There's no better way to see a place than with natives in heart and soul who have a strong sense of place and strong devotion to it. And so I saw New Jersey with Alice and Brooklyn with Jon.
My dear friend from Madison, Wisconsin, graduate student days, Alice Twombly the poet and master literature teacher, grew up in the Englewood, Teaneck, Leonia area of an ever-changing New Jersey just across from the Big City. She still lives there. It's home. Sure, you can see Manhattan from this place, but the towns-upon-towns that constitute suburban New Jersey outside of NYC seemed larger this time, more historic, vital, dynamic. We toured the ancient Palisades, those dramatic cliffs along the lower Hudson River that provide a unique view of the NYC skyline, and are not far from where Hamilton and Burr dueled it out. Yes, lots of duels and lots of history along those Palisades. We went to a poetry reading featuring poet Don Zirilli, a new voice for me, reading from his soon-to-be-published book "Heaven's Not for You" (see poem below, a revisioning and modern-day retelling of a biblical Parable). This Poetry series, held at the Classic Quiche Cafe in Teaneck, was started by Alice and poet friend Zev Shanken many years ago and it's still going strong. We shared dinner together at an Indian restaurant before the readings. We also spent a lovely evening at a Shabbat service and dinner at the home of friends. It was there I learned that a lovely college Sophomore, who I saw shedding a tear during the service, was the girlfriend of the handsome young man who was killed along with his entire family in that Costa Rica plane crash just before Christmas. How small the world is, and how sad it often is. I felt glad she was among such loving friends from her Synagogue.
We marched in Leonia for women's rights and against the current White House occupant, where I met some remarkable resisters, like Anne and Joe Cassidy, and the dedicated women who organized an outstanding program of meaningful talks and music. We sang "This Land is Your Land," a heartfelt echo from the 1960s that is as relevant today as ever and still tells it like it is.
We wove in and around Dutch Colonial brick homes, so full of stories, down Main Streets and side streets. Alice introduced me to NJ American Colonial and Revolutionary War history, with a stop at the Historic New Bridge Landing where George Washington retreated across the Hackensack River with his ragtag Continental army after a great loss at Fort Lee. It moved Patrick Henry to write those famous words: "These are the times that try men's souls."
And so I saw New Jersey through the eyes of a native daughter.
I saw Brooklyn in the same way, for the first time, through the eyes of Jon Kay, a son of our very dearest best friends Mike and Bettye Ruth Kay, from our shared time at the University of Toledo. Jon wasn't born in Brooklyn but his Dad was, and Jon knows it intimately, honors it.
Alice and I started with the Prospect Park neighborhood by the Botanic Gardens, the Zoo, and the grand Soldiers and Sailors Arch in the Grand Army Plaza, designed after the Arc de Triomphe in Paris to honor "The Defenders of the Union, 1861-1865." We traversed the neighborhoods around it, admired the famous brownstones in all their architectural delights from over hundreds of years, and took in the sense of the place.
Then we met Jon, and got to see the inside of a Brooklyn brownstone, large, in fine shape, for sale. I could live there, I thought, although the price is astronomical. With Alice at the wheel, we stopped briefly at a well-known Italian bakery shop, which took me back to my grandmothers' cookies and my mom's, who made them by the dozens every Christmas. We moved on through the neighborhoods to the Brooklyn Bridge. Iconic, astonishing, awesome. Brooklyn in its glory, with the most beautiful views of the Statue of Liberty and the Manhattan skyline across the East River.
Jon made a special effort to take me to his very favorite view from the Bridge, and I momentarily shared his joy in it, his sense of its soul. This was Jon's paradise on Earth, and in that moment, it became mine, too.
Here's an interesting fact about the designers and builders of the Brooklyn Bridge, German immigrant John Augustus Roebling and, after his death, his son and wife Washington Roebling and Emily Warren Roebling, taken from Wikipedia.
by Donald Zirilli
If you've ever been angry at your brother,
you're a murderer.
If you've even insulted your brother,
you're a murderer.
If you remember what your brother did to you,
Heaven's not for you.
If you look at anyone with lust,
you're an adulterer.
If you remarry,
you're an adulterer.
Heaven's not for you.
If your right eye offends you, pluck it out.
If your right hand offends you, cut it off.
Don't swear by the earth,
earth is God's footstool.
Don't swear by your head,
you can't change one hair of it.
Don't swear by Heaven,
Heaven's not for you.
