Walkabout

Spring has sprung, or at least it appears to have done so.  But we all know how this story goes.  The temperature may be hovering near sixty, but the snow shovel will stand at attention by the front door until we are safely into the month of August.  That said, I am going to make the most of this sunshine while I can.  

 

A Call to the Good Ol' Day

Of all the things I've wanted these accounts to be, polarizing is not one of them.  So how does one make a foray into political writing without drawing calls of unilateralism from some readers?  From the beginning, The Redux has been about bringing a community closer; exploring, informing, and supporting our neighbors with the hope that it will benefit us all.  With that said, it is not about bringing our collective viewpoints into line.  I've always loved the premise of debate, and loved the necessity of it to keep our town, our state, our country what it is.  I fear, honestly fear, the time when a Presidential race is not a nail-biter as we arrive at election day.  Landslides can indicate a mistake somewhere along the line, a misjudgment of the opposition.  They can also indicate the step towards something more sinister.  ZANU-PF comes to mind.  So does Ba'athist Iraq.  They both had fabulous voter turnout. 

I have wandered from my original track in the attempt to reinforce it.  The view I offer up here shouldn't fall to either side of the aisle.  It should be able to be demanded by and harnessed for any citizen.  I hope it will be borne from common sense more than ideology.  Please bear that in mind as you read the words that follow. 

Of all the sources of misinformation around us, our own memory may be the most highly (and falsely) trusted.  From addictions and abuse, to the question of who took the cookie from the jar, the human mind can create nearly any answer, any reality it wishes to.  We can alter the entire course of history between the folds of the brain, but perhaps it's in reminiscence and nostalgia that we do the most damage.  We tell ourselves that days gone by were far better than the days we live in today.  Childhood heartbreak didn't feel as raw as it does all grown up.  Stealing lunch money from the helpless doesn't hold a flame to Bernie Madoff and his Ponzi scheme.  Our music was inspired and we held the utmost respect for our elders.  

We were so innocent. 

But you and I both know this is rubbish.  A breakup rends our insides apart, whether we're approaching forty or the fourth grade.  There was no villain more sinister than the bully on the playground.  Our music was mediocre at best, and we couldn't wait to get out from under the thumbs of our tyrannical parents.  Of course we don't remember it this way, why would we want to?  By hoisting it up onto a pedestal of better times gone by, it gives us a haven where we can seek shelter when the world around us is displeasing.  Shelter is a good thing, though too often we get comfortable under the roof and forget that the world beyond demands exploring.  We forget the rush and excitement from looking out over something new.

I'm reminded of this because we're once again in the midst of a political scramble, the GOP primaries for the upcoming Presidential race.  And once again, candidates are playing on the strength of nostalgia to rekindle images of an America gone by in the minds of voters, and promising to bring that country back to us.  This is no new trick.  Even as the world's first politicians came to power, they were preceded by better times when their constituents had no needs, wants, or worries.  The mammoth were easier to hunt, pelt-trading was far more lucrative, and other tribes weren't sneaking over the borders and stealing your hard-earned firewood.  And this is certainly not a tactic employed only by the American Right.  Republicans and Democrats, Greens, Independents, Communists, Socialists, Libertarians, Labors, Whigs, Klingons and Romulans have all tapped into this vein.  I even remember reading about an outspoken Austrian man in the 1930s who rode to power on the promise of restoration of glory.  The past, or the memory of it, is a powerful motivator.  

This is where I find my problem.  When were these Good Ol' Days?  Republicans may reference Reagan, while the Democrats point to Clinton.  Or perhaps back to Truman, Eisenhower, and Kennedy?  What about even further back?  What about the boom lifestyle of the 1920s, or the strong work ethic forged in the hard times of the Thirties?  Golly, people sure had a lot more character back then.  Let's ignore the rampant domestic abuse, Jim Crow laws, McCarthyism, the peaking murder rate in the early thirties and late seventies, and the century's crime rate high of 1980.  The past one hundred years have been some of the most transformational times in the history of the human race, both in this country and across the globe.  But I have yet to find an era that I would prefer to this day and age. 

Nearly every other facet of our lives comes into contact with the past in some way.  Our cars can draw on designs of old, just look at the PT Cruiser, the Beetle, and the Thunderbird as proof of this.  Clothing design is looking towards classic Americana for inspiration, and the unique styles of Hepburn and McQueen are new again.  The cocktail, in all its forms, is being knocked back after work by more people each day.  Musicians are recording on vinyl, and our smartphone cameras can make photos appear retro and aged.  People are growing their own food again in backyards and on rooftops.  With each of these examples, the past has only served as inspiration, and not the rule.  We've taken all that we've learned since these ideas first appeared and applied it for a better product.  This has to be done, or the product won't sell.  Business Theory 101, right?

So why don't we demand the same application to politics?

