Frank
A day trip to Peekskill, New York led to an unexpected connection formed by a shared love for photography and a journey into the Hudson Valley's deep history.
It was late in March when my girlfriend, Michelle, and I planned a day trip to Peekskill, New York—a historic town about an hour drive from New York City—for hiking and thrifting.
The hike proved to be more treacherous than we anticipated, and the worn-out soles of our running shoes left us ill-prepared to scale the slippery, inclined boulders at the start of the trail. We quickly abandoned our plan and moved on to our search for used photo books.
We had noticed an older man tending to the grounds when we first entered the trailhead at the Bear Mountain Bridge Tollhouse. He was wearing a bright orange Chevrolet hat, worn blue jeans, a sweat-lined grey shirt, and a pair of gardening gloves. He was clearing fallen branches from the property. I assumed he was a landscaper or worked for the local parks department.
While he had seemed busy with his work earlier, he now noticed us returning just minutes after we passed by. He walked towards us, joking about how we finished the hike in record time.
We talked for a little bit before he pointed out my camera around my neck. I told him that I was a photographer, which appeared to light a spark in his eye.
“I have some things I want to show you. Come inside if you have a second,” he said, inviting us into the tollhouse.
The building is unassuming and small. I had driven past it dozens of times in the years growing up near this area but never paid it any mind. I didn’t know what to expect to find inside, but I was intrigued by his eagerness.
Frank opened the door. I scanned the small interior, surprised to see the walls lined with old black and white photos. It was a small but notable photo archive of the history of Peekskill and nearby locations in the Hudson Valley.
He handed us his business card. “Frank Goderre - Historian,” it read.
My assumptions were wrong. Frank was helping to manage the grounds, but he was more than just a groundskeeper—he was a historian. A photo archivist, to be more specific.
He led us towards two large photographs hanging near the entrance of the tollhouse, sharing that the Bear Mountain Bridge had recently celebrated its 100th anniversary.
Opened in November 1924, the bridge was a groundbreaking feat of engineering. It was the first vehicular bridge over the Hudson River south of Albany, the first suspension bridge with a concrete deck, and, at the time of its construction, had the longest suspended span in the world. Many credit the Bear Mountain Bridge with helping to ignite a surge in bridge building across the United States, inspiring the construction of the George Washington and Golden Gate bridges.
He explained that the older photo was taken of the original construction crew in 1924. To commemorate the centennial, the Bridge Authority and other area partners recreated the photo. A smile stretched across Frank’s face as he proudly pointed to himself, standing prominently among the group.
Frank bounced around the room from frame to frame, filling the corners of the tollhouse with his historical knowledge and passion. We lost track of time as he brought us on a journey into the past.
He walked us back to the desk where he first handed us his business cards, sharing that he had a “special” card to give us. It was a metal card designed with a triangular pattern that resembles the architecture of the Bear Mountain Bridge. Frank’s name and title were engraved on the back.
We talked for a few minutes before stepping outside, preparing to part ways. “Wait,” Frank said. “I have one last thing for you both.”
He walked us to his van. A wheelbarrow and tools rested beside a mound of dirt and mulch. I was once again curious as to where he was leading us.
He reached into the van and handed us two pens. A large smile once again stretched across his face as he showed us that they lit up when you pressed them. A small gesture to show his appreciation of our time spent together.
We walked to our car, said our goodbyes, and went on our way.
Our interaction with Frank left a lasting impression on me, and days later, I decided to look up his name. To my surprise, he was somewhat of a local legend, described by the town’s local paper as “the fellow who puts his heart and soul into being from Peekskill.”
He talked to us about his service in the Air Force during the Vietnam War, but he was also a Peekskill Police Officer for over five and a half years, a 2019 Peekskill NAACP honoree, and the creator of the “THIS IS PEEKSKILL A FRIENDLY TOWN” signs that greet drivers entering the town, signs we passed during our journey from New York City.
Unsurprisingly, I discovered that our interaction with Frank was not the first time he greeted a visitor of the tollhouse with such excitement and warmth. I’m sure it won’t be the last.
In an age where so many desire to fly far from their nest, Frank has dug his roots deep into the ground, nurturing the soil with dedication and love. That soil has proven to be fertile ground not only for the citizens of Peekskill but for all those who have the pleasure of crossing paths with him.
Frank reminded me that the most meaningful journeys often begin where we least expect them, and that sometimes, the places and people we overlook can hold the richest stories.
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