Buzz
New York City is home to perhaps the world's most iconic island: Manhattan, a 13-mile long and 2-mile wide landmass. Among NYC's five boroughs, only one, The Bronx, connects to mainland America.
Scattered across the East River, Long Island Sound, and other waterways within the city's borders are much smaller islands. Many of these locations are steeped in tragic and disturbing histories.
10. A Curse of Smallpox: The Desolate Roosevelt Island
Few diseases have left such a devastating mark as smallpox. Among its infamous victims were King Louis XV of France, who succumbed to it, and Queen Elizabeth I of England, who used makeup to hide the severe scarring left from the disease she fought as a child. In America, smallpox claimed the lives of an estimated 90% of Native Americans, who were exposed to it by European settlers, with some even using contaminated blankets in what could be seen as a form of early biological warfare.
Smallpox was wiped out in 1979, but not before it left its mark on New York.
Roosevelt Island, a narrow strip stretching for two miles between Manhattan and Queens, features its own subway station, the famous tram seen in Spider-Man, a few residential buildings, and a technical campus for Cornell University. At the southern tip, you'll find two starkly contrasting landmarks: a pristine park and a monument honoring its namesake, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, as well as the ruins of a 19th-century hospital where smallpox victims were isolated from the city and often received futile care.
From 1856 to 1875, the facility now known as Renwick Hospital, designed by its architect, treated around 7,000 patients annually. Over 10,000 victims died there over two decades. But as the city's population grew, it soon became overcrowded. The smallpox unit was then moved to the more isolated and smaller North Brothers Island. By the 1950s, Renwick Hospital was rendered obsolete and abandoned, rapidly decaying in the city's shadow.
9. Randall’s/Ward’s Islands: A Place with Fun Today, but a Dysfunctional History
Located just a mile north of Roosevelt Island, Randall’s Island is a broader, shorter area where Manhattan, Queens, and The Bronx meet, easily accessed via the Robert F. Kennedy (formerly the Triborough) Bridge. Today, the island is famous for two things: its concert venues hosting popular music festivals and the fields for soccer, baseball, and football, where many NYC schools hold practices and games. (Fun fact for tourists: It also boasts the best mini-golf course in the city.)
The area hasn't always been such a lively place. For years, it served as the city's dumping ground for the poor, the ill, and the institutionalized. Much like other secluded areas on this list, the city's leaders saw the river as a convenient natural barrier to separate those deemed undesirable. In fact, Randall’s Island was once known by the rather unflattering nickname, 'Island of Undesirables.'
Or rather, its neighboring land. Randall's Island itself was divided by a manmade stream called Little Hell Gate Channel. The adjacent area, named Ward's Island, though less than one square mile, became home to the terminally ill, criminally insane, and young delinquents. Among the darker aspects of this place were a notorious orphanage and a potter’s field. In essence, Ward's Island was a literal wasteland, still housing a sewage treatment plant to this day.
Randall’s and Ward’s Islands were joined together in the 1960s, but their grim history hasn't been completely left behind. The location of an old, decaying insane asylum now hosts the Manhattan Psychiatric Center, a building that is only marginally less dismal than its predecessor.
8. The Islands Built for Isolation: Hoffman & Swinburne Islands
Despite the iconic statue erected in 1876 on another nearby island, which invited the world’s downtrodden with the famous words 'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,' New York City had no interest in welcoming the contagiously ill.
Just below the Verrazzano Narrows Bridge, which links Brooklyn and Staten Island, lie two small islands that have been around for exactly 151 and 148 years, respectively. The smaller one, Swinburne, was formed from landfill in 1870, while the larger Hoffmann Island was finished in 1873. However, at the time, these islands were not known by their current names; they were simply referred to as Lower and Upper Quarantine Islands.
Ellis Island, NYC’s most renowned immigration station, didn’t begin its operations until 1892. In the 35 years leading up to that, newcomers were processed at Castle Garden (now Castle Clinton) at the southern tip of Manhattan.
Before 1870, immigrants suspected of carrying contagious diseases were quarantined in Staten Island. This was somewhat unfair, as Staten Island didn’t even become part of NYC until 1898. To address this, NYC used landfill to create two islands – a large one for individuals who were potentially exposed but asymptomatic, and a smaller one for those exhibiting symptoms of infectious diseases. Essentially, it was a tiny, man-made petri dish.
Surprisingly, only about a dozen people died on these islands, including a doctor. During World War I, Swinburne's hospital was used to treat U.S. soldiers suffering from venereal diseases. Today, both islands are uninhabited bird sanctuaries, with their ruins now part of the Gateway National Recreation Area.