Instead of trying to revive the past, wouldn't it be better for us all to reach back and only pick the ripened ideas that could serve us well today?  If we indiscriminately attempt to harvest an entire political era, then we'll be bringing along plenty of rotten ideas as well.  This applies, or should apply, to every level of government in the United States, and not only the race for the Presidency.  Whether it's a campaign for Town Council, the State Senate, or the School Board, we have the right to demand a candidate who cherishes the past but looks to the future, and a practical melding of the two. 

Here in the Electric City, we have a very strong past, one that I try to bring to light from post to post.  But make no mistake, I'm not trying to revive 1950s Schenectady, nor a copy of it.  I want everything that was great and good and defining about that time to step forth once more.  At the same time, I want our eyes turned to the horizon as the Past falls into line beside us.  The reasons this city became what it was are not the same reasons for what it will become.  What if each one of us, across the country, decided that we wanted this very era to be the one people looked back on with longing? What would it look like?  What if Today could be the Good Ol' Day?

Origins of a Titan

I'll keep this one brief.  There are a few of you following these posts from far away, across an ocean.  As it were, you may not be aware of what role the Electric City has played in the birth of one of the giants of industry today.  You've undoubtedly heard of Thomas Edison, that inspired inventor who brought us the phonograph, the motion-picture camera, Tamagotchis, jacket potatoes, and the iPhone 4S.  Just to name a few.

In 1892, Edison General Electric of Schenectady merged with the Thomson-Houston Electric Company and created General Electric.  And today, that giant is everywhere, spread across the globe.  Look around your house, no matter where you are; I guarantee you will find that iconic GE logo.  I certainly did.  I also found 83 cents and the remote.  From the parts in the planes you fly on to the power that runs through your house, GE is probably involved.  And it was all born a quick walk away from where I'm typing these words.  Just something to remember whether you're driving past the lit up sign on 890, or going for a midnight snack in your GE refrigerator; Schenectady has been the birthplace of greatness. 

Clinton's Ditch: Part 2 of 2

I've made my rounds of the bars here in the Electric City.   I've danced until the doors closed at the Union Inn, I've answered the obscure trivia questions at the likes of Bombers and Pinhead Susan's.  But when the time arrives to have a solid drink, or chat with friends in a good place where the music is neither too loud, nor too soft...well, the Ditch is the place to be. 

In 2005, the doors opened on Clinton's Ditch. A new city bar transformed from an old vacant 3500 square foot building to a modern, energy-efficient structure, courtesy of Re4orm Architecture.  The Schenectady Historical Society even graced the property with an award, as the bar still maintains a very true-to-form look despite the heavy facelift.  What's even better news is that Tim Trier, who owns the Ditch, has begun the construction directly next door on a replica of the old City Firehouse.  A building that would that would be a more than 125-year-old structure in this day and age.  According to our own Daily Gazette, it would be the "first historic replica project ever attempted in Schenectady."  To read the description of what Trier has planned for the site when all is said and done is quite inspiring.  To give a spoiler or two, again courtesy of the Gazette, the firehouse will open up an entire new section of cooking space, complete with a wood-fired oven.  For anyone who has been to a Pizza Night here at my flat, you'll know how much I'm looking forward to this.  To crown it all off, we'll also be looking at space for a whopping 50 more dining customers.  Cha-ching.

And what may you, loyal taxpayer, enjoy most of all?  There's not a penny of public financing involved in the project.  Trier has taken the cost completely upon himself.  If that's not worth a pint at his establishment, I'm not quite sure what is.

Alright, now to the good stuff.  If you'll kindly directly your eyes above this sentence, I'd like you to meet The Cuban.  Hello Cuban.  No cigars, 1959 Caddies or Commie propaganda here.  This sandwich is lush folks, there's really no other adjective that touches the pure culinary joy of this simple delight.  It's pork.  It's lovely.  Schwing.  Let's delve a bit into the food for a moment.  The selection is just what you want from a bar: No tome of a menu, just enough of a selection so everybody feels welcome.  The portions?  Perfect.  No feelings of guilt when you leave half your plate untouched.  No, it wasn't the fault of your appetite you couldn't finish that reuben at another restaurant.  It was because they gave you a portion fit for a large ocean-dwelling mammal.  Or Dom DeLuise.  You finish your meal with a full stomach, but not one bursting at the seams.  It may seem like I'm harping on about this, but think about the last time you ordered a meal in a restaurant and were perfectly sated by the result.  I can't. 

Bear in mind that I'm no regular here.  Despite the thirty second walk door to door, I stop in here for lunch maybe every other week. I've gone in for drinks a handful of times on the weekends.  A blogger must sample a variety of places, am I right?  And yet the bartender, bless her heart, has never failed to remember the very first beer I ordered months ago.  They get plenty of regulars, the day in and day out crowd who are lucky enough to call this place their lunch break.  So when I sit down from time to time and my priors are remembered, well that makes a guy feel special, doesn't it?  And we all love feeling like unique and beautiful snowflakes, don't we?

