Thirteen Minutes on Roosevelt Island’s Quiet Heroes
Thirteen minutes is hardly time enough to warm a pot of tea, yet on Monday evening those scant minutes stretched long and curious across a flickering gallery of four tired squares. One of these squares prominently displayed Judy Birdy.
For the first six, Chair Paul Krikler hovered—politely, hopefully—over the silent grid. A ceiling-fan whirred somewhere off-screen; Jordan Lee’s cursor blinked, half-deciding whether to mute us all. Across the darkened panes, Judy Birdy straightened in her dining-room chair. She was the only one who seemed eager for conversation.
“Come on… we want to talk.”
Her voice carried the weather-worn warmth of someone who has asked the same Board to listen since the days when our subway still smelled of fresh paint. Jordan’s cursor retreated. Paul smiled, deferent, and the air relaxed just enough for us to believe a meeting might start.
An Unexpected Farewell to Judy Birdy
At 6:31 PM, with no new arrivals, Paul called us to order and turned, gracious as a maître d’, to thank Judy Birdy for her “years of service” as a public member—“now that you’ve decided to step down.”
A puzzled quiet flickered across her square.
“No one told me I’m not a member anymore,” she answered, eyes narrowing the way the East River does when tide meets wind.
Paul’s explanation was brisk: the re-application deadline had passed months ago. Hospitals, rehabs—he ticked them off like calendar squares. Judy’s cheeks flushed, but her voice stayed measured.
“I’m very offended by this, and I will discuss it with the Board.”
That was all. A small collision of procedures and feelings, cooling rapidly in the Zoom ether. Yet the room felt hollower the instant Judy’s mute icon glowed red, emphasizing the absence of Judy Birdy.
Why Judy Birdy’s Absence Matters
For three decades Judy Birdy has been Roosevelt Island’s stubborn conscience. The ADA curb cut carved into PS/IS 217’s east sidewalk? Judy nudged DOT through three winters for that jackhammer. The annual coat-drive bins that appear every November in the Tram station? Her idea, her Excel lists, her basement storing the extra scarves.
A committee can replace a seat, but it cannot quick-swap the steady patience that coaxes city agencies into action. Checks and balances falter when the quiet checkers go unheard—as I reflected in last Friday’s essay, “Checks Unbalanced,” which you can revisit here. Judy Birdy was one of those essential quiet voices.
Brief Notes of Business
After the awkward farewell, business ticked by in tiny practicalities:
- Road-work on Main Street, Bryant Daniels of RIOC told us, is pushed one week and will run “for a few.”
- The real-time bus tracker now rides every large red bus (minis soon to follow).
- Roosevelt Island Day turns fifty on June 7—families will gather this year on Firefighters Field.
- Weekend shuttle buses to Manhattan will roll two extra Saturdays, May 10 & 17, every half-hour.
The library liaison was absent; the agenda item evaporated. Into that gap stepped RIRA president Frank Farance, announcing a May 29 Candidate Night for City Council District 5—another civic ritual Judy Birdy herself once helped refine.
At 13:02 the chair declared our work complete. Judy’s square disappeared first, and with it a certain ballast the meeting hadn’t known it relied upon.
The Quiet Torch
I do not doubt that the Board will sort the paperwork, that some form will be emailed, that Judy Birdy will sign her name—perhaps with a flourish of annoyance but also relief. Because this island leans, often invisibly, on people who show up even when their Zoom link arrives at the last minute and their microphone crackles.
When those voices fade, we feel it. Sometimes only in the hush that follows.
So if you should happen to see Judy on a bench outside Good Shepherd Chapel, offer her a word of thanks—or ask how that curb cut actually got poured. Unsung heroes like Judy Birdy rarely hum their own tune. It’s on the rest of us to keep the melody alive, one careful measure at a time.
Howard Polivy, the Man Who Never Left
There is a particular rhythm to board meetings. Once you have sat through enough of them, they begin to blend together. The agenda appears. The minutes are approved.
