My Town

I'm out of work 18 months today. Still looking, still hoping.

In this town.

I've lived here all my life. 49 years. I've watched this town go from boom to bust. Watched the railroads, the steel mills, the textile mills, the candy factories, the outlets, the strip malls all close up. Magnficent old buildings and homes fall into ruin and disrepair beyond repair. Most recently -- last month -- they decided to close a high school, my high school, and combine it with another. Several friends of mine are teachers there and will have to reapply and compete for their jobs come the end of this school year. One has been there 30+ years.

It may be true that times were better in Reading when the rackets ruled the town. But that's a story and debate for another time and place. Now it's overrun by gangs and drugs. On more than one occassion my wife has shown up for work and found a fresh bullet hole in her office window from the night before.

Part of the reason I'm still out of work is I am largely not relocatable, mostly for family care reasons.

But it's also true I really wouldn't want to leave this area. I love this town. I love it's history. My roots here are deep. My roots are part of it's history.

My ancestors were here before there was a here, before the town existed, when it was known as Widow Finney's on the Schuylkill.

My great by 7 or 8 grandfathers signed the charters to erect this county from Philadelphia and this town. I came name them all. They wouldn't recognize it now. Wouldn't believe it. Wouldn't understand.

I am the last of their line left here. I know where their graves are. I can't leave their bones behind.

It's true we have killer unemployment here and crushing poverty -- the 6th most impoverished city in the nation. And Albert Boscov is trying but he can't do it on his own.

But it's also true we've been down before and come back.

So we may be down, but we're not out.

Yet. . .