When the weekends come there are DJs and dancing, a mix of a crowd to make anyone feel welcome.  The doormen are always polite, and the crew tending bar sling drinks with the best.  They know they've got a line, and they never make you wait long.  You'll be drinking alongside young professionals, old timers, those in between, and of course the ever-adored college crowd trying to find their own niche inside.  The drink specials are solid, and this bar is good at letting you know when they're coming.  This is a good place, and I mean that in the most sincere form of the word.

What more can I say, dear reader?  Drink here.  Eat here.  Unwind here.

Until the next time (which I swear will be much sooner than this last one!), thank you for reading!

Clinton's Ditch: Part 1 of 2

These seven days have passed far quicker than I could have imagined.  I never meant this much time to go by between posts, so thank you for being patient with me!  From the conceptual beginnings of The Electric City Redux, I've always wanted to write up something on Clinton's Ditch.  Maybe because it sits just around the corner, the first bar I pass going into town.  Maybe it's the fountain of history behind the name.  Maybe it's the hot bartender.  

Erie Boulevard

But it seemed that every time I went to go grab a drink there, I forgot my camera. Pictures are a large part of this blog after all, so no pictures meant no post.  For all of you that know me, you know that I can't use my phone as a backup.  Sure, it has a camera, but that's a fairly liberal use of the word.  The quality of resolution on that thing makes people look like they were built of Legos.  As of this very moment, I still haven't taken an interior shot of the Ditch, so this blog will be posted in two parts.  In this first part, we'll explore the broad history behind the name Clinton's Ditch.  It should give us a bit of a backdrop to the old Schenectady, and it might even explain why the potholes on Erie Boulevard are so sickeningly bad (Hint: Think of the movie "Tremors").  In the second part, we'll look at the bar itself, one of the best places to grab a drink in downtown Schenectady.

DeWitt Clinton, by Rembrandt Peale

Once, when asked who the greatest statesmen in the United States was, Thomas Jefferson replied "DeWitt Clinton," or so legend holds.  It then goes that Jefferson let out a snorty laugh, because who has a first name like DeWitt?  Admit it, you'd do the same.  It must be remembered that this opinion was very controversial at the time.  Many politicians believed this title should have gone to Strom Thurmond, a rising young Senator at the time (1803).  

Many of us relate Clinton's Ditch with the institution that sits on 112 South College Street in Schenectady, a fine watering hole indeed.  But that moniker comes from a piece of New York history who's importance sits second only to the 1915 purchase of the Yankees by Colonel Tillinghast L'Hommedieu Huston (Honestly folks, we are dropping the ball these days when it comes to naming our children).  On July 4, 1817, construction began on one of the largest feats of engineering ever attempted in the United States up to that point.  A project that would cost an enormous sum of money, and an equal amount of political clout.  A plan so audacious that Jefferson himself called it "a little short of madness."  This, as we all know, was the plan to build a bathtub to fit Orson Welles.  You can imagine the political conflict at the time, as Welles wouldn't even be born for another 98 years. 

Ha! That July the 4th was actually the start of construction on the Erie Canal, eventually connecting Lake Erie to the Hudson, and hence the Atlantic Ocean.  It would revolutionize commerce in New York State, but as with most bold projects, very few could see the merit from the outset (Did someone just say Obamacare?).  Governor Clinton had been the one to convince the State Legislature, against massive opposition, to appropriate $7 million for the project, and it was there that the people found its nickname; Clinton's Folly, or Clinton's Ditch, became the popular label for the dig.  Running from Buffalo to Albany, an impressive 363 miles, the canal took eight years to complete.  Canada, not wanting to be one-upped in achievement, proclaimed that not only would they decimate their own cod fisheries, but would do so in only seven years!  Typically, they didn't manage to do so until 1992.

The opening, combined with a series of New York canal constructions bewteen 1823 and 1828 met with huge economic success.  It only took nine years to fully recoup the cost of the project through tolls. The NYS Canal website points out the effect can be shown easily on a modern map.  With the exception of Binghamton and Elmira, every major city in the state sits along the trade route established by the Erie Canal.  Even today, nearly 80% of the upstate population lives within 25 miles of the canal. 

Now comes the real twist: How many of you realize that, as you drive down Erie Boulevard each day, you're driving over what was once a branch of the Erie Canal?  There it is!  The Aha moment!  The name does seem to make sense now, doesn't it?  That's right, where State Street and Erie intersect there was once a bridge... 

This was the in-town route of the canal until the 1920s, when waste build-up and community pressure resulted in the filling-in and paving of the route.  

                            What was this...                                                                                             

 

                          Became this...

