The chapter tells the heartbreaking story of East Tremont, a lively, working-class Jewish neighborhood in the Bronx, and how it was destroyed to make way for the Cross-Bronx Expressway under Robert Moses’ leadership. Blending personal stories, community voices, and political analysis, the chapter reveals the tragic fallout of urban planning decisions that put highways and infrastructure ahead of the people who called these neighborhoods home. Despite determined resistance from residents, their efforts ultimately fell short.
East Tremont comes alive in the chapter as a self-reliant, tightly woven community, full of social, educational, and recreational opportunities. Crotona Park was the neighborhood’s heart, offering tennis courts, baseball fields, and a swimming pool where people gathered. Tremont Avenue boasted seven movie theaters, and the nearby Bronx Zoo and Botanical Garden added to the area’s cultural richness. The neighborhood supported active programs for seniors, affordable camps for kids, and schools with high standards and special programs, like violin lessons at PS 67. Families often lived close together for generations, sharing resources and looking out for one another. While there was some rivalry among different social, religious, and political groups, a strong sense of belonging and continuity held the community together. Outsiders like Moses dismissed the apartments as “tenements,” but residents valued them for their spaciousness, affordability, and character. Low rents made good housing accessible to working families, helping the neighborhood remain stable and attractive.
Yet, many families in East Tremont lived on the edge financially. Most worked in the garment industry and struggled to pay even modest rents, always putting their children’s education first. With affordable housing scarce in New York and public housing hard to get, residents had few options. East Tremont played a vital role as a starting point for waves of immigrants—Irish, Italians, Jews, and later African Americans and Puerto Ricans—helping newcomers settle into city life and move up. Unlike other neighborhoods, East Tremont didn’t experience white flight as nonwhite families arrived. Instead, it stayed stable and welcoming, thanks in part to the liberal, egalitarian ideals of its Jewish residents and the physical buffer of Crotona Park.
The same economic realities that kept families rooted in East Tremont also made them vulnerable when the Cross-Bronx Expressway threatened their homes. With affordable rents and no real alternatives elsewhere, especially for older residents on fixed incomes, moving out was nearly impossible. When eviction notices arrived, panic set in as people realized there was nowhere else they could afford to go. The so-called “orderly relocation” quickly turned into chaos, leaving families facing upheaval and uncertainty.
Displacement was traumatic and haphazard. Many residents ended up in temporary, poorly maintained apartments, often without heat, and were forced to move again and again as demolition advanced. The city’s Tenant Relocation Bureau offered little help, steering people toward unaffordable or substandard housing and showing little concern for their plight. Still, residents clung to hope, believing that Moses might consider an alternate route if presented with a better option. Their optimism grew when an engineer confirmed such a route was possible, but city officials quickly shut down further discussion. The pain caused by these urban renewal policies was matched only by the community’s determined, if ultimately unsuccessful, fight to save their homes.
Led by Lillian Edelstein, residents formed the East Tremont Neighborhood Association (ETNA) and won support from local politicians and city officials, who at first seemed sympathetic and even promised formal studies and opposition to the original route. Engineering studies backed an alternate plan that would have saved more than 1,500 apartments without sacrificing the expressway’s efficiency. But Moses responded with threats and appeals to the greater public good, brushing aside local suffering and political resistance. Residents, buoyed by political backing, attended a crucial Board of Estimate meeting, only to find that Moses still held sway over the process.
Hopes were dashed when their borough president, Lyons, secretly sided with Moses. The Board approved the expressway’s original route, ignoring alternative proposals and public protests. Lacking the money for a legal battle, the community’s efforts were stymied by poverty and political indifference. Edelstein kept fighting, gathering evidence and advocating for a less destructive route, but to no avail. Media coverage was limited and often slanted, and politicians like Robert F. Wagner, Jr., who had promised support, ultimately caved to Moses’ pressure after becoming mayor.
The political process was riddled with manipulation and power imbalances. Deputy Mayor Epstein, initially sympathetic, was eventually pressured into backing Moses. The tenants’ attempts to present an alternative route were repeatedly undermined, with city engineers refusing to give their proposal a fair hearing and even excluding their court reporter from key meetings. Despite heartfelt appeals and clear evidence of unfairness, the Board of Estimate pressed ahead with the original plan, disregarding the tenants’ concerns.
The Board’s final decision to approve the controversial route left residents feeling betrayed, especially by Wagner, who had promised not to support the plan without proper relocation measures. The city handed the relocation process to Nassau Management, a private firm with close ties to Moses’ aides, promising minimal hardship. In reality, Nassau profited handsomely from the upheaval, highlighting the tangled relationship between power, profit, and urban planning in mid-century New York.
The chapter draws a poignant parallel to "Fiddler on the Roof," capturing the sense of powerlessness, endurance, and faith that defined the residents’ experience. Systematic obstacles—from inaccessible management offices to deteriorating building conditions and constant threats of eviction—forced most families to leave. Elderly residents suffered the most, as city housing policies failed to meet their needs, leading to fear, isolation, and a rapid exodus. The process of eviction and demolition was chaotic and traumatic, with families enduring dangerous conditions, vandalism, and crime, while city agencies offered little protection or support. In the end, threats and neglect drove nearly everyone out, with 90 percent of residents relocated within ten months.
Ultimately, the chapter offers a powerful and deeply human account of East Tremont’s destruction. It highlights the devastating impact of urban renewal on established communities, the resilience and solidarity of the people who lived there, and the overwhelming power of entrenched political and economic interests. Through the story of East Tremont, the chapter delivers a sharp critique of mid-century urban planning and a moving reminder of the human cost of so-called progress.