The City of Poughkeepsie

I first heard the name Poughkeepsie in January of 1985 as I travelled on the Amtrak train from Rochester to New York City. I had come, reluctantly, to visit the United States - for how could anything ever compare to my wonderful city of Bombay. And yet, despite the cold, I had fallen in love with New York city - after all it was just as cosmopolitan and energetic as my beloved Bombay, just cleaner and more organized. But I digress. The train travelled through a snow laden landscape unlike anything I had ever seen before. And then as it headed due south at Albany the tracks ran along the mighty Hudson - covered with a large sheet of ice. The river's presence evident only by the large cracks in the ice that warned you of the freezing water flowing under the ice. I recalled fondly the books I'd read of frozen rivers and sheets of snow. A couple of hours from Albany, the train stopped in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, and an oil tanker came upto the side of the train to refuel it. On the barren, windswept platform on the other side of the train, I saw a sign "Poughkeepsie".

10 months later, when I heard that name again, I was already familiar with it, and not even remotely intimidated by the prospect of moving there. I moved to the Town of Poughkeepsie in 1986 and studied Computer Science first at the Dutchess Community College, and subsequently at Marist College. I traveled through the City of Poughkeepsie - a more concentrated urban center with a Main Street and a Market Street and an Academy Street etc... but always gingerly, always worried about the crimes that I had known were committed there. I never ventured there after dark.

And yet, as I travelled through the streets, always with the car doors locked, I marvelled at the beautiful Victorian mansions that lined its streets, marvelled at the exuberance of the trees and flowers that flourished in the city gardens and felt a pang of nostalgia for what this city must have been. But back in the early days, I was always in a hurry, and never had the time to stop and think too much about the names of the streets and on some of the historic mansions in the area - Vanderbilt, Roosevelt, Morse, Clinton, Vassar, names that I had heard back in India. For I was way too pre-occupied with the one really big name I had invested my entire future in - IBM.

IBM had come to the Poughkeepsie area only during the late 1930s/early 1940s - rumor has it that Tom Watson, the founder of IBM was looking for a safe place to house a gun factory - like all patriotic corporations, during World War II, IBM had turned its significant manufacturing capabilities to producing guns for the War. Tom Watson was flying through the Hudson Valley looking for a suitable location. When he passed over a patch of land along the Hudson, just a little south of the City of Poughkeepsie - he pointed down and told his realtor that that was where he wanted to build his factory - "Why there ? It is so God forsaken.." the surprised realtor is supposed to have stammered - "Because it looks like it has been bombed already.." Mr Watson is supposed to have replied.

But the City of Poughkeepsie had been a thriving center for commerce long before the arrival of IBM - it was a center of manufacturing, performing arts, shopping, and education. Several of the buildings and streets that served as major thoroughfares back then, still stand - some painstakingly preserved and others showing signs of urban decay.

For the manufacturing plants and the famous stores have all moved away, and in the late '80s - the City of Poughkeepsie became notorious as a high crime district. Over the years, I had less and less reason to go to the City of Poughkeepsie - I am guessing I hadn't been there at all in the last 15 years.

And then out of nowhere, I found myself being summoned to the City to perform my civic responsibilities - all residents are called upon to do this at some point of time or the other - mine happened to be this year. And I now find myself travelling into the City (as we affectionately refer to the City of Poughkeepsie) about 2 or 3 times a week.

You can see that there has been an effort to revitalize parts of the city - the Poughkeepsie Journal building and the Post Office stand as proud examples of the Grey Stone work this area was proud of - the Court House and the Dutchess County District Attorney's office, which is actually a painstakingly restored bank building, stand tall on the corner of Main and Market. The railroad station with its high ceilings and enormous stained glass windows is one of my favorite buildings. Lush green foliage and gorgeous flowers are everywhere confirming Poughkeepsie's reputation as Arbor City USA.

And yet, there are also the abandoned buildings, crumbling structures with windows that are boarded up, or sometimes the even sadder alternative - signs of people living in them. I am told that incidents related to drugs and gangs are relatively common. And unlike the farmlands, just 10 or 15 miles away which are being hastily bought up and parceled out into homesites - there are very few buyers for city properties - several of which are already constructed and quite beautiful.

This morning I ended up driving through one of the prettier boulevards in the city - Academy Street home to large old Victorian mansions, several beautifully restored, and several especially as you got closer to the city center in a state of decay. I was overcome by a feeling of sadness and helplessness - oh that i could do something to restore this city to its original glory - what a waste of absolutely beautiful homes - what a loss of history !!!

And then I think about the young people living lives of quiet desperation, resorting to whatever they must to survive in this city, fighting their demons, often spending all of their painfully brief lives in the confines of the city center - and I feel even more despondent - they don't even know what they are missing........

and then I am pull myself back to the inspiration for this blog - the Poisonwood Bible - the one that taught me - "Never presume you know what is best for someone - until you've walked in their shoes, lived their lives, dreamt their dreams and experienced their pains and their joys - you really cannot know what is good for them." And I find myself asking "Really ? Not even here ? I knew that to be the case in India, which I had been away from too long to really know or understand.. but isn't this my home - America ?

And then I gripped by a cold reality - who am I to judge ? .... I am but an immigrant, with a suitcase packed and ready for the next opportunity, the next adventure - with temporary roots and transferable ties, an unquenchable thirst for new experiences for pushing myself into places and experiences I've not yet begun to imagine - what do I know about people who have mastered the art of stillness, who revel in continuity - aren't I the one envious of all the people I know who go to the same church all their lives, and where there is continuity of lifestyle across generations, a permanence that I who move to a different home on an average of 3.5 years have never experienced ?