The down ass friend who's gone with me on just about every other beach/pool adventure this summer was super tired this past Saturday, and I was in the same boat. Still unable to bear the thought of squandering a full weekend day without taking advantage of the city's summer facilities, we took a jaunt to the John Jay Pool, close to both of our homes.
Approached by several avenue blocks from the 77th Street stop off the 6 train, the pool was located in a little park looking out over the East River. The area we were in, Yorkville, presented a clash of socioeconomic strata, generations, and eras. The tree-shaded residential blocks grew progressively quiet as the street dead-ended in a row of European-looking buildings with old fashioned French windows facing out towards the water. On the ground beneath such classy dwellings were unbecoming trails of trash water leaking from heaps of black plastic bags. Pigeons picked at random debris, while flies buzzed over spots of dog crap left behind after pooper scoopers. In the park itself, little brown children chased each other all around, threading through stationary Jewish elders.
I tried to go straight to the pool (closer to 78th than 77th), but arrived at a pedestrian bridge over the highway instead. So if you go here, enter the park gates right away at the end of East 77th Street.
The guard to the locker room demanded to see our locks and bathingsuits, but we were used to this (what we weren't used to was when a lifeguard demanded to look under the towel my friend had wrapped around her. She complied like a flasher, and the guard's suspicions were finally laid to rest.). The ladies' locker room was located half a staircase up; a white-tiled affair with skylights letting in plenty of natural light...too bad the floor was a mess, despite one woman's cranky attempts to mop up every dirty footprint and streak of water. The five or so showerheads were concentrated in one small stall-like area that was bottlenecked with big bottomed women and their numerous children. The toilets had no lids or seats...I actually thought that was a clever way to eliminate more wet mess in the place.
The pool was quite long (just shy of 50 yards at 145 feet) but narrow (49 feet). Noting this, I'm glad I chose to start counting my laps at Lasker pool. On a Saturday, of course, there were no lap lanes set up whatsoever. The four feet of water was asplash with teenagers, nasty couples ready to have intercourse in the water, shrieking children, overzealous parents, and even a man with Turrets and a motor control problem - we actually preferred to stay by him, because wherever he went, there was about a five foot radius clearing around him because people were afraid of the poor guy...what they were NOT afraid of, however, was getting in everyone else's personal space whenever they damn well pleased. Everywhere we looked, there was total mayhem.
There was a measure of relaxation, though, afforded by the supreme coolness of the water. We even shivered a bit as a strong breeze blew some crispy brown leaves into the water - will it be an early fall? Every now and then, a gigantic barge would float by on the river parallel to the pool. Quite a sight.
This is a fine place for people watching, too...everyone from the dolphin-bodied lifeguards in their Ninja Turtle colored orange-and-green speedos to a little girl wearing a bikini top shaped like lady bugs offered endless entertainment.
At 3 p.m., the end of the first session was abruptly called, and resumed at 4 p.m....we took this into stride and sat out in the park on benches under the protective shade of a tree. We were surprised to see a long line forming as early as twenty minutes before four, but they let everyone inside immediately once the second session began. Thank goodness, because a cluster of creepy dudes who looked like they were high started asking us our names. They bugged off before I asserted myself, though.
At 5 p.m., they randomly opened a wildly popular 9-foot deep diving pool adjacent to the swimming pool. Open-mouthed, we stared as a wild assortment of people nonchalantly did the sketchiest self-taught flips and turns off of a low diving borad with their t-shirts, chains, and sometimes even their shoes on. I got the urge to do a flip, but chickened out.
My last impressions of this place were of a lifeguard blatantly sleeping up in his chair with all his limbs splayed out...and back in the locker room, the woman with the mop shouting at a young girl to twist her wet bathing suit over a drain in the floor rather than the floor itself. Ah, New York public pool wouldn't be the same without such distinctions, now would it.
P.S. People are right about the sketchy locker closures. Choose a locker that's not falling apart, and obviously don't bring anything valuable or nice to this place. read more