there's no place like your hometown....

How is this for a home vacation! I’m in my hometown of Harrison, NJ waiting for my son’s concert to begin. He is in a metal band and I’m here for support and not for the listening part of it. He’s a “screamer.” One of two in his band, “The Worst Is Yet To Come.”I guess you can figure out what a screamer is, but he and his co-screamer have wonderful voices and were both in the High School choir.

Now, I’m not into metal at all. One of my first albums was a Black Sabbath album; the one with the witch on the cover. I listened to it maybe twice. But, I have to support my son in all his endeavors. He’s a good kid and deserves some backing.

Well, I will be 53 next Saturday and for 26 years I had lived in this small city that is just across the river from Newark. My son’s show is at the American Legion Hall on Paterson Street, directly across the street from my Washington Street address. I had to come not only to support my son, but also for the opportunity to revisit my roots. Standing in the small faculty parking lot used by the looming middle school that was next to the American Legion Hall I was able to point out several sights to me son and his band members. No need to go into them here in this blog; the boys, and one girl, lost interest in my excitement about my hometown fairly quickly so I won't belabor you with many obscure details.

I bid my son and his bandmates good luck; they weren't due up until 7 p.m.; and I went on a walkabout of my little burg. Harrison is just a mile square and despite the years many places were still very familiar. Many things have predictably changed. There are many more Latinos living here now, although there was a growing influx of Portuguese in town when I moved out for good in 1989. Harrison is directly across the river from the Ironbound section of Newark and if you’re ever interested in that sort of food you have many choices. Harrison also had its share of Portuguese and Spanish restaurants and I would frequent them when I lived here.

I wasn’t that surprised that Polsky’s a little convenience store around the corner from my Washington Street address was being run by an Indian. I even remarked to “Mr. Polsky” that he had changed over the years as he punched out a lottery ticket for me…. Hey you never know….
Vi’s Florist was still thankfully there. It was there when I was a toddler and I went to grammar school with the Chiccino boys. Michael was in the shop. Sadly he changed a lot. A year younger than me, Michael was easily twice my weight and girth. But, he remembered me, even before I identified myself. We talked a long while and caught up on family matters and passings. He talked glowingly of my father who was an integral part of our Boy Scout troop. He told me that with the economy his flower shop was doing poorly. I wished him well and then moved on. I walked down to Manor Avenue and photographed Max's Diner which originally opened in 1927. I smiled again at the painted sign near the front door that read "ladies invited." The place though has been closed for a few years.


I then walked over to Pechter's to buy some rye bread. I grew up eating their bread, especially the loaves with blackened sesame seeds. I love eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on toasted rye bread from Pechter's. I used to sit down with a glass of milk and eat slices of the bread, devouring the middle first and then relishing the crust. In my youth Harrison would either smell horribly of the meadowlands...which edge the eastern edge of the town... or of the warm soothing smell of baking rye bread. Well, when I walked up the store they had just closed! The men where in the shop and waving their hands at me....but I begged and they relented. Harrison is like that. People are nice here. Lambertville, my home now for the past 20 years is similar and there are many kind, pleasant people there as well.

I immediately opened a bag and grabbed a slice. I then walked down the street to the Manor Bar and had a pint of Yuengling for $2.00. This bar was my dad's favorite gin mill and as I sat on one end of the bar by myself I furtively caught glances at the four men at the corner and wondered if they knew my father, Tony. I was sure that someone knew him, but I didn't want to stray too far into the evening and miss my son's concert. So, I left a tip and slipped out.

No sooner do I get back to my car, which was parked on Washington Street then my son called to tell me they've been kicked out of the show! They evidently got into a fight in the American Legion Hall. Someone watching another band was too rowdy and was throwing himself around and at one point hit my son and another bandmate. Well...this being Harrison, which is a little rougher than Lambertville, and my son and his friend who are more like "weekend Punk Rockers" got into a fracas in defending themselves and we went home early.

I tried to salve the wounds of the band by offering to buy them something to eat at one of the many diners in the area, but they opted to return to the leafy confines of Lambertville and flee the urban wackiness that begat me.

After they left, I drove around town a bit and happy I too was no longer a citizen of the town, turned my car for my home.

Harrison has many fond memories for me, but I also delighted in destroying it in my first novel, "Hi, How Are You?" In the novel the government levels the town and erects a huge shopping mall, large enough to be seen from outer space. I guess I have a love/hate relationship with the town?
Anyway if you're interested in reading the first chapter of the book go to: www.xlibris.com/hihowareyou.html

Okay.
greg