Notice the GE plant in the distance

                                                                                     
And right alongside this bustling thoroughfare sits a handsome brick building with a low slung archway for a door.  It's through this door I'm going to walk tonight and get myself a drink.  And this time, I'm going to have a camera.  I will sit with my beer and look out at the traffic rushing by and think of a slightly slower time.  An era when the movement outside might have been barges and foot traffic, not semis and sedans.  I will think on the name of the establishment I sit in, and remember that folly can sometimes end up as fortune.  

 Keep a close eye here in the next few days for part two of this post.  As always, thank you for reading!

White Winter Hymnal

Don't you worry, there's no sermon in the sentences ahead.  It's simply the name of a song by Fleet Foxes, one that comes to my mind every time I see snow falling these days.  Have you heard it before?  If not, do listen.

We had a snowfall a few days back, nothing much by the standards of upstate.  It was enough, though, to give the Stockade that thin white blanket that makes one say, "Ah, Winter.  There you are."  I had just arrived back home, and luckily I had brought my camera out with me.  There was no time to stop inside, down the street I went.  

There wasn't a pattern to where I walked, it became a trip where each intersection was a new decision.  Exponential options, each turn more picturesque than the next.  As the sun went down, the houses loomed larger, the shadows stretched, and the Stockade took on a much older feel.  It wasn't hard to imagine you were strolling through another time.  As we watch Schenectady grow and develop in this new century, it's comforting to know that we still have roots planted in the past.  A community that cherishes where it's come from, as well as where it's going.  A respect, and a foundation. 

I'm hoping you enjoy these photos, thank you for reading.

Mike's Hot Dogs

"The most useless are those that never change throughout the years."  This little pearl of arrogant wisdom comes to us today from Sir J.M. Barrie.  For those of you who may not recognize the name right off the bat, you'll certainly know his most famous work.  He's the writer of Peter Pan, that prepubescent Robin Hood mixed with a dash of the ageless Dick Clark for good measure.   It's a tad ironic, I suppose, that he was the one to have uttered this phrase.  He would have held his tongue I'm sure, if he had ever been to Mike's Hot Dogs.

The sign above the door says "Serving you for over 50 years," although our server stated that it's already passed by sixty.  And though I can imagine the windows out onto Erie Boulevard have seen Schenectady change dramatically over those six decades, I have a feeling the menu inside hasn't varied much, if at all.  And you know what?  It would be a crying shame if it had.

As we witness the return of the classic Americana in fashion, music, all the nostalgia of yesteryear, why not take a moment to check out a place that never left?  More and more restaurants today are trying to emulate the feeling of the classic diner, that warm-blanket familiarity you get sitting down at the counter of a proper greasy spoon.  It's tough to rationalize going to an imitation, when the real thing is just down the road.

"All the Way"

"Do you want to go all the way?" she asked.  My hands go clammy. My tongue dries up. I stutter over my words.  It's not often I'm asked this question in public.  In fact, it's not often I'm asked this question, full stop.  I muster up my courage, and look deep into her eyes.  "Absolutely.  I'll take a chocolate shake as well."  There, my order was in.  I've been hearing rumors of the "All the Way" hot dog here, but it must be seen to be believed.  Mustard, onions, meat sauce, and pure joy heaped on top of a hot dog.  Is there a quicker route to bliss?  The answer is yes, and it involves washing it all down with that chocolate shake I ordered.  

You sit there and devour your meal, served up in no time flat.  You think, if only I could somehow eat here three meals a day, I may finally achieve lasting peace in my life.  And then you see it; the breakfast menu perched above either end of the long counter.  And the deals just keep on coming.  Breakfast sandwiches, eggs, bacon, the things that make America great.  It's simple, it's cheap, and it's all you ever need.  You contemplate asking to set up a cot in the storage room, why leave? Admit it, it was on your mind too.  

 In this day and age, I think we're all aware of what's in a hot dog.  Or maybe it's that we're aware that we're unaware what's in a hot dog.  Follow me?  At the end of the day, a hot dog works for people on any diet.  Even vegans!  Let's admit it, there's probably not a whole bunch of any recognizable animal product in a hot dog these days.  But that doesn't matter folks!  Where else can you buy bliss for a buck seventy-nine?  You can't.  Fact.

 I know many of you readers have driven by this place on at least one occasion, and pulling off Erie at any time of day can be a daunting task.  But the next time you see it coming up ahead, make the turn.  I'm very lucky, as I live quite literally around the corner.  It's busy, really busy, most of the day.  Our waitress told us that the hardest times were when it was slow.  She said she just ended up eating the food there.  I told her I couldn't think of a better way to pass the time.

As for passing your own time, dear reader, I hope that you've got a great weekend ahead.  Try to make Mike's a part of it.  As always, thank you for reading!