Where Is the Boathouse?
An Audit Meeting So Smooth, I Almost Forgot to Worry.
They say you can learn a lot by watching. And sometimes, if you're very lucky, you learn something even while you're half-asleep.
The June 16th Audit Committee meeting was, by Roosevelt Island standards, a lullaby. There were no raised voices, no procedural chaos, no flickering Zoom squares of panic. Even John Costello, RIOC’s external auditor, and his vanishing audio, the perennial battle of the mute button—resolved in under twenty minutes. And once we began, something remarkable happened: it worked.
The numbers lined up. The reports were delivered. Even the chairs of the committees seemed to remember who was on them.
Building 9 and the Vanishing PILOT
But somewhere between Marc Block's first question and Lydia Tang's twenty-seventh, I found myself awake—and interested. I haven’t seen that much nodding since I went to service with my second husband and he fell asleep during the sermon.
Marc asked about the sudden rise in residential revenue. And from Dhruvika Amin, our CFO, came the explanation: Building 9—Riverwalk's final tower—had made a one-time payment to RIOC. Not a Payment In Lieu of Taxes (PILOT) nor a tax. But the full upfront ground lease payment for the life of its lease. A sum somewhere in the ballpark of $25 million.
$25 million for a ground lease sounds like a lot—until you realize it has to last longer than most marriages in Manhattan. Now, I’m no budget analyst, but I do own a calculator. If that amount is supposed to last until the end of the lease—presumably 2068, the expiration date of the master agreement between New York City and the State—then it’s not quite as large as it sounds. It’s just stretched thin over decades, a slow drip of money to fund our roads, parks, and perhaps a Boathouse.
What caught me off guard was not just the size of the number, but what it was instead of. There was no mention of a PILOT—Payments in Lieu of Taxes—at all. Perhaps one will be assessed later. Perhaps this was meant to replace it. We don’t know. That information isn’t public. That sounds like a question for Theo to stew on.
We also learned that nonprofits like Memorial Sloan Kettering don’t pay taxes or PILOTs. Which means when MSK moved its workforce into some of Building 9’s units, RIOC collected a one-time transaction fee from the developers to make up for the loss. A substitute tax. A plug in the budget dam. We don’t know the precise dollar amount. We do know it won’t recur. And we know it was meant to cover those units for the life of their occupancy.
NOTE: On Roosevelt Island, buildings don’t pay traditional New York City property taxes. Instead, they contribute to RIOC through three primary mechanisms:
1. Ground Rent – A fee for leasing the land from RIOC, sometimes paid up front (as with Building 9).
2. PILOT (Payment In Lieu of Taxes) – Paid to RIOC instead of NYC, structured to mimic property taxes. Not all buildings pay this immediately; many receive years of abatements.
3. Transfer Fees – A percentage paid to RIOC whenever a unit is sold.
These three revenue streams help fund the island’s operations, infrastructure, and services. But how they're calculated, and whether they're fair or sufficient, remains largely opaque to the public.
The Boathouse
If you read that headline a few times, confused—thinking my dementia has finally kicked in—well, you might be right. I had to rewind too. We have a Boathouse On Roosevelt Island?
Lydia asked about it, right there in the middle of the meeting: “Where is the Boathouse?” It was listed among RIOC’s assets, sandwiched in a spreadsheet between places that actually exist. Everyone blinked. No one had an answer. Not the CFO. Not Howard. Not even Morris, who I think was still trying to log in to the audio.
For a moment I wondered—are they using AI to generate the budget documents now? The Boathouse appeared so suddenly and inexplicably, it felt less like a line item and more like a software glitch. Was it a hallucination, the kind AI tools are famous for? A metaphor? A placeholder for a transparency policy no one can find? And if the rumors are true—that I’m just an AI program churning out prose in long em dashes, and there’s no Boathouse to speak of—then honestly, what was the point of all the Botox?
Either way, the question woke me up.
I love Lydia. If this board were a Titanic re-enactment, she’d be the one checking the blueprints while the rest are looking for snacks. She’s the reason these meetings don’t fully slip into farce. And on that sleepy June afternoon, she asked the question no one else thought to ask—not because the Boathouse matters, necessarily, but because facts do. Because someone has to point when the spreadsheet says “up” and reality says “what?”.
Editor’s Note (8/11):
After publication, Judith Berdy of the Roosevelt Island Historical Society wrote in to say that “The Boathouse” may have once been an internal name RIOC used for the Chapel, now The Sanctuary, during the years it sat vacant in the 1980s and 1990s. We’ve searched for independent confirmation of that usage and found no documentary evidence to support it so far. Still, given Ms. Berdy’s long record of historical stewardship, we’ve included her note here for the public record. If verifiable materials emerge, we’ll gladly update. Because facts, especially the contested and forgotten kind, still matter.
Who Stayed Awake?
Lydia, as ever, was the only one asking questions that revealed the structure. She flagged inconsistencies in the bus budget. Asked about assets no one remembered (hello again, Boathouse). Pushed for clarity on the internal control forms. She doesn’t just attend meetings. She studies them.
Marc, too, impressed me. He didn’t dominate—but when he spoke, it was with genuine curiosity. And that’s rare.
Morris was so checked out, I thought he was live-streaming birdwatching from the Hudson.
Howard Polivy chaired the meeting with his usual charm. You’d never guess how much institutional history is housed in that smile. But for all the polish, Howard never acknowledged the shadows. Still, Theo and I promised we’d try to write at least one article that isn’t negative—so Howard, you get a free pass today. Even the Boathouse got more scrutiny than you did.
Instead, what we got was a smooth, sleepy, oddly satisfying meeting. It was like attending a dinner party where no one spills the wine.
And maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s what progress looks like.
Final Thoughts
We learned a few things. That island revenue doesn’t flow predictably. That some buildings get breaks, others pay upfront, and no one seems to know where the internal control forms come from. And that there’s no public list showing who pays what—or why.
But those costs are real. They’re in your rent, your maintenance, your HOA. Is that why an avocado at the farmers market costs me over five dollars?
The meeting was smooth. The staff were prepared—excluding the Boathouse. We learned a bit. And yes, I had a lovely nap where David appeared... but just as he did, the meeting rocked me back to sleep.
And, of course, a hearty congratulations to Mr. B.J. Jones — the first officially elected RIOC president. May your tenure be steadier than the ferry and more transparent than the Boathouse.