It was always obvious that people were living in the small patch of trees at Broadway and Church Street, near the Port of Albany. Driving past in the morning, you could make out tents and tarps and sometimes a bit of smoke from a cooking fire. Now and then you’d see clothes stung up to dry.
This week, somebody — presumably the city — came in and cleared out the area. They didn’t do such a good job of cleaning up. If you walk through the site you can see bits and scraps of what was left behind by the people who lived there.
It reminded me a bit of the scene in “Ironweed” when a gang of thugs descend on a hobo camp to roust the squatters. No, people should not be living in the woods at the edge of town, but it made me sad that their little refuge was destroyed.
Think about what it would be like to live that way — and be thankful you know where you will spend the night.
Monday is furlough day.
I’ll spend the time spreading mulch in the garden. Taking the day off may sting a bit, but it’s nothing compared to the trouble it will cause people struggling to make ends meet. They’re getting screwed.
No, if it’s my duty to help save the taxpayers some money, you won’t hear a complaint from me. But what about you, David Paterson?
This was your idea, so maybe you’d consider giving up a day of your salary. Leading by example sends a powerful message. If you take the same hit you’re asking of the state workers, there might not be so much ill will.
Cynics would call it an empty gesture, but a little symbolism goes a long way. It’s certainly better than what you’ve got going on now. Run it by somebody in your press office.
In case you’re curious, I took a job at the State of New York less than a year ago because it seemed a little more secure than working in TV. The way things are these days, I’m grateful to be working. Missing a day or two won’t kill me.
This clock would be exactly right if I took the picture at 9:04. It was actually taken at 12:09.
One of Fred Dicker’s favorite targets in Albany isn’t a politician or state official; it’s the clock on top of City Hall.
For months (years?) on his radio show, Dicker has been tossing out jibes directed at Mayor Jerry Jennings and the non-working clock on the tower across from the Capitol. Dicker calls it a fitting symbol for the town’s dysfunctional nature.
Dysfunctional indeed. The clock is locked in at about 9:04 and stays that way.
Some people would find it maddening to walk into a building every day where the clock wasn’t working, particularly if they were the mayor — but Jennings seems comfortable in his relationship with time. Besides, he has many more important things on his mind, like… ummm… well… just take my word for it, he has important things to fix. Like the potholes. Oh, nevermind.
During a recent trip I got to climb a church tower in Sibiu, Romania, walled fortress city of the the Transylvania Saxons. The church was constructed in 1520, and for a few bucks you can go to the top of the 240 foot spire. On the way up the rickety steps was a small booth containing the mechanical guts of the clock and bell system. They worked perfectly.
How nice to visit a place where they have some civic pride.