Warren Strugatch


Pilgrim’s Progress: New Suburbanism, Finally, at Former State Hospital

Heartland Town Square
Artist's rendering of the proposed "Heartland Town Square" in Islip Town, which would include more than 9,100 housing units and more than 4 million square feet of office space.

When Pilgrim State Hospital opened in Brentwood during the Great Depression, it was set up to provide not just housing and treatment for the state’s surging population of schizophrenics but to distribute government-issued substitutes for family and community.

Institutions like Pilgrim, Central Islip and Kings Park were self-sufficient communities equipped with power generators, vast kitchen facilities, burial grounds and acres of farmland for patients to cultivate as therapy. Whatever patients needed was to be available inside the institutional gates, according to state policy.

Pilgrim’s population peaked at nearly 14,000 patients in 1954, the year it was declared the world’s largest hospital. In the decades that followed, several generations of improved psychiatric drugs led officials to close most of the hospitals’ units and discharge patients into the community.

Talk about irony. The self-sufficiency of Pilgrim State Hospital – later Pilgrim Psychiatric Center – predates the much-ballyhooed New Urbanism espoused by community planners and progressive developers. Soon-to-be-constructed Heartland Town Square, as you know unless you’ve been living under a rock, is the $4 billion, 452-acre live-work-play redevelopment project whose first phase Islip Town Board approved in July.

The partial approval followed more than 15 years of political lap-dancing over union hiring requirements, who pays what in infrastructure costs, how to allocate subsidies for housing and government services, and – last but not least – the best way to update zoning.

Changing zoning of course raises thorny land use questions, debates over population density, and discussions of ownership-vs-rental ratios. That’s just scratching the contentious surface. The fact is that many Long Islanders harbor the delusion that the 1950s never truly ended, steadfastly defending zoning regs, village ordinances and building requirements put in place when Ozzie and Harriet last went house hunting.

In her classic work on urbanism, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, Jane Jacobs warned of the sterile planned neighborhood “that shows a strange inability to update itself, enliven itself, repair itself, or to be sought after, out of choice, by a new generation.”

Such a community, she wrote, “is dead.”

“Actually, it’s dead from birth but nobody noticed this much until the corpse began to smell.”

Heartland Square is not just another planned community. Its proper planning, construction and leasing is essential to providing the kind of walkable, open-street, diversely-populated 21st century community that’s been shepherded into existence all across the country by savvy coalitions of business leaders, community advocates and government officials.

Everywhere except here on Long Island.

Heartland could be – and perhaps will be – the kind of walkable, bustling and diverse community Long Island desperately needs. I’m talking about a community where you can walk to work, ride your bike without fear of death, hang out in a Great Good Place until late, mingle with interesting strangers and rent without being stigmatized.

Much has been made of the exodus of young Long Islanders in recent years. The diaspora is usually attributed to inadequate job creation. That’s certainly one cause. Another’s the lack of housing options. The shortage of residential choices drives plenty of young folks to the bridges and airports. Many recent graduates – and plenty of divorcees, singles and empty nesters as well – have no use for the white picket fence fantasy. As the millennials say, that’s so last century.

It isn’t just about housing stock. It’s about community. Long Island is all about Mom, Dad and the Kids. Real estate agents greet prospects with patter about great schools, quiet night streets, and heartfelt odes to suburban insularity.

Did I leave out how near we are to the malls?

It speaks to the lunacy of Long Island’s housing and zoning policies that Gerald and David Wolkoff, the father-and-son developers who spent over 15 years preparing to transform a one-time psychiatric hospital into a vast planned community designed in the spirit of New Urbanism, only to discover that the state’s discredited legacy of mental health institutionalization policies offers the most progressive community-planning insights available.

Still, I’m banking on the Wolkoffs. I think Heartland’s going to work out fine.

Strugatch is a consultant and writer based in Stony Brook. His website is WarrenStrugatch.com.        

C Suite: Karyn Schoenbart Steps Up

Karyn Schoenbart
Karyn Schoenbart

Karyn Schoenbart is chief executive of the NPD Group, a global leader in consumer research and one of those quiet corporate jewels that a lot of Long Islanders don’t know about. Her new book, Mom.B.A. Essential Business Advice from One Generation to the Next, came out in August. Contributing editor Warren Strugatch tracked her down in Port Washington to ask about leadership, climbing the corporate ladder and goal setting.

Long Island Press: What were your early years like?

KS: My mother, Anita Schoenbart, was a stay-at-home mom. She was the class mother, the president of the sisterhood, and a role model in showing my brother and me that whatever your job is you can be a hard worker and be passionate about it. She gave me the superpower of being able to remember everyone’s name.

My father Zelman had a sewing machine and vacuum cleaner store on Amsterdam Avenue in Manhattan. He taught me business fundamentals like the difference between revenue and profits and the importance of hard work. They were both incredibly supportive of my brother and me. Both are still alive and they are the best parents.

LIP: Can you describe your leadership philosophy to me?

KS: It’s ‘Say what you’re going to do, then do what you say.’ It starts with having a vision, then articulating that vision so people see how they fit into it and how they can contribute to it. It’s inspiring people to be part of it.

LIP: In March you were named CEO of a well-established company. Is your job maintaining continuity with NPD’s culture and traditions, or steering forward in a new direction?

KS: NPD is a terrific data company. We made the decision a few years ago to change our orientation from being about the data which is from the past, to being predictive and helping people with their future business problems. Now we have to articulate that vision and inspire people to see how their piece fits into the puzzle. My role is to help people understand the long term benefits to our clients. One of the key skills in my role is communicating: up, down and across.

LIP: Have you found a way to eliminate the so-called CEO echo chamber where people tell you only what they assume you want to hear?

KS: I know that because of my position and my passion it’s hard to say no to me. If people think my idea won’t work, it’s important they know that they can tell me that. Maybe my idea is pink sunglasses. I am teaching myself to say: ‘Let’s just brainstorm all the ways that making these sunglasses pink is a bad idea. I’ll go first.’

LIP: You’ve received regular promotions up the ladder. Were these promotions planned on your end, or the result of recognition from above?

KS: A sponsor is someone who sees something in you and keeps pushing you forward. I talk about the importance of sponsors in my book. In my career, Tod (Johnson, NPD’s executive chairman and preceding CEO) has been a sponsor. When Tod first offered me the job of being head of all business units my first response was to say no. I really liked the job I was in, managing one unit. I wasn’t sure I wanted the job of managing my peers.

Tod said go home and sleep on it. I did. I talked about it with my husband, who said first of all you can do this job, and if you don’t take it someone else will. I thought about the accomplishments of my team and I had to admit I was probably the best person for the job. This is the modesty thing many women have. We find it hard to say out loud that yes, I am the person who’s most qualified.

LIP: Did the modesty thing reoccur when you were offered the president’s job?

KS: One of the first meetings I had with Tod was a career development lunch, which I asked for. Tod asked me for my goals. I wrote out five pages worth. He turned around and said, ‘I think your goal should be to be president of NPD.’ I thought, Really? Little ol’ me?

LIP: And now you’re CEO.

KS: And part of that job is helping other people set goals like that for themselves.