The Other Side of Town
(Written in 1977)
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We drove into the outskirts of the city early on Saturday afternoon. The road map indicated we were on a major highway, but as we entered the city it seemed first impressions were not a concern of the Chamber of Commerce.
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On the north side of the highway and the other side of the river, skinny two and three story houses stood side by side on the river bank. Most hadn't been painted in a very long time. They were unkempt, but not out of place for they looked down on the sluggish and polluted waters of a river fed by the effluent of dozens of factories interspersed along the south side of the road. Too late, by a century, for zoning regulations.
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Even in the enclosed vehicle the air smelled of coal and creosote. But the scene ahead had a beauty about it. Dirty smoke in a haze softened the distant scene into a fog-shrouded drawing. Close-by, the ugliness of discarded equipment and gutted machinery said these industries are well past their peak production years.
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Our motel, surrounded by vacated businesses, taverns, and four to eight story brick buildings that once housed professional offices and nice apartments, no doubt survived on the description given in the "Best Western" guide stating "stay close to the heart of the city." Not today.
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I had a bad first impression of this city, and hence of the state in general. You could take the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. I had no use for it.
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The next day took us in a northwesterly direction, somewhat off the main highway. We were barely out of the city when the rolling hills began. Small farms with red barns and tall silos, green pastures, and white rail fences; until today, I had never seen Currier and Ives "in the flesh" before.
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One particular scene caught my eye. We rounded a curve and situated against the hillside I saw a church and its steeple at the center of a small town, more of a village. It was surrounded by white houses with burgundy roofs. I noted a general store and a rust colored machine shop. A narrow road wound its way over a covered bridge and a small stream and through the town before disappearing to the left around a slight hillside as it as it made its way back to the highway. A perfect shot for a scenic calendar.
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As I watched from the car window, the thought occurred to me that we're often quick to make a judgment about a situation or, more importantly, a person. Every life has its dirty areas. Each of us has a burned out period now and then, a non-productive time which might give a pretty bad impression to a newcomer to our life. We're all in our "grubbies" physically and mentally once in a while. There are also those moments when we may appear to have moved out. We may even operate with a few bricks missing now and then!
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I guess there is a little of Scranton in all of us!
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I should wait a while before rendering a verdict about an individual. A person is at least as large as Pennsylvania. Be patient, the beauty may very well be just outside the city limits.
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Written in 1977.
Contact Howard Meharg at hkmeharg@comcast.net
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