Everyone cheered and bowed. A beautiful piece of stone, carved into accordion-like steps, stands evenly spaced as if plucked from a Nora Ephron set. Looking out from a stoop in Brooklyn (the New York City borough considered the capital of the “hundred-year tradition” of stooping), the whole world seems intimate and casual. A lavish buffet of public fights, romantic walks and teenage drama for crowd watchers. As a 1987 New York Times article aptly pointed out, Brooklyn’s stoops are a ringside seat to urban drama.
Until a few years ago, I was not aware of the place porches held in society (except for the times when I secretly sat on one of those fabulous porches behind a fence, which was not considered a crime). But oh, the worm has turned. Now that I proudly benefit from a curb in front of my 19th-century Park Slope brownstone rental, the veil has been lifted and I can now clearly see the sense of well-being and belonging that comes from sitting on a curb.
These beautiful residential entrances blend into the tapestry of the community. Architectural totems of culture and community, they bridge the divide between residents and neighbors in a way that porches (or worse, patios) cannot. Leaning rooms are certainly a focal point for social events. (I once saw them described as neighborhood amphitheaters. How cool.) But they have also historically been a resource for neighborhood safety, as it is much easier to stay alert from an elevated vantage point.
The Dutch were responsible for New York’s decline. The name comes from the Dutch “stoop” (roughly translated as “steps” or “porch”) and was introduced in the early 17th century. “Because of the constant threat of flooding, tall houses were common in the Netherlands and required a porch to access the front door,” explains New York City historian Keith Tallon. “They brought this architectural sensibility to North America, but since flooding was less of a threat here, the stoop was initially seen as a decorative feature.”
The bend also conceals the service entrance which is usually located at the front of the townhouse rather than in the service lane. “The bend has the added benefit of elevating the best room in the house to a level that is far removed from the dirt, noise and smell of the increasingly crowded, horse-drawn streets,” says Tyrone.
But around the 1880s (historians describe this period as the “peak” of elevated stoops), they began to fall out of fashion, marked by the transition to the new American basement homes of the 1890s and then the modernization efforts of the early 20th century. Finally, the emphasis was on converting single-family homes into apartments. “This meant that by the 1950s, thousands of stoops had disappeared from the street scene,” he explains.
But as you know, that’s not the end of the story. In the 1960s, an innovative idea was rapidly put into practice: historic districts. “They were created as part of the city’s response to hyper-modernization and hyper-demolition (see: Penn Station),” says Tyrone. “What’s old becomes new, and bending over eventually comes back in style.” In fact, he points out, buyers’ guides from the 1970s often included instructions on how to properly build a missing porch. Without these preservationists, the bend as we know it probably would have been swallowed up by the ether of time.
Since that period, the sanctity of bending has only grown, fueled largely by popular culture. Spike Lee’s depiction of Brooklyn stoops certainly comes to mind, whether it’s the movie poster for his 1994 film Crooklyn or Bedford-Stuyvesant’s Do the Right Thing mecca for benders; and HBO’s Girls (the episode where Hannah, Marnie, Shoshanna and Jessa gather on the Greenpoint porch is etched in my memory). Even the stairs of 123 Sesame Street are a monumental scene – based on the towering porches of New York City.
New Yorker Maddie Boardman tied the knot in 2022 on her porch in Brooklyn, which she called a fluffy nebula next to the iron railing. “My husband and I moved into that apartment in 2019, got engaged in 2020 and got married in 2022, so we spent a lot of time in the house, especially on the porch,” she said. In fact, one of her neighbors conducted the ceremony. It has been proven that bowing has a contact-like effect.
But it’s New York City’s sense of lean-to community that may have been most evident during the pandemic. Marija Abney, founder and executive director of The Soapbox Presents, said her group began taking to the streets of New York in June 2020. It was also a time of social unrest. “My community needed something and I needed something,” she said. In 2021, The Soapbox Presents launched Stoop Sessions, pop-up block parties that celebrate Black and brown culture through live music and dance. “When we celebrate the brilliance of Black and brown people through the arts, we create space for conversation, resistance, resilience, and renewal.”
At the risk of sounding Pollyannaish, for me, leaning in is an expression of connection between people. Most of my days ended with me spending at least a few minutes on the porch. I pulled out my red plaid blanket, poured a glass of wine, and relaxed into the night, watching the nearby gas lamp flicker and the nearby black squirrels jump among the branches while my companions took a break from the day’s hustle and bustle. The world slowed down and the lights began to disappear behind the crown of the brownstone across the street — for a moment, at least, there was no world beyond the magical circle of the porch.
