The Brooklyn Beaches

Hey everyone, welcome back to *Brooklyn Echoes*, the podcast where we dust off old memories and bring the borough’s past back to life. I’m your host, Robert Henriksen, and today we’re taking a long, lazy stroll down to the shore. We’re diving deep into what summer beach days really felt like in Brooklyn during the 1970s and 1980s. This was an era when the city was rough around the edges—fiscal crisis, graffiti-covered trains, rising crime—but when the temperature climbed, Brooklynites turned their backs on the concrete and headed straight for the Atlantic. Whether it was the wild carnival energy of Coney Island, the emerging Russian flavor of Brighton Beach, the family calm of Manhattan Beach, or even the occasional trek to Rockaway, these beaches were more than just sand and water. They were escape routes, community gathering spots, and places where the borough’s spirit shone brightest. So grab your transistor radio, a towel, and a bottle of Hawaiian Punch, because we’re spending the next ten minutes soaking it all in.

Let’s start in the 1970s. New York City was in a rough spot. The fiscal crisis of 1975 left the city teetering on bankruptcy, garbage piled up on streets, and crime was on the rise. But summer was different. Summer meant the beaches were open, and Brooklyn’s coastline became the great equalizer. On a scorching Saturday in July or August, you’d see families piling onto the B or F train with coolers, beach umbrellas, and folding chairs. Kids in cut-off shorts and tube socks, parents in flip-flops and tank tops, grandparents carrying thermoses of iced tea. The train cars were packed, windows open, everyone sweating, but there was this electric anticipation in the air.

Coney Island was the undisputed king of Brooklyn beaches back then. The boardwalk was a living, breathing carnival. You stepped off the subway and were hit with the smell of Nathan’s Famous hot dogs, french fries, corn on the cob, and fried dough. The Cyclone’s wooden clatter echoed overhead, the Wonder Wheel spun slowly, and the air rang with the sounds of arcade games, barkers calling out for the freak shows, and the occasional scream from the parachute jump. The beach itself was a sea of bodies. People staked out territory with blankets and umbrellas, creating little neighborhoods right on the sand. Kids ran straight into the water, shrieking as the cold waves hit them. Teenagers played volleyball or Frisbee, flirting shamelessly. Older folks sat under umbrellas reading the Daily News or chatting with neighbors.

Transistor radios were everywhere, blasting the top 40. You’d hear Donna Summer, the Bee Gees, Chic, or early hip-hop tracks from Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. People danced on the sand, impromptu block parties breaking out wherever there was space. And at sunset, the sky turned orange and pink, the lights of the amusement parks flickered on, and the whole scene felt like a movie. It was chaotic, loud, crowded, and absolutely alive.

Brighton Beach in the early 1970s was a different story. The neighborhood had fallen on hard times. Many of the old Jewish families had moved out to Long Island, leaving behind empty storefronts and a quieter boardwalk. But starting around 1974 and 1975, everything changed. Waves of Soviet Jewish immigrants—refugees fleeing religious persecution—began arriving. They were drawn to Brighton Beach by affordable housing and the ocean view. By the late 1970s and into the 1980s, the boardwalk had transformed into “Little Odessa.” You’d hear Russian spoken everywhere. Chess tables were set up under umbrellas, with serious players hunched over boards. Babushkas in floral dresses and headscarves sold homemade pirozhki, kvass, and sunflower seeds from folding tables. Kids ran around speaking a mix of Russian and English, while parents relaxed in the sun, finally feeling safe after years of uncertainty.

Manhattan Beach offered a quieter contrast. Tucked away near Sheepshead Bay, it felt more suburban than urban. Families would drive there if they could, or take the B1 bus. The sand was cleaner, the crowds smaller, and the vibe more relaxed. Italian and Jewish families picnicked under the shade of trees, kids played in the shallow water, and you could hear laughter and the clink of bocce balls. It was the kind of place where you could actually read a book or take a nap without someone stepping on your towel.

And then there was Rockaway Beach. Technically in Queens, but Brooklynites claimed it as their own. The long boardwalk, the wide stretch of sand, the surf culture—it felt like a real getaway. Surfers rode the waves while families built sandcastles and teenagers cruised the boardwalk in search of ice cream or a game of skee-ball. The A train ride out there was an adventure in itself, but worth it for a day by the ocean.

The 1980s brought changes. The city was starting to rebound. Crime rates were still high, but there was a sense of optimism. Coney Island’s amusement parks were still packed, though some rides had closed. Brighton Beach was fully “Little Odessa” by then—restaurants serving borscht and blini, nightclubs playing Russian pop, and the boardwalk buzzing with life. The beaches remained a refuge, a place where people could forget their worries for a few hours.

And the little rituals—buying a soft pretzel from a vendor, renting an umbrella for five dollars, chasing seagulls away from your sandwich, rinsing off at the cold outdoor showers before heading home. These were the moments that made summer in Brooklyn magical.

So when you think about those beach days in the 1970s and 1980s, remember that they weren’t perfect. The water was sometimes murky, the sand could be littered, the trains were hot and crowded. But they were ours. They were where Brooklynites came together—Black, white, Italian, Jewish, Russian, Puerto Rican, Irish, everyone—sharing the same sun, the same waves, the same laughter.

As we wrap up this long walk down memory lane, I hope you can almost feel the sand between your toes and hear the waves crashing. Those beaches weren’t just places to swim; they were lifelines, reminders that even in tough times, the ocean was always there, waiting to wash away the stress of the week.

If you’ve got your own stories from Brooklyn’s beaches in the 70s or 80s—maybe a favorite memory from Coney, Brighton, or Manhattan Beach—send them to brooklynechoes@email.com. I’d love to read them on the show.Thanks for spending this summer afternoon with me. Until next time, keep chasing those Brooklyn beach days, no matter where life takes you.

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