7. The Mysterious Origins of Rat Island
A small island, about half a mile off The Bronx’s City Island, sits in Long Island Sound, covering 2½ acres. This unassuming patch of land goes by the peculiar name of Rat Island, though its origin remains unclear. There are three main theories surrounding the island’s name.
The first and least exciting theory is related to marine navigation. Positioned between two larger islands, City Island and Hart Island, it's plausible that sailors used rattles as warning signals for ships sailing at night. According to the island's current owner, Alex Schibli, the name Rat Island could actually be a shortened version of 'rattle.'
The second theory is a bit more captivating. During the 1800s, amidst widespread fear of typhoid fever, a 40-person quarantine hospital was set up on the island. At the time, the island was considered part of Pelham and was colloquially known as the Pelham Pesthouse. The island’s numerous inhabitants attracted rats, leading to its infamous name, Rat Island.
The final and most intriguing explanation connects to nearby Hart Island, which once hosted a prison. In the 19th century, the term 'rat' was used by guards to refer to prisoners. A mile swim separated the prison from City Island and the mainland, with the small island acting as a natural rest stop. Many prisoners reportedly used boxes on their heads to blend in with floating debris while making their escape. Thus, Rat Island became a brief sanctuary for those seeking freedom.
6. Smallest & Oddest: U Thant Island
On August 28, 1973, subway commuters experienced a terrifying nightmare. A concrete slab inside a tunnel under the East River collapsed, resulting in one fatality and trapping over 1,000 passengers in scorching 115-degree heat and thick smoke for more than an hour. This near-death experience took place in the Steinway Tunnel, named after the famous piano factory in Astoria, Queens.
The tunnel had always faced challenges. Around 1880, William Steinway envisioned a train route connecting Manhattan to his promising piano factory in Queens. The project started underground, but then disaster struck: an explosion killed five workers and led to the bankruptcy of the construction company.
Nevertheless, the tunnel persisted, and its remnants eventually formed a small islet measuring 200×100 feet off East Midtown. The islet was named Belmont Island, after the project's financial backer.
Unbeknownst to most, this tiny island would later appear in the backdrop of the United Nations headquarters, completed in 1948. Over the years, the island became a hotspot for guerrilla protests. In 1972, it was declared 'Soviet Jewry Freedom Island' and occupied for two and a half hours to protest the Soviet Union’s emigration policies.
Five years later, Belmont Island earned an even stranger name—unofficially, that is. In 1977, followers of the guru Sri Chinmoy, who served as the UN’s interfaith chaplain, leased the island and renamed it in honor of U Thant, the former Burmese UN Secretary General and a close friend of Chinmoy. Today, the island houses a 'oneness arch' featuring Thant’s personal items.
5. Fake Island, Real Damage: The Black Tom Explosion
It was 1916, and while the U.S. had not yet entered World War I, its manufacturing prowess made it a reliable supplier of munitions to the English and French. Much of this military cargo was shipped from the greater New York City area, specifically from Jersey City, New Jersey, just across the river.
The shipment originated from Black Tom Island, a man-made landmass thought to be named after a local dark-skinned fisherman (quite a strange choice, considering the era). The island was built around a dangerous rock that hindered navigation. There, a railroad hub had been constructed, and on July 30, 1916, about two million tons of war materials were waiting to be shipped overseas.
Then… kaboom! German saboteurs launched a devastating attack. The explosion was so massive, it registered like an earthquake, measuring between 5.0 and 5.5 on the Richter Scale. Windows shattered within a 25-mile radius, the exterior wall of Jersey City’s City Hall cracked, and shrapnel from the blast even damaged the Statue of Liberty’s skirt. Evacuations took place at nearby Ellis Island, seven people lost their lives, and the damages were estimated at $20 million.
Coupled with ongoing German submarine attacks and their attempts to get Mexico to ally with the Kaiser against America, the Black Tom explosion played a role in pushing the U.S. to join the war in April 1917. Today, Black Tom Island is part of Liberty State Park, which became infamous as a major triage location after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks.
4. Just Offal: NYC’s Smelliest Island
Before New York City became known for its subways and taxis, it was, like many cities, a haven for horses. Horse-drawn carriages filled the streets, and by the turn of the 20th century, around 200,000 horses called NYC home. This large equine population is also the reason many buildings feature staircases leading up to their front doors—who would want to step into a pile of horseshit right outside?
As inevitable as the horses’ presence was their eventual demise, with their carcasses being repurposed for glue and fertilizer. Between 1850 and 1930, much of this activity took place on a small island off the southeast coast of Brooklyn, known as Barren Island. Over the years, the remains of countless horses leaked into the surrounding waters, which gave the area its grimly fitting name – Dead Horse Bay, a name that remains to this day.
