Floyd Bennett Field

Listen first. Wind moves across a wide, flat field of concrete and tall grass. Somewhere out on Jamaica Bay, a gull calls. The runways under your feet are cracked, with weeds pushing up through the seams. The sky here feels enormous for New York City. That is no accident. This open ground was made for flying. Nearly a century ago, it was where the city first looked up and imagined itself as a gateway to the air.

Welcome to Floyd Bennett Field, in the southeastern corner of Brooklyn. Today it is part of Gateway National Recreation Area, managed by the National Park Service. But this was once New York City's first municipal airport. Here is the first surprise. Much of the ground you are standing on was not always land. It was built up from the bay, piece by piece, to create the flat surface that early aviation needed.

Before the airport, this area was known as Barren Island. It had a hard and unpleasant history. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the island held industries the rest of the city did not want nearby. Factories here processed animal remains and city waste, and the smell was famous for miles. A small community of workers lived on the island in tough conditions. When planners chose this site for an airport, they joined the island to the mainland with sand pumped up from the bay floor.

The field takes its name from Floyd Bennett, an American naval aviator of the 1920s. Bennett flew with the explorer Richard Byrd on a 1926 flight toward the North Pole. That flight made both men national heroes, although historians have long debated whether they actually reached the Pole. Bennett died young, in 1928, after falling ill during a rescue mission. The city honoured him by giving his name to its new airport, which opened in the early 1930s.

Now imagine this place in its golden years. Aviation was still young and daring. Pilots came here because the field was modern, with long paved runways at a time when many airports were simple grass strips. Record-setting flights started and ended here. In 1938, the millionaire aviator Howard Hughes left from this field on a flight around the world. He returned here a few days later to cheering crowds and a new speed record.

That same year brought one of aviation's oddest stories. A pilot named Douglas Corrigan took off from Floyd Bennett Field. His official flight plan said he was flying west to California. Instead, he landed in Ireland. Corrigan claimed his compass had misled him. Almost nobody believed him, but the public loved the story. The newspapers gave him a nickname that stuck for the rest of his life: Wrong Way Corrigan.

Here is the second surprise. For all its fame, the airport was never a commercial success. Most passenger airlines preferred Newark, across the harbour in New Jersey, which held the important airmail business. The location here in Brooklyn was also far from Manhattan. When the city opened a new airport in Queens at the end of the 1930s, the one later named LaGuardia, the flow of passengers moved away. This field was left looking for a new purpose.

That purpose arrived with the Second World War. The United States Navy took over the field and turned it into a naval air station. During the war, the base was a busy place. Aircraft were delivered, tested, and flown out from these runways. Navy planes also patrolled the coastal waters for enemy submarines. The military stayed for decades. Active flying operations came to an end in the early 1970s, and soon afterwards the land passed to the National Park Service.

Look toward the main buildings near the entrance. The old administration building, a dignified brick structure, once served as the passenger terminal. Today it holds a visitor centre. Inside, you can learn about the field's flying history. Notice the proportions of the building. It was designed to impress travellers at a time when flying was a special event, almost a ceremony, and passengers often dressed in their best clothes for a flight.

Nearby, the large hangars still stand along the edge of the old airfield. In one of them, volunteers work on restoring historic aircraft. When it is open, you can watch people patiently rebuilding old planes, one piece at a time. You may hear the sound of tools on metal and smell oil and fresh paint. It is a quiet, careful kind of work, and it keeps the field's story alive.

Over the years, nature has returned to much of this place. Large areas around the runways have become grassland, a habitat that is rare in a city this size. Birdwatchers come here to look for species that need open, grassy ground. You will also find community gardens, sports fields, and even a camping area. Families ride bicycles down the wide runways. People fly model aircraft and kites where real planes once landed.

The field's story continues to change. In recent years, parts of the site have served different public needs, and its future use is often discussed by the city and the park service. That makes sense. A place this large and this open is precious in New York. Walk slowly and you will see the layers. There is island, industry, airport, naval base, and park, all on one piece of shoreline.

Before you leave, stand at the edge of one of the long runways. Look down its length toward the horizon. Feel the wind coming off the bay. Pilots once watched this same flat line as they gathered speed, ready to leave the ground for distant places. Today the only aircraft overhead may be heading into the city's busy modern airports. As you walk back, listen again — for the wind, the birds, and the quiet.