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Volume 115, Number 157 - Tuesday, March 30, 1999
Growing up, eating out under the bridge
by John Friedlander
Lyle Lovett sings haunting songs about old Texas the way an aging widower tells a funny story about his dear departed. Equal parts of reverence, joy, sorrow and longing blend to paint a passionate picture of a time that has passed for a love that will never die.
Somehow, the most engaging moments in a concert or a life happen when the contrast between pleasure and pain are the greatest. The saddest songs are often the sweetest, and we most easily remember the peaks and the valleys of our lives, while the ho-hum days fade away.
As cities grow and change, the peaks and valleys of many lives combine to create the complex topography of time and place. A neighborhood which appears small and humble to an outsider becomes a rich tapestry when seen through the eyes of residents.
Springtime is coming to the neighborhood tucked under the Middletown end of the Arrigoni Bridge. A crowd of kids hangs out on a porch celebrating the arrival of a friend's new motorcycle, while a fresh breeze carries the sound of Route 9 traffic up Miller Street. Ed Walker and Fabian Turner enjoy the sunshine as a local mechanic checks out a car Ed is selling.
Fabian has spent all of his 23 years living on Miller Street. His grandmother arrived there from South Carolina long before he was born. So many Turners have called the neighborhood home he jokingly calls the small park behind his Dad's old house "Turner Park."
Ed is 31 and has lived in Middletown all his life. He's lived on Bridge Street for a year. He would like to buy a home for sale in the neighborhood, but is wary of investing in a neighborhood he isn't sure will last.
The city will soon demolish three houses on Miller Street and one on Bridge Street. Members of Fabian's family have lived in three of these houses. Boarded up and abandoned, Ed wishes he could get in to renovate the structures, but says he hasn't been able to negotiate such a deal. He wonders if the city has a bigger plan for the neighborhood that has kept it from issuing the work permits he says have been applied for.
In fact, the city does not have such a plan, but knows it needs one. The Common Council's recent decision approving funding for demolition of these four houses, another ten-unit building on Ferry Street and a house on Washington Street triggered a request by the North End Action Team (NEAT) for the city to declare a formal policy on the Miller/Bridge Street neighborhood. In response, the city is convening its Redevelopment Agency to discuss the matter.
By statute, the Redevelopment Agency has the power to determine the fate of the neighborhood. If the Agency decides that access to the neighborhood, which is hemmed in by railroad tracks, wetlands and Route 9, is too difficult and dangerous, it could acquire the land through foreclosure or by eminent domain, relocate residents, and raze the structures in the area. Or the Agency might decide the neighborhood is viable, and could make funds available to redevelop vacant lots and repair existing structures. The Redevelopment Agency will meet on April 12 in Room 208 at City Hall to begin deliberations.
Meanwhile, a few steps away from Ed's and Fabian's homes, Alfred Maturo Jr. has operated Alfredo's Riverside Restaurant for the last 34 years. Dottie Messer has raised three kids on the income she's earned tending bar and waiting tables for Al over the last 28 years. Every recent Connecticut Governor but John Rowland has stopped in for a freshly made plate of pasta or a lobster. Ed works nights for Al, and says Al has supported the neighborhood and been good to the kids there for as long as he can remember. Every November 10, Al hosts a Marine Corps birthday party, drawing a thick crowd of current and former Marines from all over the area.
There's no back way into the neighborhood Alfredo's anchors. You have to have steady nerves and confidence to negotiate the river of Route 9 traffic that rushes by a few yards from Alfredo's front door. "Not a week goes by we don't get someone in here saying they've driven by for years and finally had to stop in," says Al. That will be my line when I stop in soon for dinner. The reviews and the menu look like Alfredo's has lasted 34 years for a reason. At 62, Al says he's getting a little tired, but has no plans to retire any time soon.
What does Al think of the city's plans to knock down four houses nearby? "The city should take over the whole neighborhood," he says, and I can't quite tell if he's joking. Al tells me of the many letters he's written to various members of local and state government since 1969 requesting action to be taken to provide a safer route into the area for his customers and neighbors. So far all the talk has resulted only in a couple of flashing lights on Route 9, and a new road providing only emergency access to the other end of Bridge Street. "It's an awkward situation," says Al, recalling all the plans he's seen come and go.
You can't walk Miller and Bridge Streets very long without figuring out that you're standing on ground zero for what would be a logical location for a new interchange between Route 9, Route 66 East and the top of Main Street. In fact, Ed and Fabian's families would probably have grown up somewhere else if it weren't for some very strategically located obstacles to "progress:" St. John's church, school and cemetery, the cemetery across Hartford Avenue which is reputed to hold the remains of slaves, and O'Rourke's Diner, which is on the Registry of Historic Places and can't be moved. Threading a highway interchange through all of these barriers may be a job so challenging even the all-powerful Connecticut Department of Transportation isn't up to the task.
I went looking for a story about the shadow of a bridge that finally seemed ready to suffocate a downtrodden neighborhood whose time had run out. Instead, I found lifelong resident Fabian Turner saying "It's a good neighborhood, it just needs a chance." I found a freshly-renovated four unit apartment building. I found a house being painted in eye-catching orange, as if to say "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere!" I found a restaurant firmly entrenched in an oddly popular location, and an owner with no plans to disappear anytime soon.
There are many songs to be sung about this neighborhood hiding in plain sight. Some are sad, some are sweet. Demolishing the houses Fabian lived in may be an appropriate way to get rid of structures now too run down to live in safely. But when the Redevelopment Agency meets on April 12 to discuss the fate of the area, I hope they will adjourn to Alfredo's for a meal, lovingly made in the neighborhood tradition.
Perhaps after dinner they can stroll over to Turner Park and listen to the strains of "We Are Family" carried on the wind from a radio nearby. Maybe these sights, sounds and flavors will make it easier to understand the feelings of those who call the Miller/Bridge Street neighborhood home.
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