Creative Writing: A Love Affair

3/9/10

“A Love Affair”

It’s an affair that has lasted for nearly 30 years. It was love at first sight and it remains just as strong today. No, I’m not writing about my wife (I haven’t know her for that long!). I’m writing about the neighborhood that I called home for so many years: White Avenue in South Nyack, NY. I spent the summer of my life on that block. And what a bountiful time it was. We seemed to change and grow together - an ascending scale on a growth chart plotting a steady rise. The neighborhood evolved from a haven for crack cocaine dealers to a solid, diverse, middle-class one. And I rose from a struggling outsider to a successful member of a thriving community.

It was October of 1984 when I arrived, just off a failed romance; I was nearly broke and emotionally exhausted. In other words, I was down on my luck. And, at first, so was White Avenue. You could see that the neighborhood had once been solidly middle-class. The block has a mixture of architectural styles ranging from 1950’s ranch homes to a handful of modest Victorians. But like many small towns, once the bedrock businesses left, so did the prosperity. This begins a pattern of long, slow decay. Over the years, Nyack and South Nyack had experienced more than one cycle of “boom and bust”. In fact, South Nyack had been virtually cut in two when the NY State Thruway linked up with the Tappan Zee Bridge. The village lost one third of its beautiful, historic Victorian homes AND it’s entire downtown. So, this was just the latest “bust”. But when I came here I could feel the hint of “boom” still lurking in the atmosphere. It felt like it might be the end of the bust and, perhaps, the beginning of the next boom. It was strangely analogous to my state of mind.

When I pulled up to view a perspective apartment at 20 White, an unusual thing happened. I heard a women’s voice call out. At first, I couldn’t figure out where it came from. Then I looked up and discovered that it was originating from the small roof that covered the porch. There was a woman sunbathing there! She called out again, “are you looking to rent the apartment on the bottom floor”? I replied, “yes”. She said, “don’t move. I want to check you out”! It turned out to be the proverbial “beginning of a beautiful friendship”. Mary Alice (MA) lived on the top floor with her 3 children: Jane, Gary, and Rory. Raised in Rockland, she became my first friend in the neighborhood. MA turned out to be one of the most unique and special human beings I have ever encountered and, as it turned out, the perfect metaphor for White Ave.: soulful, thoughtful, nurturing, and free. I was hooked. I rented the apartment that afternoon.

In the beginning, it was not easy. There was a rocky out-cropping on the end of my front lawn, near the street. It’s a perfect place to sit, chill and watch the world go buy. The crack heads used to think so too. I used to collect the empty crack vials from the previous night’s ”swinging soiree” on my front lawn and give them to the police. I’d ask them, “What are you going to do about it”? Well, they actually did do something about it. With the blocks’ assistance, gradually, the drug dealing ended. The safe house that was diagonally across from me was emptied and sold to a Vietnam Vet and his young family. This was typical up and down the whole block. And we flourished. A terrific young couple, Andrew and Maureen, bought the house next to me, facing Franklin St. He was a carpenter and together they were restoring the old, run-down Victorian to its former glory. I met long-time White Ave. residents like Anthony and his family. There was Jim, another Vietnam vet and activist, Susan his wife and family. Cliff, Barbara and their kids had lived on the block it seemed forever. There was Robin and her daughter. And we experienced a steady flow of newcomers like Joanne, Vicki, and Cheryl. Gidi was a transplanted Israeli scientist, now at Lamont-Dougherty, and lived with his eventual wife, Laura, a child psychologist. For a time, they occupied the upstairs apartment from me. There was the Tibetan family headed by Tashi and Tashi (husband and wife with the same name – cool!). There were whites, blacks, browns, yellows and people of every shade in between. We sat on our porches and waived as our neighbors drove by. We had family barbeques attended by most of the block. Heck, we even threw a block party of our own. Kids played touch football in the street. We watched the teenagers, decked out in their “go to the prom” finest, pose for the obligatory family photo. We buried cherished family pets in our backyards. We experienced the fullness of community life.

It reminded me of those magical summer evenings, sitting together on my grandmother’s porch in Brooklyn, letting the world flow by but at the same time being connected to it. In the truest sense of the word, I felt like I was home for the first time since I had left the safety and security of my parents so many years before.

Eventually, my lot improved and I outgrew my apartment at #20. I was ready to buy my first home. I began looking early in the Spring of 1996. I didn’t have to look far. There was a small, 3 bedroom Victorian that would fit my budget and was, in fact, within walking distance - literally. It was virtually across the street at 61 White! The house, like the neighborhood, was a little worn but had the potential to be everything I needed in a home. If you had any vision, you could see it. Once again, White Avenue and I were locked in step on a steady rise to respectability.

It was the easiest move that I ever made. I never even rented a moving truck. I rolled, hauled, and carted everything by hand, across and up the street. In another neighborhood that may have seemed strange. But not in ours. It was why I loved it so much. People cared about how and why they lived there. They also respected the way you chose to live your life. This was just another day in our neighborhood.

I continued my professional and personal growth at 61 White. I cultivated a small garden in my backyard. I was making more money so I could make changes and improvements on the house itself. And, once again, the block continued on the same steady path of progress as my own. We had created a momentum that propelled the entire neighborhood in a positive direction. In a way, we were the poster children for urban renewal. Once a haven for undesirables, our neighborhood now was culturally, ethnically, racially, and professionally diverse. In hindsight, it seemed nearly perfect.

The neighborhood was thriving and this must include change. Like an ocean current whose churning waters provide for the very cycle of life, White Avenue was also churning. For various reasons, many long time residents moved on. MA and her brood, Andrew and Maureen, Robin, Jim and Susan, all reluctantly left our little enclave. My life was changing too. I met my wife, Catherine, and we married in 2000. She and her 3 sons moved into 61 White in the summer of that year. She shared the same passion for our neighborhood as I did. But our tiny but “spacious for two/maybe three house” was now stretched to the breaking point. It became more and more of a challenge to squeeze five adults into that space. Leaving our beloved neighborhood became inevitable.

We moved to a big, old house in Haverstraw in the Spring of ’06. We saw a similar situation and the same potential here that I had experienced in Nyack. Catherine is heavily involved with a local civic association trying very hard to reverse the town’s fortunes. Once again, it has proved to be a long and arduous venture but we remain hopeful that our labors will eventually yield the same positive results.

As for South Nyack: after renting the house at 61 for a few years, we just recently sold it. The new owners seem to be a really nice, young couple. They plan to marry this Spring and build their lives in the little house on White Ave. It continues. And I smile.

Note: During the course of writing this, I discovered that my friend and neighbor, Andrew Sipp, had been killed in a motorcycle accident. I was devastated. He was a great friend and wonderful neighbor. He leaves behind Maureen and a daughter he loved dearly. I can’t drive by the old neighborhood without shedding a tear for our beloved Andrew. Life goes on.

Photo: F. LoBuono Caption: The Tappan Zee Bridge at Night