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For most of its history, the Schuylkill River was both the reason the Forgotten Bottom existed and the barrier that kept it apart. The Schuylkill brought ferries, factories, and railroads to this bend of South Philadelphia. Then came the fences, dead ends, and industry. Eventually, the river was right in the backyard, but still far away.
Today, a new pedestrian bridge carries walkers and cyclists across the water, opening a path through a landscape that spent generations on the periphery. But as the Forgotten Bottom becomes easier to reach, a deeper question emerges: What happens when a place long left outside of the city’s conversations suddenly gets attention?
‘There’s no 36th Street down there’
The geography of the Forgotten Bottom — traditionally defined as the enclave of Grays Ferry west of 34th Street and east of the Schuylkill — has long created a sense of isolation.
“I’ve been in a cab before and told them my address, and the driver said, ‘Ma’am, there’s no 36th Street down there,’ recalls Karen Payne, a longtime homeowner who grew up in the neighborhood and returned in 2009. “And I’m like, it is, I live there. So they come down, and they say, ‘We never knew this little pocket was down here.”
Decades ago, that quiet pocket was self-contained and bustling with small businesses. Payne counts them off almost block by block: a corner store, a grocery store across the street, a luncheonette on the next corner, a soul food restaurant across from that and — at 36th Street — a shop that sold hand-dipped ice cream.
Yet the neighborhood’s tight-knit character persists — Payne’s neighbor down the street turned 102 this past July and still walks the block with a walker — and has a diversity she says has always defined the place.
“It’s always been mixed,” she said. “You could learn other people’s cultures, they can learn yours. You could share ideas and dishes and all kinds of stuff. I like things like that.”
Until recently, heavy industry framed daily life here just as much as any neighbor did. When those operations scaled back, they left behind a quiet, disconnected neighborhood framed by active rail lines, utility towers, and transfer stations.
A river reclaimed
Now, the new extension of the Schuylkill River Trail closes a longstanding gap, connecting a once-isolated shoreline directly to the rest of the city. Broad paths cut through former industrial yards. Cormorants perch above the water, while eastern cottontails dart into the brush.
For many, the riverbank serves as a vital personal sanctuary.
“My wife has dementia, so when I get a chance to get away, I get away,” says James, who preferred not to give his last name. Sitting beside his fishing rods along the water’s edge, he said that “It’s real stressful. But life is good, you know? Keep on keeping on.”
James found this stretch of the river about a year ago, after another angler at his old spot pointed him toward it. He’s part of a loose community of roughly 20 regulars who fish here, pulling in crappies, bluegills and catfish — including flathead catfish so big he pulls up photos to prove it.
Their rig of choice for the big catches: a small wire cart basket packed with corn, cast out and left to dissolve on the riverbed to draw the fish in. “It’s peaceful here,” James reflects. He and others fish through the winter, building fires on the coldest days to stay out longer. And on holidays, like Labor Day, the group meets for a cookout on the bank, grilling up whatever they reel in.
“And now that they built the bridge,” he says, “you get on the other side, where nobody never fish at.” He points out that the flat, open bank here is part of the draw too — it’s safe for kids to be around, easy to keep an eye on them, and easy to see the river from a distance. Eventually, he says, the trail should connect all the way up to Ridge Avenue and the Falls Bridge, and down to the Navy Yard — a full riverfront route.
A place to make things
A few blocks inland, community infrastructure is taking a new shape. When the West Philly Tool Library lost its former space, it relocated across the river into a set of garages in Grays Ferry. The move fits the neighborhood’s legacy of production, shifting the scale from massive factory to human-scale workshop.
“I talk to one of the guys over there on a regular basis,” says Payne, who hasn’t yet visited but has watched neighbors carry projects home — wooden benches to octagon bookshelves. One neighbor told her she’d built a bench as a wedding present for her brother and his wife. She assumed it took days. “Three hours,” the neighbor told her.
“They’ve got stuff over there you wouldn’t believe,” she says. “I’m a homeowner, so I’m planning on getting involved.”
When the ‘Forgotten’ is found
To residents who have lived here for decades, the name “Forgotten Bottom” isn’t just about physical geography — it also describes an information delay.
“It’s really because we don’t hear about a lot of things,” Payne explains. She points to notices about cleanups, resource drop-offs, even recycling bin availability that she says often doesn’t reach this pocket of the neighborhood.
There used to be a neighbor on 36th Street who bridged that gap, connecting residents with city officials and organizing cleanups and meetings. But when his health declined, those channels went with him.
That gap makes rapid development particularly fraught. Payne points to roughly 11 new housing units going up near her block, with no clarity on what they’ll be — Section 8, market rate, or housing tied to nearby hospitals.
The proposed 1,005-space CHOP employee garage on Grays Ferry Avenue has drawn fierce resistance over traffic, pollution and institutional expansion — culminating in protest arrests in February 2026. Tragic weight was added on April 8 when a catastrophic partial collapse of the unfinished structure killed three Ironworkers Local 401 members, deepening local uncertainty.
Through it all, residents say the persistent frustration has been a lack of transparency. “Nobody knows anything,” Payne says. “You ask any neighbor — is it a private lot? Is part of it for the community? None of that information gets posted down here. It’s just a hurry-up-and-wait game.”
A way through
The Forgotten Bottom hasn’t stopped being an industrial landscape. Amtrak and freight trains still speed past, utility lines frame the sky, and active recycling facilities hum nearby.
But the meaning of the edge is shifting. The new trail and bridge offer a physical way through, drawing runners, cyclists, and fishermen to a shoreline long locked away. At the same time, long-time residents are asserting their right to be heard — demanding that being “found” by developers and the city comes with genuine communication and respect.
After decades of being missed, the Forgotten Bottom is starting to get found. Payne hasn’t crossed the new bridge yet — but she’s already planning what she’ll build when she does.
