For a decade and a half now, motorists on the Taconic State Parkway, north of New York City, have been confronted by exit signs for a Donald J. Trump State Park. At first, the name was merely curious; unlike hotels, mixed-use towers, and deli sandwiches, state parks are rarely named for reality TV stars or blowhard real-estate developers. After the past six years, however, the name is still curious but also, for many, grotesque. Help may be on the way.
Like America, Donald J. Trump State Park is split in half: one section, totalling a hundred and fifty-four acres, is in Yorktown Heights, in Westchester County; the other, made up of two hundred and eighty-two acres, straddles the border between Westchester and Putnam Counties. Trump bought the land between 1998 and 2000, intending to build twin golf courses, but after environmental concerns scotched that plan—uh-oh, wetlands!—he donated the parcels to the state. The “understanding,” according to a letter from his attorney, countersigned by a representative of the state, was that “each of the properties will bear a name that includes Mr. Trump’s name . . . prominently displayed at least at each entrance.”
The State Legislature has become determined to do something about this. The cause gained steam after January 6th, and bills that would strip Trump’s name from the park are pending votes in the state senate and Assembly. At a joint legislative hearing in January, Commissioner Erik Kulleseid, of the state Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation, testified that his staff was “reviewing” just how binding the old letter of understanding would be if the legislation becomes law. There’s a big gray area here: yes, the former President is famously litigious, but his lawyers will likely be battling on many fronts in the next few years. “I doubt he’ll have the resources to care about that when the time comes” is how Assembly Member Daniel O’Donnell, a Democrat from the Upper West Side, put the odds of a suit at the hearing.
Although Trump paid just shy of three million dollars for the land at the end of the nineteen-nineties, he later claimed that his gift, bestowed in 2006, was worth more than twenty-six million. In 2015, a campaign spokesperson made an even more lordly valuation—a hundred million. Whether such figures made their way onto Trump’s tax returns as writeoffs is precisely the type of thing Manhattan District Attorney Cyrus Vance, Jr., is said to be investigating.
At the hearing, Kevin Byrne, a Republican Assembly member whose district includes the park, suggested that renaming it might be seen as an affront to the millions of New Yorkers who voted for Trump—including, in 2016, a majority of Byrne’s constituents. State Senator Brad Hoylman, a sponsor of the senate bill, remains steadfast. “I think the symbolism is enormous,” he said. A legislative “rejection of Trump and what he stood for” would be an important signal to “all New Yorkers—and, frankly, Americans.” Hoylman, who is running for Manhattan borough president, said that voters bring up the name-change issue to him all the time. “I think people like their elected officials to take on bullies, to right past wrongs, and to shine a light on dubious philanthropy,” he said.
Assembly Member Nily Rozic, a Democrat from Queens, has sponsored multiple bills to rename the park. Aside from the principles at stake, she said, a switch would provide a financial benefit, given that the current signs frequently need to be replaced as a result of vandalism. (One defacement, channelling Jon Stewart, read, “Fuckface von Clownstick State Park.”) She’s open to suggestions for new names.
If you want to enjoy Donald J. Trump State Park while it still honors the former President, bring a smartphone or a G.P.S. device: there are no signs once you exit the Taconic, and the potholed roads are tricky to navigate. Neither half boasts many amenities; mainly, they are open spaces with pretty, woodsy terrain. On the first day of spring, a single young family was observed at each otherwise empty park. They, too, seemed polarized. The father of a daughter at the southern section, who spoke with a Scandinavian accent, said that he hoped the park’s name would be altered to “something more reasonable.” At the northern site, another father, who had on a “United States of Freedom” sweatshirt, disagreed. “I think it’s retarded they want to change the name,” he said. “Trump has nothing to do with the park. He just donated the land.”
Should the legislation be signed into law, MAGA recreationists may still have options. A state representative in Ohio has introduced a bill to rename a park in that state for the former President. The equally enticing current name: Mosquito Lake State Park. ♦
