blue Park’s history serves as a lesson about the power of community, the organic nature of skate culture, and the complexities of urban spaces. While the future of Blue Park remains uncertain, the skate community’s spirit remains strong.

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