Someday, when I have a new digital camera, I would like to post more of my own photos here. These are from a few years back. The 1st picture was taken in downtown Bridgeport, CT. Bridgeport is a sad sad city really. Due to corruption and neglect, it has fallen apart. There is beauty to be found in the forgotten but something so sad about how people let it happen. I usually don't give my photos titles but I call this one "Gateway to Hell".
The next 2 photos were taken in Albany, NY at the now gone but deeply missed "Palais Royale". When I say I loved this fucking bar, I do not exaggerate. It was a run down, dirty dive and the best place I ever had the honor of having a drink. It had been around for over 80 years in various locations. It was owned by a man named Rocky whose dad had handed it down to him. Rocky would tell you stories about shining the shoes of Legs Diamond when he was a kid. He was a little bitty Italian man and even in his 90's still flirting with the ladies. The bar was filled with irreplaceable bottles, knick knacks and memories. You could find yourself sitting next to a regular that had been there since 8am or a senator stopping by after work (the capitol building is down the street). The last time they had a raise in prices, the beers went up to $2.50.They had a shuffle board bowling machine and we had a league that played on Sunday nights.
Rocky fell down on one of those Sunday nights and broke his leg. He never really recovered and died the next year at the age of 93. The bar ended up closing. Jeannie ( the long time bartender) tried to buy the bar with no luck. Rocky had left it to his nephew and the son of a bitch (not apologizing for that) sold it to some guy who turned it in to a family place. I never set foot in it again after it had changed hands. Just wasn't going to be the same.
I could go on forever about the place and probably will when I post more pics.
3 comments:
ooo, awesome effect on that second picture!
The former Arsenal of Democracy in decaying ruins, abandoned and left to fend for itself. Alone, it's name bearing a stigma that outshines it's glory days.
Sort of like the downtown of San Antonio with the exception of the only part the city cares about: the Riverwalk. Two miles of revenue generating tourism behind the walls that keep the street filth away from the fat, money spending tourists.
Bridgeport calls itself the Park City for its (potentially) beautiful and numerous parks. San Antonio offers nothing other than being a wide spot in the road that spread with a cancerous ferocity and a decaying core. Bridgeport made the machines (some still proudly bear the city's name) that made the country (don't forget PT Barnum was the mayor!) while San Antonio produces nothing.
Bridgeport has potential still, it can be something. It can be reworked into Connecticut's answer to Austin or Portland, OR (of course there is a Portland in CT already but it's a shithole).
The unused potential in both the structures and citizenry of the Park City was an endless source of frustration during my time there. But at least it had memories of prosperity, however weak they may have been. San Antonio has a nearly forgotten Spanish outpost as its anchor in the annals of American History. A symbol of seemingly proud but brutal defeat of the Republic of Texas, a state of proudly uneducated and paranoid who hide behind too many guns and big trucks.
I forgot to mention two things:
The first was something from the first paragraph. When everyone left the Park City en masse, they didn't bother to break windows or scrawl graffiti. They just left. Some buildings caught fire, others crumbled but many had the doors and windows of the first 3 floors covered in concrete, permanently sealing them from squatters, urban explorers and developers.
The second thing I forgot was the word "rednecks" in the last paragraph. It should read " ... paranoid rednecks ... ". While I'm at it, I should mention they are proud of being defeated, proud of doing anything to make rich white guys in DC richer, proud of being duped, proud of being afraid, proud of being sold.
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