September 3, 2026
Walk the beach at Ward's Point on a clear afternoon and you can see New Jersey close enough to name the buildings on the Perth Amboy side. This is the southernmost scrap of land in New York State, a spit of sand and clay bluff where the Arthur Kill empties into Raritan Bay, and residents who have lived here for decades will tell you the water has always been the point. What most of them have not connected, because there was no reason to until recently, is that the same water is now being restocked with the exact species that built this neighborhood in the first place.
Tottenville spent the better part of the 19th century as an oyster town, full stop. The shellfish beds along the Arthur Kill and Raritan Bay drew workers and planting operations that turned a sleepy colonial stopover into a working waterfront economy, enough that the neighborhood carried the nickname "the town the oyster built" by the mid-1800s. That industry is long gone. What is happening on the shoreline right now is not nostalgia. It is closer to a rhyme.
Before the oyster beds, and running alongside them for a while, was boat building. Small yards once lined the western shoreline where wooden vessels were built and repaired, an industry that made sense on an island surrounded by water on three sides. That trade went obsolete around 1900, when steel replaced wood in ship construction and the skills that built Tottenville's boats had nowhere left to go. The small factories that popped up along the same stretch of coast during early industrialization followed a similar arc, employment drifted elsewhere over the 20th century, and most of those buildings are closed today.
What is easy to miss, looking at Tottenville now, is how much of its character was set by what the water made possible and then took away. The neighborhood's Victorian homes, its two business districts, one along Amboy Road and a newer one that grew up along Page Avenue, its whole shape as "a NYC version of small-town America," all of it sits on ground that was shaped by a working waterfront that came and went twice before most current residents were born.
Superstorm Sandy hit on October 29, 2012, and Tottenville's low-lying coastal blocks took the worst of it on the South Shore. Homes were destroyed, the shoreline eroded, and the storm exposed just how exposed this stretch of coast really is, sitting at sea level with the bay on one side and the Kill on the other.
The federal response came two years later. In June 2014, Rebuild by Design selected the Living Breakwaters project specifically for Tottenville's shoreline, a plan to install layered, nature-based coastal defenses rather than another sea wall. The approach uses oyster reefs, mussel beds, and rock revetments working together, reef structures that blunt wave energy before it reaches the shore while the shellfish themselves filter the water around them.
The reason oysters are part of a storm defense system and not just a restaurant order is mechanical. A healthy reef breaks up incoming wave energy the way a jetty does, except it grows and self-repairs instead of eroding. Design reef structure back into the same water where oyster beds once supported a planting economy, and you get a shoreline built to do again, in a very literal sense, what it did a century and a half ago, just for a different reason.
A short walk through Conference House Park makes the layered history easier to see in one place:
None of this history changes what still happens on the water every season. Raritan Bay remains one of the more productive fisheries in the region, and the stretch running from Tottenville toward Midland Beach draws both surfcasters and small boats chasing the same run of fish that has always come through here. Striped bass move through in bunker-fueled blitzes each spring and late fall, summer brings steady fluke over the sandy flats, and bluefish roam the same water in between. As the weather turns and blackfish season opens, anglers shift toward the rock piles and old dock pilings looking for tautog, working green crab on the bottom the way locals always have.
If you fish this stretch regularly, or want to start, Biggies Bait and Tackle on Page Avenue has been the neighborhood's anchor for gear and local intel for years. It is a small detail, but it is the kind of detail that tells you a place still runs on its water rather than just facing it.
The neighborhood's two commercial strips have had a genuinely active stretch lately, enough that a walk down Amboy Road or Page Avenue turns up storefronts that were not there not long ago.
None of these are new to Staten Island as a whole. What is worth noticing is how much turnover has landed in Tottenville specifically over a relatively short stretch, on two commercial strips that residents already treat as an extension of their own block.
Layered on top of all of this is the Conference House Museum's own season, which resumed for weekends starting in mid-April and continues into the fall. Admission runs on a suggested donation rather than a fixed ticket price, and the tours cover the same 1680 stone house where the failed 1776 peace conference took place, a fifteen minute walk from the last stop on the Staten Island Railway. It is easy to drive past the park a hundred times without ever walking through the house itself, and this is the stretch of the year when that is still an option before the season closes.
Tottenville's whole identity was built by a waterfront that gave the neighborhood an industry, took it away, and is now being asked to protect the same homes it once put at risk, using the same organism that made the town's name in the first place. That is not a coincidence worth mentioning once and forgetting. It is the throughline connecting a museum tour built around a failed 18th century negotiation, a bait shop on Page Avenue that still sells green crab for blackfish season, and a federal coastal defense project designed around oyster beds a few hundred yards from where the last commercial oystermen worked. Residents who have lived here for years already know the water matters. What is new is the specific, mechanical way it is starting to work for the neighborhood again.
If you have questions about Tottenville, whether you are thinking about a move within the neighborhood or just want a local perspective on what is changing here, Jillian Abbadessa is always glad to talk shop. Let's Connect.
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