Why I have hope for Newark

Keeping Faith in Newark

By: Kristy Barry

Posted: 12/18/07

In life and love, I've functioned on the premise that "it's okay to be optimistic, you can always cry later."

But when I left small-town Ohio and arrived in Newark, New Jersey to attend Rutgers University, I was crying within the first week. Loathe at first sight.

Yet for the past two years, I've stayed.

For my first year in Newark, I lived in the Robert Treat Hotel near Military Park, a fair-weathered lodge for the homeless--a place where benches become beds and one schizophrenic yells at his seemingly imaginary wife "Debbie."

There was a stabbing in the park involving a man who ran into my building screaming that he had AIDS and hepatitis while flinging blood about like he was Jackson Pollock and the lobby was his canvas.

Optimism took another hit when a man lurched at me with a pair of scissors tucked in his coat sleeve and threatened to "shoot" me with his coupon-cutting weapon. I had a fourth of a nerve to explain the logistical impossibility of shooting someone with scissors, but kept walking.

Vagrants hustle me for change and syringes, some beer billboards are printed in Spanish, and posters were plastered about promoting the Gun Buy Back Program. Dollar stores and fried chicken abound, so many churches yet so much crime. I can't find a grocery in walking distance but if I need a wig, I'm in business.

When my sister Katie and I were storytelling about the city, one student said she saw a man walking around with a yo-yo wrapped around his ear. "And once," she said, "I saw a pimp and his whore get in a fight because he said, 'bitch, you owe me five bucks' and she's like, 'well, you're gonna have to beat it out of me,' and so he did."

Now, I know you can't compare corn fields to concrete jungles and Ohio has its own reputation. The ignorance of some citizens hits you so hard you swear you're witness to some kind of sick skit.

"I don't need to visit New York City," a man told me once. "'Cause I already been to Buffalo." According to this deer-hunter, Manhattan only harbors homos and terrorists, and he needed not look further than Niagara Falls. There is intelligent life in Ohio, surely, but the rifle-toting ignoramuses seem to float to the surface faster.

And Newark has its share of interesting individuals. There are the men walking around late at night with lampshades on their head, trying to sell me a canister of oats, a hair straightener and a box fan out of a garbage bag.

Some women give me their sad sob stories and some men tell me they've been in prison since I was born, just got out, and need a place to stay. I've learned about the 1967 riots in this city, how Newark got in a boxing match with itself and lost big time.

And it boils down to a city and its residents trying to manage, when life gives them shit sandwiches. Keeping the faith is easier said than done.

But one morning, as I walked through Military Park with my sister, we passed up blood stains on the sidewalk and cardboard cots to then suddenly stop and stare at the cityscape. An October sky glowing on the Prudential building, the New Jersey Performing Arts Center, and the tree lights of the park.

"Ya know, Newark doesn't look so bad when you just look up," she said.

A vagrant growled on the ground and we started running. Apparently, this was the equivalent of telling an angry, ugly fat woman that she looks better with the lights off.

But once I was able to pick my head up, I could really see the lights.

Life is comfortable in Ohio because among many things, you can leave your doors unlocked, live cheaply, and see the stars at night. Neighbors are your greatest allies, sports are sacred, and often times it's so quiet all you can hear are crickets.

But staying in Ohio would be like playing the original Super Mario Brothers video game. Sure it's simple and fun, but I wouldn't know about other worlds with flying dinosaurs, exotic jungle fruit, and challenging landscapes. Despite the dungeons and fireballs of Newark, my side of the city is my town.

I can always go back, but I think I'll stay until I need to conquer a different level. What's the worst that could happen? I can always cry later.

---

© Copyright 2009 Observer