My Hometown: Bridgeport, CT

27Oct09

Photo: pantoMIME

Serendipity, how I love thee!

There, on my official military discharge papers, I catch a significant error by the Department of Defense: my hometown had been changed from Bridgeport, CT to Bridgeport, CA.

Obliteration of the past with one single keystroke. I needed this cue to start fresh.

I show this to my brother during my annual visit to my now obsolete hometown, and he chuckles. “Well, before you defect, let’s go visit Central.”

My alma mater was the largest high school in the city, and I attended the Magnet program on the second floor. My parents hoped for a dynamic education. Instead, I spent the years writing in my journals and planning my escape to play guitar for Ozzy Osbourne.

Driving through the old neighborhood, we see familiar sights of this former industrial center. Angelo’s Pizza, in the Italian segment of town, was a popular after-school hangout. Chaves Bakery, in the neighboring Portuguese area, gave us the perfect place for ditching school, smoking, and other idiotic things that delusional kids do.

Galaxy Diner

Galaxy Diner, one of the dozen Greek-owned diners in town, was our church. Many late night confessionals were staged there, kneeling before the neon signs and chrome counters, genuflecting with coffee and home fries.

My brother turns onto Lincoln Boulevard. The sterile two-story building draws near, and a tension swells in my chest. Images of shy first kisses, chaotic race riots, and ill-conceived joyrides blur my thoughts.

Fifteen years of turbulence haven’t changed a thing on campus. Not a damn thing.

The 80’s recession had sent my family barreling to Bridgeport from wealthy Stamford. I blinked, and my life shifted from stuffy private school to battered inner city school. Gone was the predominantly white landscape, and in its place was a bricolage of minorities, wary of the un-hip Catholic school reject at their front door.

No one knew what to make of me. I didn’t know what to make of them. Yet somewhere in the static, we became allies.

Photo: Sean Henri

In the affluent Gold Coast of Fairfield County, Bridgeport is a footnote. Bridgeport is the ignored Goth kid in the family photos, the misfit on the lunatic fringe of Camelot.

Bridgeport is a dying urban city at the front door. And no one knows what to make of her.

I realize, sitting in that car, that the ugly filament that condemned us also connected us. We were not mutually exclusive. Despite the static, despite the naysayers, despite my unfair condemnations, this reject town will always pull herself out of oblivion. She will be all right.

We drive to Galaxy for chocolaty libations. I gaze out the window at the monochromatic cityscape. An occasional swish of color pops from a nearby flag. Brasil? Haiti? Inside, dulce aromas swirl in my direction; tittering voices soothe me.

I decide to amend my discharge papers tomorrow. I will sit on telephonic hold and endure the rotten customer service. Tomorrow I will try to get my hometown back.

Photo: pantoMIME

Bridgeport skyline

Captain’s Cove (Photo: henningwitte)

Barnum Museum

University of Bridgeport campus (Photo: FJ Gaylor)

Gathering of the Vibes @ Seaside Park

Sunset over ferry from Long Island to Bridgeport (Photo: sparkz)

 

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Filed under: Inspiration, Misc., Musings, Random, Rants, Society, Travel, Writing   |  9 Comments
Tags: Bridgeport CT, Connecticut, happiness, hometown, Inspiration, life, love, Matador travel writing, Matador U, memories, Misc., Musings, photography, Random, Rants, reflections, Society, thoughts, Travel, travel writing, vignettes, Writing