The Lost Cities

I call them the The Lost Cities of the Hudson Valley. Strung out like tarnished gems on a long necklace, they dot the banks of the Hudson, from Yonkers to Kinderhook on the eastern side of the river; from Nyack to Saugerties along the western. Each has its own quirky charms, centuries of history, and modern problems.

Some years ago, I began thinking about buying a piece of real estate in one of the lost cities; it was to be an investment -- everyone knows the profits that can be made when a community turns around its fortunes for the better -- and also a project to occupy my spare time. I am just not any good at golf.

At first, I did not consider Newburgh a candidate. It just seemed too scary and hopeless. Just driving through the city on Rte. 9W had a surreal quality. Whether going north from Newburgh to Kingston, or south to West Point and below, 9W was generally a smooth ride; but not while passing through Newburgh, where the road became rutted and filled with potholes, and I wondered if I wasn't risking serious damage to my car's suspension just trying to get through.

Once I ventured to drive down Broadway, towards the river. In the distance, a breathtaking panorama of Mount Beacon on far side of the Hudson.




More immediately, to the right and left, along what had once been a prosperous shopping boulevard, there were classic signs of decay. Boarded up store fronts; drug dealers and shivering crackhos on the corners.

In its prime, indeed for the better part of 150 years, Newburgh was arguably the crown jewel, the diadem at the center of the tiara. Perhaps there had been a great hubris, or some evil so vile as to bring about a curse; none of the other lost cities fell as far, from apogee to nadir, as did Newburgh.