Time Moves On: The Clock Tower and Long Island City’s Changing Face

On a brisk Saturday morning, right on 39th Ave, I meet Maria. She’s been setting up her cart there like clockwork every morning since 2002. Today it’s the smell of fresh cafecito and the sizzle of egg sandwiches that pulls in the early risers, the construction workers, and the occasional hungover wanderer. Maria’s witness to more than just breakfast orders. She’s seen a neighborhood remake itself in the shadows of new steel and glass towers.

“When I started, this place was different,” she says, her voice carrying traces of the Dominican Republic. “We had the factories. People worked there for thirty, forty years. Not this…,” she gestures, nodding towards the Clock Tower at 29-27 Queens Plaza North where a new chapter is about to begin.

The Clock Tower, a sentinel in Long Island City for generations, just sold for $72 million. And with it, another piece of the skyline is set to transform. Amazon is eyeing a lease, a harbinger of more change to come. I remember when that clock faced out over a different neighborhood. A place where kids played on the street corners and everyone knew each other’s names.

Maria recalls the changes with a mix of nostalgia and resignation. “The rent keeps going up. My daughter, she had to move to the Bronx. Couldn’t afford it here anymore. But me? This is my home.” Her cart has been a constant as buildings rise and fall, and that’s something the real estate sections never seem to cover.

I think about the new office spaces, the tech companies moving in. They bring people, jobs, but what about the ones who were already here? The ones like Maria, who know these streets better than any map could show.

Last Thursday, I rode the 7 train during rush hour, packed to the brim like an overstuffed suitcase. The lines at Court Square stretched back, people reading their phones or staring into the middle distance. I overheard a snippet of a conversation between two young professionals, their voices blending with the screech of the train.

“It’s about time something happened with that old tower,” one said. “Amazon’s gonna do wonders for the neighborhood.”

I cringed a little at the thought. Wonders for whom? For the developers, the new tenants, certainly. But for the Marias of this world? It’s unclear.

Maria doesn’t have much time to ponder the future between breakfast orders. Her hands move deftly, flipping sandwiches, handing out coffee cups. She pauses for just a second, a smile breaking through as a young man, maybe in his twenties, stops by.

“Hey, Maria! Long time no see!” he greets her like family returning from a long trip.

“Bobby! I haven’t seen you since you were this tall,” she laughs, gesturing just below her waist.

Bobby grew up here, back when rents were reasonable, and LIC wasn’t on the edge of a tech boom. He’s back visiting family for the weekend, but lives in Astoria now.

“I missed these,” he says, biting into his sandwich. “You can’t find them like this anywhere else.”

The sun is climbing higher, casting longer shadows, and the Clock Tower stands there, unmoving, yet about to become part of something unrecognizable. The city shifts, the people, the neighborhoods, all in constant motion. Except maybe not for the ones rooted here, like Maria.

As I sip my coffee, the tower looms large behind us, promising new beginnings for some, endings for others. Its clock face a reminder of time passing, yet suspended in its stillness.

I leave Maria’s cart, my stomach full and my head swimming with thoughts of what’s to come for 29-27 Queens Plaza North. The train roars by overhead, carrying with it whispers of stories past and future. For now, though, as the city breathes and the day unfolds, it’s the scent of cafecito and the sound of morning greetings that ground me, that remind me that even as the city changes, some things – like Maria’s breakfast cart – stay the same.

— Frank Donovan · Columnist