The Big Red Letters and the Small Print

How a temporary trial monument became permanent branding, and what it reveals about power, profit, and who Roosevelt Island is really built for.

This article follows Eleanor Rivers’ narrative piece on the RI sign, where she explored the symbolism and quiet lessons hidden in two bright letters. Here, I take up the same subject from a different angle: the paper trail, the contracts, and the consequences that followed.

The Roosevelt Island “RI” sign was pitched in 2017 as a temporary trial. A bright, photo-ready monument meant to welcome visitors and, in theory, steer them toward Main Street’s struggling shops. RIOC approved it on a three‑month basis. Residents, through RIRA, opposed it unanimously. Nearly everyone who spoke up said no. And yet, years later, the sign stands permanent—not because the community embraced it, but because the board allowed silence to do the work of consent.

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The Promise and the Placement

On paper, the RI sign was part of a $273,000 wayfinding project, jointly funded by RIOC and Hudson‑Related. The stated purpose: make the Island easier to navigate, help Main Street businesses, and capitalize on Cornell Tech’s 2017 debut. In practice, the sign was placed at the tram plaza, facing Manhattan. It does not guide anyone north, toward the WIRE or the retail corridor. It does not point to the shops that were supposed to be revitalized. It greets visitors, offers them a backdrop, and subtly directs them south—toward Southtown, Cornell, and the parks.

With major construction underway and millions at stake, elevating Roosevelt Island’s profile had a direct connection to rising real estate value. Related’s investment in Southtown demanded that the Island stop being a secret. On paper, the wayfinding project linked the sign to Main Street retail, but in reality the placement sidestepped any chance of boosting foot traffic north. If Main Street was the goal, the three‑month test could have measured receipts and returned with evidence. The absence of that data tells its own story: the goal was never groceries on Main Street, it was visibility for Southtown—branding that translated into property value, not local value.

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Main Street’s Managed Decline

Hudson‑Related took over Main Street’s retail in 2011 under a thirty‑year lease. The promise was shock and awe: a revitalized shopping strip, new tenants, a sustainable commercial spine for the Island. A decade later, the results are mixed at best. A few notable successes, yes. But also empty storefronts, turnover, and a sense that retail never truly recovered. Was the goal ever really Main Street’s success? Or was it always about protecting the larger investments—luxury housing and Cornell’s orbit—that anchor the south? The record leaves that question open.

Multiple sources have suggested that Main Street is deliberately kept on life support. Some of the more noticeable stores, they tell us, are effectively sponsored—maintained just enough to keep the corridor operational. Look from above, and one could argue that a developer as skilled and connected as Related could have turned Main Street into a destination if that were the goal. Which raises another question: is Main Street simply leverage, a way to manage local expectations, while the true priority has always been Southtown and its higher‑value investments? The possibility is hard to ignore, even if no one says it aloud.

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Who the Sign Serves

From a real estate perspective, the RI sign is brilliant. It brands the Island in one shot. It gives tourists a reason to stop, snap, and remember. It boosts the profile of Southtown, Cornell, and the waterfront parks. What it does not do is pull people north. Eleanor’s Pier has been closed for over a year. The promenade is underused. The shops beyond the hotdog stand and the Historical Society booth are barely on the visitor’s radar. The sign works as a funnel: arrive, pose, and drift south. For Hudson‑Related, that outcome aligns perfectly with its stakes. For residents, the benefits are far less clear.

Eleanor’s Pier could have been the counterweight—a historic gathering point once envisioned as a café with tables and chairs, anchoring attention to the north. Its closure, and its own ties to Related, left the north without a magnet. That absence enforces the imbalance: nothing to pull eyes up from the tram, everything nudging them south. (We will cover the Pier’s story in detail in a future article.)

As Janet Falk put it:

“On what date did this temporary installation become permanent, and what criteria were used to make that decision?”.

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Governance by Inertia

Janet Falk, speaking at a 2019 RIOC board meeting, asked when the “trial” became permanent, what criteria were used, and why community opposition was ignored. The board had no answers. The truth is simpler: the trial just never ended—until, in December 2019, the RIOC Real Estate Development Advisory Committee (REDAC) voted to make it permanent.

