A Tiny Strip of New York That Feels Like the Suburbs

PELHAM MANOR, N.Y., May 5— On a narrow sliver of land between the gabled mansions of Westchester County and the wild brambles of Pelham Bay Park in the Bronx, 35 lucky homeowners live on the literal divide between city and country, with the advantages of both and the disadvantages of neither.

This urban-suburban demilitarized zone is technically in the Bronx, so its inhabitants pay modest property taxes, thousands less than their Westchester neighbors. And they meet the residency requirements for certain judicial and political jobs in New York City.

But their children go to Pelham schools under the terms of a contract that dates back half a century. And they enjoy the serenity and safety of suburbia, plus the snob appeal of a Pelham Manor zip code and telephone exchange.

This 250-foot-wide strip between Long Island Sound and the Hutchinson River is a no man's land where geographic and political boundaries do not coincide. No one lived here when the Bronx-Westchester county line was drawn in the 1890's. But now they do, and their fondness for the area demonstrates the delight city people take in beating the system and the preoccupation suburbanites have with taxes and schools.

The favored few who live here can be snappish and defensive, sure that any inquiry about their address is an accusation. Unless, of course, their house is on the market. Then bargain-basement taxes, award-winning schools and well-connected neighbors become something to boast about.

That is the case with Henry Tolosi, who owns a Mount Vernon nightclub. His split-level house, on the market for $597,000, sits at the dead end of Beech Tree Lane, with a 2,764-acre city park for a backyard and the 13th hole of the Pelham Bay golf course a chip shot away. In advertising his house, one of the few to come on the market in years, Mr. Tolosi trumpets the advantages: ''Low, low N.Y.C. taxes (under $4200),'' the advertisement reads. ''Pelham schools.'' It also describes the location as ''Politicians' Row.''

One street illustrates the discrepancy between this Bronx location and its close neighbors. On Elm Tree Lane, the houses on the south side of the street are in the Bronx, with taxes under $5,000. Jerry Crispino lives there. He needed the New York City address when he was on the City Council, though not for his current job as a State Supreme Court Judge. Alfred Locasio, a city marshal, is a holder of another position that requires residency.

But just across the way, on the north side of Elm Tree, the houses are in Westchester County, and the taxes are $15,000.

''It breaks your heart,'' said another judge, who asked not to be identified, since even mild resentment could strain the bond between neighbors. This judge, who lives on the wrong side of the tracks, taxwise, added, ''But all of them over there are my friends, so I just kid around about it.''

On both sides of the boundary there is agreement that the illogical county line was an accident, not a scam.

Some historical accounts say a roadway meant to cross the northern perimeter of the park was never built, thus freeing the land for development. Other accounts blame a surveyor's innocent error for the gap, rather like the fictional Lake Wobegon, missing from all maps. Still others say the county line was originally at the park's edge, but shifted because New York City needed to reclaim two tiny islands in Long Island Sound as a garbage dump.

But once the line was drawn and the 35 houses built, New York City had to figure out where to educate the children who lived there, usually a half-dozen. Sending a New York City school bus through the maze of dead-end streets created by the New York State Thruway would be expensive, and city school buses are not insured if they cross county lines, which they must to get here. So, under the terms of a 1948 contract, the city pays Pelham to educate the children: currently $8,650.08 each for the five who are in grade school and $15,892.86 for the one in high school.

Some politicians have taken heat for living here, while others have been left alone. The late Mario A. Procaccino, a mayoral candidate in 1969 and the original owner of a simple brick-faced split-level, was pilloried for beating the system by finding a sylvan slice of the city to call home.

Robert T. Johnson, the Bronx District Attorney, owns the house now. His move from the Fordham Heights section of the Bronx in 1994 stirred no similar controversy, perhaps because he had only token opposition in his next election campaign. But John D. Calandra, a state senator who died in 1986, was hounded by his opponents and the political press corps, according to his son, John J. Calandra, an aspiring politician himself.

''They took pictures of the house and tried to say my father wasn't a real Bronx person,'' said Mr. Calandra, a lawyer. ''But we got our hair cut in the Bronx. We ate in restaurants in the Bronx. We bought our appliances there, our newspapers.''

Around the corner, in a Normandy castle, Sally Broderick, the widow of Judge Vincent L. Broderick, recalls similar hectoring when her family moved from Pelham proper because of her husband's appointment as police commissioner 30-odd years ago. ''It annoyed me no end when they said we didn't live in the city,'' Mrs. Broderick said.

Francis T. Murphy, presiding justice of the Appellate Division of the State Supreme Court and another denizen of No Man's Land, as one 1946 history of Pelham calls this location, is more amused than irked.

''We're New York City residents, period,'' said Judge Murphy, who fulfilled a lifelong dream by building a house at the end of Split Rock Road in 1965. ''But in an election, anything becomes an angle if somebody wants to make something of it.''

Judge Murphy, first elected in 1962, when he lived in Parkchester, is sure his constituents prefer him to live in the Bronx, even though he is not required by law to do so. ''Plus I get to vote for myself,'' he said.

But his house will be way too big once the last of his five children leaves, Judge Murphy said, wondering aloud whether his New York City address really improves his property values. ''A lot of people don't want to live in the Bronx just because it's the Bronx,'' he said.

There are few clues here as to where the Bronx ends and Westchester begins. Mail carriers said they hadn't the foggiest idea, and neither did truckers delivering bottled water. On Shore Road, which runs along Long Island Sound past the New York Athletic Club's summer headquarters, a lone sign in the southbound lane says, ''New York City Law: No Turn On Red.'' And Pelham insiders note that the street paving is a tad smoother on their side.

Yes, there are annoyances in being on the odd streets out, said Joy Naclerio, who lives in a simple three-bedroom center-hall colonial on a street that overlooks the roar of the New York State Thruway. Ms. Naclerio runs a nail salon and shares a house with her 81-year-old father and her 24-year-old daughter, a city police officer.

Her street, Park Drive, wasn't paved until about a year ago, Ms. Naclerio said, and it doesn't always get plowed because the city is responsible for snow removal and doesn't make it up this way promptly. And minor crimes -- say, a stolen hub cap -- require a visit to the distant 47th Precinct station house because Pelham Manor is not responsible for police or fire protection, although the Westchester village departments do respond to emergencies.

Then there are the two new houses next to Ms. Naclerio's, too big and garish for their lots, to put it kindly. ''In Pelham, you'd never get away with that,'' she said, citing vigilant architectural review in the tony community that is a virtual who's who of doctors, lawyers, diplomats, journalists and publishing executives who appreciate living in Westchester's oldest and smallest town, just a zippy 29-minute commute from a great city.

But Ms. Naclerio's biggest concern is that publicity will ruin a good thing for the 35 Bronx families. What if the Pelham school system turns away their children? What if their taxes go up? What if somebody figures out a way to move the city line?

''Don't open too many people's eyes,'' she begged. ''If I put this house on the market, people would knock the door down. Don't let's change that.''

Photos: Oh, to live on the wrong side of the tracks! The left side of Elm Tree Lane, above, is in the Bronx; the right is in Westchester. The 35 homeowners who live on the divide enjoy the advantages of both the city and country. (Chris Maynard for The New York Times)(pg. B6); Henry Tolosi's advertisement for his house, on the market for $597,000, lists all the lures. Not even correspondents will know it's the Bronx. (pg. B1) Map showing location of ''no man's land:'' A no man's land everyone wants: between Pelham Bay Park and Westchester County's southern edge. (pg. B1)