Drive along the Forest Avenue exit on the Staten Island Expressway and you'll eventually hit a stretch of land that feels like it’s caught between two worlds. This is Port Ivory Staten Island. Most people know it now as a massive, humming logistics hub—all Amazon vans and gray industrial siding. But if you grew up on the island or you're a student of industrial history, you know that this specific patch of dirt on the northwestern corner of the borough was once the beating heart of American manufacturing. It wasn’t just a warehouse. It was a city.
Basically, Port Ivory was the flagship of the Procter & Gamble empire. For nearly eighty years, if you used Ivory Soap, Crisco, or Tide, there was a huge chance it was cooked, pressed, and packaged right here in New York City. It’s hard to imagine now, given how much the city has shifted toward finance and tech, but Staten Island used to be a place where thousands of people went to work with their hands every single day to make the stuff the rest of the country relied on.
The story of Port Ivory isn’t just about soap, though. It’s a story of the rise, fall, and weirdly successful "second act" of American industry.
The Soap King’s Empire
In 1907, William Cooper Procter looked at the shoreline of the Arthur Kill and saw a goldmine. The location was perfect. You had deep-water access for ships bringing in raw materials like oils and fats, and you had direct rail links to the rest of the country. P&G broke ground that year, and by the time the factory was fully operational, it was a behemoth.
They didn't just build a factory; they built a community.
Think about the scale here. We’re talking about over 100 acres of land. At its peak, the facility employed over 3,000 workers. These weren't "gig economy" jobs. These were career-spanning, pension-providing, middle-class-making roles. My grandfather used to talk about the smell—depending on which way the wind was blowing, the whole North Shore either smelled like lemon-fresh detergent or the heavy, greasy scent of industrial frying oil. It was the smell of money.
The facility was so massive it had its own internal railroad system. Locomotives would chug between the different buildings, moving vats of chemicals and crates of finished goods. It was a masterpiece of vertical integration.
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Why Port Ivory Staten Island Finally Went Dark
If things were so great, why did it close?
It’s the same old story that hit the Rust Belt, just played out on an island in NYC. By the 1980s, the Port Ivory plant was aging. The infrastructure that was cutting-edge in 1910 was becoming a logistical nightmare. Maintaining those massive brick buildings cost a fortune. Plus, the environmental regulations in New York were getting stricter (rightfully so), and the cost of doing business in the city was skyrocketing compared to the American South or overseas.
Procter & Gamble started scaling back in the late 80s. The announcement that they were shuttering the plant entirely in 1991 felt like a death knell for the neighborhood. When the last bar of soap rolled off the line, it wasn't just a factory closing; it was the end of Staten Island's identity as an industrial powerhouse.
The site sat largely vacant for years. It became a playground for urban explorers and a headache for the Port Authority. The buildings, once symbols of progress, turned into crumbling monuments to a bygone era. If you look at photos from the late 90s, the place looked like a post-apocalyptic movie set. Rust everywhere. Broken glass. Nature slowly reclaiming the concrete.
The Port Authority Steps In
Eventually, the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey realized that letting 100+ acres of prime waterfront rot was a terrible idea. They bought the site in the late 90s with a vision to turn it back into a transportation hub.
But they had a problem.
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Decades of soap and chemical production had left the soil... let's just say "complicated." The cleanup was a massive undertaking. They had to demolish most of the historic P&G structures, which broke the hearts of local preservationists. Only a few echoes of the old site remain, mostly in the form of the rail tracks and the general footprint of the land.
Today, the site is known as the Port Ivory Intermodal Terminal. It’s a key part of the Howland Hook Marine Terminal ecosystem. Instead of making things, we now move things. The site facilitates the transfer of shipping containers from ships to trains, connecting the Port of New York and New Jersey to the national rail network via the Chemical Coast line and the restored Arthur Kill Vertical Lift Bridge.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Site
One of the biggest misconceptions is that the site is "dead" or just a parking lot.
Honestly, it’s busier now than it was in the 70s. The difference is the human element. Automation and shipping containers don't require 3,000 guys in jumpsuits. You’ll see cranes and reach stackers moving massive loads with surgical precision. It’s a different kind of productivity.
Another thing: people often confuse the P&G site with the nearby GATX tank farms or the old Bethlehem Steel shipyards. While they’re all part of the same industrial corridor, Port Ivory was its own distinct entity. It was cleaner, more organized, and—oddly enough—more "corporate" than its neighbors.
The Environmental Turnaround
You’d think an industrial site would be a total wasteland, but the Port Authority had to bake environmental mitigation into the redevelopment. They actually worked on restoring some of the wetlands around Bridge Creek. It’s a weird juxtaposition. You’ve got these massive, colorful shipping containers stacked five high, and just a few hundred yards away, you might see a snowy egret hunting in the marsh.
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Reality Check: The Impact on Local Traffic
If you live in Mariners Harbor or Arlington, you know the downside of the Port Ivory rebirth.
Trucks.
So many trucks.
The infrastructure around Forest Avenue and Richmond Terrace wasn't exactly designed for the volume of heavy-duty logistics we see today. While the rail link (the ExpressRail Port Ivory) has taken thousands of trucks off the road by moving containers via train, the "last mile" delivery surge—driven heavily by the nearby Amazon fulfillment centers—means the area is constantly humming with diesel engines. It’s a trade-off. You get the economic activity and the jobs, but you lose the quiet.
Why You Should Care About Port Ivory Today
Port Ivory is a microcosm of the global economy. It shows us exactly how the world changed. We moved from a society that manufactures (P&G) to a society that consumes and distributes (The Port Authority and Amazon).
It’s also a lesson in resilience. A lot of industrial sites in New York just become luxury condos. Look at the Brooklyn waterfront. But Port Ivory stayed true to its blue-collar roots. It’s still a place where work gets done, even if that work looks different than it did a century ago.
Actionable Insights for Locals and History Buffs
If you're interested in the site, don't just try to wander in. It's a high-security port zone. You'll get picked up by Port Authority police faster than you can say "Ivory Soap."
- View from the Water: The best way to see the scale of Port Ivory is actually from the water. If you take a boat tour or even a kayak (be careful of the currents) through the Arthur Kill, the industrial perspective is staggering.
- The Staten Island Museum: They hold archives and photos of the Procter & Gamble years. If you want to see what the "City of Soap" actually looked like in its prime, that’s your best bet.
- Watch the Bridge: Keep an eye on the Arthur Kill Vertical Lift Bridge. When it lowers to let a train through to Port Ivory, you’re watching a piece of engineering history in action. It’s one of the largest vertical lift bridges in the world.
- Real Estate Reality: For those looking at property in the North Shore, understand that the Port Ivory area is designated for heavy industrial use. That’s not changing. Expect 24/7 operations and light pollution.
Port Ivory Staten Island is a reminder that cities are living things. They scar, they heal, and they reinvent themselves. The smell of soap might be gone, but the grit remains. It’s a testament to the fact that Staten Island was, and still is, a vital gear in the machine of New York City.