Accounts from that meeting describe Judy Berdy pressing the case against the monument, only to be mocked by David Kraut and Susan Rosenthal. With little fight left in the room, REDAC pushed the measure through. At that point, the committee included Kraut, Howard Polivy, and Margie Smith. Of the three, only Smith openly favored the sign, and over the years her advocacy for the contractor has been noticeable; Polivy and Kraut acted as the rubber stamp. The outcome was a vote for permanence.

As one source reliving that meeting put it:

“Generally, David looks both ways before he crosses the street and then follows the leader.”

More than a hundred opposing emails were submitted but, reportedly, never reviewed. Board members became aware of them only indirectly, through a plea by Judy Berdy. Opposition was collected, noted, and then disregarded. REDAC moved forward anyway, turning a “temporary” trial into permanent branding.

Which leads to the obvious question: is it too late to ask the board to finally debate this matter, as was promised when the trial began? Has enough time passed to say that information has been gathered, community sentiment recorded, and the impact on quality of life and businesses weighed—so that a decision is made in daylight rather than by default?

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The Counterarguments

Defenders of the RI sign will note that it has become a popular landmark. Tourists love it. Some residents do too. The Historical Society kiosk has seen more visitors. Social media posts raise Roosevelt Island’s profile in a way no subway ad ever could. There is real value in branding, and it’s not wrong to acknowledge it. But branding value is not the same as community value. A welcome sign that doesn’t welcome residents is a contradiction worth examining. And while it may not serve Main Street, the placement does make life easier for at least one business: the hotdog stand by the tram, which suddenly finds itself in the best‑advertised location on the Island.

Branding Versus Community Value

Some readers ask why spend so much focus on the sign at all. Isn’t it just cute, fun, and harmless? It’s true—tourists don’t come to Roosevelt Island because of the sign. But that misses the point. Tourists don’t travel to New York just to take a photo with the “I ❤ NY” logo either. What the sign does is create a social media anchor. Every tagged photo with the red letters elevates Roosevelt Island’s profile. The goal was never to lure visitors for the sign alone—it was to make sure their photos, and the Island’s name, circulate far beyond the tram plaza.

That visibility translates directly into real estate value. A higher profile makes Southtown units more desirable. It draws attention to Cornell Tech’s campus. It tells prospective tenants and investors that the Island is no longer a hidden corner of the East River, but a brand. In that sense, the RI sign is a simple, effective marketing device—cheap to install, lucrative in return.

But here is the catch: visibility is not the same as vitality. Judy Berdy, for example, once pushed for a mural near the subway station—an anchor that would direct visitors toward the commercial corridor. That kind of placement would have created local value, steering foot traffic to actual businesses. Instead, RIOC embraced the tram plaza photo‑op. That choice benefits a hotdog cart and an ice cream stand, not the struggling shops up Main Street. It shows the calculus: branding that lifts real estate, even if it leaves residents and local businesses behind.

A welcome sign that doesn’t welcome residents.

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The Questions Left Hanging

Is it even a question that the RI sign benefited the developer whose buildings frame it? That part is clear. The more open issue is how far the benefit extends: did it also inflate real estate values, attract short‑term tenants willing to pay more, and help reposition Roosevelt Island as a suburb for those priced out of Manhattan? If so, there’s little reason for building owners to complain. Affordability, on the other hand, is another matter entirely.

RIRA’s unanimous opposition clearly didn’t matter. The board never formally reversed it, and once REDAC voted in December 2019, the decision stood. Albany’s circle has rarely lined up against a major developer’s will, and this case was no exception.

So the next time you wait for a third tram cabin just to make a doctor’s appointment or send a child to school, you can at least admire a sign that was never designed for you—and rubber stampped by your board, which found it easier to let it happen without a debate.

Last but not least, we reached out to Janet, RIRA’s current president, and the RIOC board for comment. We don’t expect anything meaningful, but if we do, we will weave it into the article.