Poor, Pitiful Poughkeepsie

New York was crawling under my skin. I was saturated with the city's muggy, dirty, salacious atmosphere. I was being swept away with it's undercurrent of cynicism, sarcasm, and jealous ambition. And I was sure that the scampering rats that occupied the city's lower east side would have agreed with me. Brad and I decided to escape the city for a day. I would have been happy to be anywhere else for that day, and he agreed. So we trudged through the sticky, summer weather to our car and turned on the A/C full blast. Moments later, we were watching coniferous trees happily dance through the windshield as we drove aimlessly north. We were slowly shedding our New York shells.

Hours later, we had decided on our destination. Poughkeepsie, New York (pronounced poo-kip-see). For no other reason than it’s ridiculous name. We had no knowledge of the city’s history or what it had to offer us. My first impression of the little city was that it had been woefully neglected. The antique buildings were rusted over, boarded up, and forgotten. The city was like a time capsule from the seventies. The worn and tattered signs on the abandoned buildings spoke of a different time. Something had happened in the seventies that had turned this once proud town into a ghost town. The city’s occupants were sluggish. Their appearance was dated, although not as dated as the rest of the city. It was as if they had reached the early 1990’s and had given up. In fact, the atmosphere of the town reflected that exact attitude. The city, itself, had given up. While driving through the town we came across something that resembled a sculpture graveyard. It appeared that the city’s scraps had been joyfully fused together, creating colorful metal shapes that spotted the grassy null. We welcomed the sight of such inspired ingenuity. We pulled the car over to get a closer look. Close up, it was clear that these sculptures had also been neglected. The paint was peeling off in places, and spots of rust had begun to spread over these creations like a cancer. But still, the art seemed to infuse this small section of the city with a small amount of inspiration.

What had led to the town’s decay? I wondered. Brad and I discussed the phenomena intently on our way home. We deduced that something had happened in the 1970’s that had led to it’s neglect. Perhaps industry had been sent overseas, and all of the jobs had vanished, leaving only the town’s laziest or unskilled citizens to roam the streets. Whatever had happened, we were content to return to our bustling, fast-paced city. After hours of driving south, we were finally home. And my attitude about the city had drastically changed after wading through it’s antithesis. I realized that I was surrounded by the most creative, ambitious, talented, powerful people in the country. Of course, this comes at a cost. The dirty city is filled with secrets and betrayals. But at least it’s filled with something.