The Bread Crumb Trail Part 2 (We Few, We Happy Few....)

Back to the Breadcrumb Trail. In the spring and summer of 2008 I had begun to seriously focus on Newburgh. I researched on the internet and returned to drive and walk around and meet people.

Much of the internet information was discouraging. Newburgh had the highest per capita rate of violent crimes in the State of New York for something like 18 years running. Municipal corruption was rife. One scandal really impressed me -- police officers had been chopping up towed vehicles for parts. If your car got towed for a parking violation, you would never see it again, it would have been disassembled and "fenced" like any stolen car.



The positon of City Manager had been a revolving door, with a series of short-lived tenures. City finances were near-desparate. There seemed to be a robust and noisy political process -- but I couldn't tell if that was a sign of health or of the parlous state of things.

Still, I recalled the way so many people had written off New York City in the 1970's, when the famous headline summarized the President's response to the city's request for aid -- "Ford to City, Drop Dead."

It was Newburgh's future that interested me, not its dismal recent past. And all the negative noise could mean bargain prices.

When I found a news item about a recently-opened art supply store, that became my next destination. What I found, directly across the street from Washington's Headquarters and a few doors down from the Macchiato, was a well-appointed and fully-stocked store, with proprietor Michael Gabor standing tall and erect behind the counter, surrounded by Newburgh memorabilia and greeting cards designed by a local artist, in addition to the assortment of brushes, pens, gels and other art-related supplies one might expect.



Everything cohered to a central vision, combining art, small business, nostalgia and Newburgh's future. Further research would indicate that Mr. Gabor was an outspoken figure, who had run for city council, and been sued for defamation as a result of outspoken comments about alleged corrupt business dealings involving the city.

On a subsequent visit, I found Michael's amiable partner Gerardo, a painter, sipping his coffee in front of the store. We engaged in lengthy conversation about Newburgh, urban environments, the pros and cons of so-called gentrification, art and other subjects. It was a beautiful summer day, and the sidewalk was gently splashed with filtered sunlight working its way through the large maple and oak trees in the Headquarters Park across the street. I was amazed, once again, by the calm elegance of this little spot, hidden from outside world if the perceptions surrounding Newburgh were a giant wall and this the secret garden within.

Various other individuals happened by while we were talking; some joined in the conversation. There was Peter, a white-haired gentleman wearing a short-sleeved dress shirt, who turned out to be the landlord, as well as upstairs neighbor, for the art supply store. He had been smitten with Newburgh's potential, and bought and fixed up the building, many years earlier. A woman from the local historical society came by to post a sign about a forthcoming event. When I expressed interest in
Newburgh's beautiful old homes, she waxed eloquent about the annual December Candlelight Tour, when many of the older homes are opened for visitors. I imagined an orderly procession of candle-bearing, scarf-wrapped neighbors going door-to-door. I wondered if I would ever own a home that people would want to tour.

A woman came by to put a sign on the window of the storefront about an upcoming lecture on local history.

I couldn't believe all this -- a few blocks away, Broadway was as scary and depressing as ever, and the world thought of Newburgh, if at all, as New York's murder capital, but these people.... they were carrying on as if they were in a quaint old New England college town.




When I brought my wife Susan along on a visit, she commented that I seemed be a different person in Newburgh -- friendly, outgoing, asking people questions about themselves. Any possible negative implications about my personality in other locations do not need to be explored in this forum.

Gerardo from the art supply store had recommended Chris Hanson, a local real estate broker who specializes in homes in Newburgh's historic areas. Chris turned out to be a rocker-turned-broker with a hint of spiky hair. He had restored his own home, a tidy victorian in the Washington Heights neighborhood. His wife, Merle Becker, is a filmmaker, whose credits include a documentary called Saving Newburgh, which centered around Michael Gabor's unsuccessful campaign for a seat on city council.

In retrospect, I had a somewhat romanticized of everyone that I met. I did not see the weariness or stress lines. I knew nothing of petty jealousies, or other failings that one finds in people everywhere. I saw only a noble band of dreamers. I saw courage and vision. I wanted to be part of it. For once, a club I wanted to join.

Chris Hanson began showing me buildings.



This is the point where the bread crumb trail ends and my Newburgh adventures begin in earnest. I should explain that I call my strange meandering journey the bread crumb trail for two reasons. Besides the obvious fairy-tale reference, I was always running from one place to another, juggling work, family life and my exploration of the Hudson Valley and Newburgh, with little time to eat. Meals tended to be whatever I could manage to wolf down in the car -- quick sandwiches for lunch, buttered rolls or bagels for breakfast. So when I got out of the car, there would be a sprinkling of crumbs from my lap and shirt or jacket front. My personal trail of crumbs.