Every spring, a tiny but celebratory ritual occurs in the heart of Manhattan’s Turtle Bay, where residents gather in a green square to celebrate Katharine Hepburn’s birthday. It is not just a tribute to a Hollywood legend—a reminder of neighborhood, and of how one individual woman continues to affect the lives of the block she called home.
Hepburn lived in her Turtle Bay townhouse from 1931 until she died in 2003. She was more than a film star to her neighbors. She was the woman you would see clearing snow in trendy boots or taking out her trash without grumbling. As one longtime resident, Ms. Bendove, recalled, she glanced out one day and noticed that he man clearing snow was Hepburn herself. She greeted her with a simple hello and then went right back to work. These small, unassuming interactions had her feeling that she was being treated like an actual neighbor, and not some distant star.
The annual Katharine Hepburn Garden Party is held in her garden in Dag Hammarskjold Plaza. It’s a charming neighborhood party in which dozens of neighbors—many of them elderly and fiercely dedicated to the community—congregate to celebrate what would have been her 117th birthday. There is cake, coffee, and live jazz. A hand-painted banner declares “Welcome: Audrey Hepburn Birthday Party,” and members of the Turtle Bay Association and Friends of Dag Hammarskjold Plaza pass out Hepburn buttons and generous slices of cake. The tunes are upbeat—standards such as “Fly Me to the Moon” and “Cheek to Cheek”—and partygoers are invited to wear festive spring hats and even stand up and dance.
But this isn’t your typical neighborhood party. It’s a genuine tribute to Katharine Hepburn’s strong sense of belonging to the community. She never hesitated to speak up, particularly in defending the whimsy and greenery of Turtle Bay. Hepburn battled looming skyscrapers and encroaching suburban sprawl with the same ferocity she put into her acting life. Her connection to nature began early—she spent her childhood gathering wildflowers along the Connecticut River. Decades later, she brought that passion to the center of Manhattan, planting wildflowers in her garden and tending to the neighborhood’s natural beauty.
At age 90, the city worthily recognized her: the Parks Department dedicated a garden in Dag Hammarskjold Plaza in her name. It is still a secret gem—a peaceful, verdant oasis nestled within the bustle of Midtown. It’s full of touches that show her clever sense of humor and independent spirit. Steppingstones bear etched upon them her characteristically provocative sayings, such as “Enemies are so stimulating,” and the cynical remark: “Sometimes I wonder if men and women suit each other.”. Maybe they ought to move in next door and just drop by now and then.” Nearby, a photo mural celebrates scenes from her cinematic legend, and a bench from her Connecticut home—saved through the efforts of her friend Lauren Bacall when it was mistakenly auctioned off—rests under the trees as a serene resting spot.
The garden party each year is equally intimate. It’s filled with anecdotes—some humorous, some poignant. Anne Hersh, a co-founder of Friends of Dag Hammarskjold Plaza, remembered that Hepburn’s mother, an ardent suffragette, used to take little Katharine with her when she distributed flowers in favor of women voting. Sabrina Seidner, a Bryn Mawr classmate and local real estate agent, told how Hepburn influenced campus traditions and once offered daring graduation advice: “You go out there in the real world, you will get knocked down—but just don’t get knocked up.” Even her occasional battles with a neighbor have become Hepburn legend, such as her late-night piano competition with composer Stephen Sondheim, who lived next door and sometimes kept her awake with his playing.
Hepburn’s apartment at 244 East 49th Street still stands—and recently came on the market for $7.2 million. It’s full of refined touches, a hidden garden, and original details such as her mirrored dressing table. But it’s not the furniture that preserves her legacy, although it does preserve remarkably well. She’s remembered for being warm, for being an activist, and for having an unmistakable presence in the daily life of the neighborhood.
With these spring reunions and the tales told from neighbor to neighbor, Hepburn’s legacy endures. She’s remembered not only as a legend of the stage and screen but also as a fiercely protective neighbor who battled for her community, loved its parks, and united people with both ease and determination. In Turtle Bay, her ghost exists in each hat, each wedge of cake, and each conversation held under the trees she helped defend.