My dear friend from Madison, Wisconsin, graduate student days, Alice Twombly the poet and master literature teacher, grew up in the Englewood, Teaneck, Leonia area of an ever-changing New Jersey just across from the Big City. She still lives there. It's home. Sure, you can see Manhattan from this place, but the towns-upon-towns that constitute suburban New Jersey outside of NYC seemed larger this time, more historic, vital, dynamic. We toured the ancient Palisades, those dramatic cliffs along the lower Hudson River that provide a unique view of the NYC skyline, and are not far from where Hamilton and Burr dueled it out. Yes, lots of duels and lots of history along those Palisades. We went to a poetry reading featuring poet Don Zirilli, a new voice for me, reading from his soon-to-be-published book "Heaven's Not for You" (see poem below, a revisioning and modern-day retelling of a biblical Parable). This Poetry series, held at the Classic Quiche Cafe in Teaneck, was started by Alice and poet friend Zev Shanken many years ago and it's still going strong. We shared dinner together at an Indian restaurant before the readings. We also spent a lovely evening at a Shabbat service and dinner at the home of friends. It was there I learned that a lovely college Sophomore, who I saw shedding a tear during the service, was the girlfriend of the handsome young man who was killed along with his entire family in that Costa Rica plane crash just before Christmas. How small the world is, and how sad it often is. I felt glad she was among such loving friends from her Synagogue.
We marched in Leonia for women's rights and against the current White House occupant, where I met some remarkable resisters, like Anne and Joe Cassidy, and the dedicated women who organized an outstanding program of meaningful talks and music. We sang "This Land is Your Land," a heartfelt echo from the 1960s that is as relevant today as ever and still tells it like it is.
We wove in and around Dutch Colonial brick homes, so full of stories, down Main Streets and side streets. Alice introduced me to NJ American Colonial and Revolutionary War history, with a stop at the Historic New Bridge Landing where George Washington retreated across the Hackensack River with his ragtag Continental army after a great loss at Fort Lee. It moved Patrick Henry to write those famous words: "These are the times that try men's souls."
And so I saw New Jersey through the eyes of a native daughter.
I saw Brooklyn in the same way, for the first time, through the eyes of Jon Kay, a son of our very dearest best friends Mike and Bettye Ruth Kay, from our shared time at the University of Toledo. Jon wasn't born in Brooklyn but his Dad was, and Jon knows it intimately, honors it.
Alice and I started with the Prospect Park neighborhood by the Botanic Gardens, the Zoo, and the grand Soldiers and Sailors Arch in the Grand Army Plaza, designed after the Arc de Triomphe in Paris to honor "The Defenders of the Union, 1861-1865." We traversed the neighborhoods around it, admired the famous brownstones in all their architectural delights from over hundreds of years, and took in the sense of the place.
Then we met Jon, and got to see the inside of a Brooklyn brownstone, large, in fine shape, for sale. I could live there, I thought, although the price is astronomical. With Alice at the wheel, we stopped briefly at a well-known Italian bakery shop, which took me back to my grandmothers' cookies and my mom's, who made them by the dozens every Christmas. We moved on through the neighborhoods to the Brooklyn Bridge. Iconic, astonishing, awesome. Brooklyn in its glory, with the most beautiful views of the Statue of Liberty and the Manhattan skyline across the East River.
* * * * *
"As Chief Engineer, Washington Roebling [who took over following his father's death] supervised the entire project from his apartment with a view of the work, designing and redesigning caissons and other equipment. He was aided by his wife Emily Warren Roebling, who provided the critical written link between her husband and the engineers on site. Under her husband's guidance, Emily studied higher mathematics, the calculations of catenary curves, the strengths of materials, bridge specifications, and the intricacies of cable construction. She spent the next 11 years assisting Washington Roebling, helping to supervise the bridge's construction." (Wikipedia)
The construction of the Brooklyn Bridge is detailed in the 1972 book The Great Bridge by David McCullough and Brooklyn Bridge (1981), the first PBS documentary film by Ken Burns. Burns drew heavily on McCullough's book for the film and used him as narrator.It is also described in Seven Wonders of the Industrial World, a BBC docudrama series with an accompanying book."Heaven is Not for You"
by Donald Zirilli
If you've ever been angry at your brother,
you're a murderer.
If you've even insulted your brother,
you're a murderer.
If you remember what your brother did to you,
Heaven's not for you.
If you look at anyone with lust,
you're an adulterer.
If you remarry,
you're an adulterer.
Heaven's not for you.
If your right eye offends you, pluck it out.
If your right hand offends you, cut it off.
Don't swear by the earth,
earth is God's footstool.
Don't swear by your head,
you can't change one hair of it.
Don't swear by Heaven,
Heaven's not for you.