The history of Barren Island takes a turn from disturbing to downright bizarre. Around 1900, the island became a dumping ground for trash. By 1930, it had reached capacity, and the site was capped, left to decay—and decay it did, in more ways than one.
However, in 1950, the cap broke open, causing the refuse—much of it slower-degrading items like glass—to seep up to the surface of the island and into the bay. Dead Horse Bay now had an equally unsettling neighbor: Glass Bottle Beach, a place where discarded bottles continue to accumulate.
For many years, the area became a hotspot for antique hunters, who found today's treasures buried among yesterday's discarded items. However, access to this site was halted last year after dangerous levels of radioactivity were detected.
3. Hart-breaking: Hart Island, COVID & AIDS
In the previous section, we noted that the burial rate on Hart Island had slowed. But that all changed around March 2020.
As a major hub of international travel, New York City became one of the first U.S. cities hit hard by the COVID-19 pandemic. The crisis wasn’t confined to hospitals; the city's morgues quickly reached capacity, leading to the use of massive freezer trucks and other temporary storage solutions for the mounting number of bodies.
By March 2021, the city was on track to bury one in ten COVID victims on Hart Island. Images of workers in full protective gear burying the deceased in shallow graves became a haunting visual in local news outlets. In 2020, at least 2,300 adults were buried there—2½ times the number of 2019 and 1,000 more than in 1988.
The year 1988 holds significance as it marked the peak of AIDS-related deaths in New York City. Hart Island became closely associated with the AIDS crisis due to the widespread fear at the time. Starting in 1985, the first individuals identified as AIDS victims in NYC were transported to Hart Island, where they were buried in a secluded area, far from the graves of others. Their graves were deeper than usual, several feet of dirt covering them rather than the typical three.
In fact, the only marked grave on Hart Island belongs to New York City’s first pediatric AIDS victim. The concrete slab simply reads 'SC (special child) B1 (Baby 1) 1985.'
2. A Mile Long, a Million Dead: Hart Island
Located half a mile east of City Island in The Bronx, the mile-long, 1/3-mile-wide Hart Island boasts one of the darkest histories of any landmass in greater New York City.
Its history began on a more hopeful note. Hart Island was first publicly used in 1864 as a training ground for Black Union soldiers during the Civil War. As the number of prisoners of war (POWs) increased, primarily due to Confederate leaders refusing to take Black prisoners, the Union responded by halting prisoner exchanges. A prison camp was soon established on the island. After the war, Hart Island served as a site for other grim institutions, including a tuberculosis sanitarium, a jail, a homeless shelter, and a boys' reformatory.
The island’s primary role was as a potter’s field, where the remains of over a million individuals rest in shallow, unmarked graves across its small expanse. These were not dignified burials—many of the bodies belonged to the homeless, the poor, the unclaimed, and those who died of disease. It was far from a grand funeral.
Burials still occur to this day, though in significantly smaller numbers—approximately 1,500 annually. These are carried out by residents of Riker’s Island, New York's infamous main jail. Inmates are transported there to perform the grim task of digging graves on one of the city's creepiest locations. So, a word of caution—avoid getting arrested in New York.
A new initiative aims to identify as many individuals buried at Hart Island as possible. The project includes a compelling interactive map that tracks the progress of the ongoing efforts.
1. Among America's Worst: Riker’s Island
Riker’s Island, often associated with the worst places to serve time in the U.S., wasn't always the notorious nightmare it is today. In its early days, it was a surprisingly pleasant place, far removed from its current grim reputation.
Riker's Island gets its name from Abraham Rycken, a Dutch settler who arrived on Long Island in 1638 and bought the land in 1664. The Ricker family, descendants of Rycken, owned the island until 1884, when it was sold to the city for $180,000. Before its grim fate, it served as farmland and a training site for New York troops during the Civil War.
The island’s decline began in 1925, when it became part of New York City. City officials wanted to replace the overcrowded and crumbling prison on Roosevelt Island (then known as Welfare Island). They chose Riker’s Island, and the prison there opened in 1932.
Why choose Riker’s Island? Because by 1930, it was already a disaster zone. About 1.5 million cubic yards of refuse, more than the debris removed to construct the World Trade Center in the 1960s, had been dumped there. Much of the garbage was ash from coal heating, leading to spontaneous fires fueled by phosphorescent materials. Sounds fun, right?
Today, Riker’s Island is home to ten city jails, each in varying states of decay and danger. Until recently, many detainees were poor individuals arrested for minor offenses, unable to pay bail and awaiting a hearing in the city's notoriously overwhelmed courts.
