The old neighborhood
I think I'll give the festivities a few more days, one, because it's hard to talk about; two, because I have to decide if I'm going to name names or not; and three, when I let everything distill, I tend to write less. However, believe me, there's still plenty to write about.
Jake's dad still lives in the old neighborhood. This is where my father lived from one to twenty-five, and where he made the vast majority of his friendships--and, really, when it comes down to it, where he met the people who truly matter in his life, save for my mom. This small neighborhood was his entire world. His local park was there, his church and school, just everything. I've heard about this place and seen pictures, but if I've been there, it's been decades. I have zero memories of it. This is why, even though I barely knew Jake, I felt I should go to his funeral--to be there for his dad, sure, and my dad, but also to see such an important place in my father's life.
We left an hour and a half before mass and it only took us an hour to get there. He lived at Division and the Kennedy. Like, the church is well-known because they actually moved the Kennedy over so that they didn't have to tear it down. (Alas, at least one of dad's friends lost their original house to make room for the expressway.) It was weird to be there because even though I know it's right off the Kennedy, you don't realize how close it is until you walk around by the park area separating the church and the school and you go, these kids are playing with all these cars whizzing by just yards away! Pretty wild.
The neighborhood is nothing like I'd pictured it. For some reason I thought my father lived directly across from the park; he's a block over. And I thought the church was at the north end, facing the park on one of the narrow edges. It's actually on the east end, with the fieldhouse on the north end, and the church faces one of the wide edges. The park is one full city block, and in that area the blocks are longer than they are wide. It is almost entirely apartment buildings. Some of them are new. The ones that Jake's dad and other family members own are original; I don't think Jake's dad has ever lived his life elsewhere. I should ask my dad. As for my father, he'd lived on the next block. He told me today that when they first moved to the city, they lived in one apartment building, and then when the older lady next door passed away my grandfather bought that building. However, there were still tenants there, so they had to live in this cottage in the back for a while. Dad gladly drove us around and pointed out all sorts of buildings, saying this person lived here, this person lived there, that person lived here... It was like every third building had a story, and this is in the city where all the buildings are jam-packed close together. When he got to his old block, he confused me; I thought he said that his house wasn't the same, like the building had been torn down and rebuilt. I'd been taking pictures and said, well, I got the address. My mom kept insisting that the second time we went past, because dad I guess wanted to go by again, that I should get the building. I actually had, but again, didn't think it mattered. Today when I asked, dad said, no, that *was* the building he'd lived in; it just looked different. It was actually the first apartment building that wasn't the same. Ah. Okay. Good thing I had taken the picture.
The church is beautiful. On Wikipedia it's called the mother of all the Polish churches in the area. You can tell it was built for Polish families because, well, one, its saint is Polish, but two, the artwork on the walls is labeled in Polish. Usually it's Latin if it's anything, because these old churches were built pre-Vatican II. The church is undergoing renovation but there wasn't any scaffolding up or anything. The church has changed, though; a number of the pews were taken out, so they don't go as far back as they used to, and they had these odd half-pews about halfway back. Like, most pews are long; you can get out at the center aisle or on the far aisle, but that's it. The back pews ended up having a small aisle in the middle, though, so each pew could fit 3-4 adults comfortably. (That's where we ended up sitting. We could have fit a fourth person with us but it was nice having room.) The only trouble was that the kneelers in the half-pews were not cushioned. The full pews had cushioned kneelers, which is what I'm used to. Oh, man. Now, they had cushions you could grab, sort of like gardening pads, but I was not aware we'd be sitting there and in fact thought my father wanted to sit in a row with a cushioned kneeler, but for whatever reason he chose a half-pew. Grr. Note to self, I should remember that my father stops thinking at funerals (see: his brother's) and mom or I should lead the way. Mom actually gave up on kneeling because it was so uncomfortable. I didn't blame her, but I stuck it out as long as I could. Anyway, the ceiling is very ornate, as is the altar, and there were some additions that I had no idea what they were--shrines, perhaps? Dad told me that all the priests had to say mass once a day, so that if they weren't leading actual mass, they had to say it at one of the little side altars they had at the church. Weird. I've never heard of that. Things were also moved around, like the confessionals; I think dad said they used to be on the sides of the church, and now they're at the back. (I asked my father to go in one and I'd take his picture. He did not.)
Part of me wouldn't mind going back again some day so that I could walk around and see a little bit more, but it was cool while we were there, and very windy, so it wasn't exactly conducive to that when we had the time--and, well, we weren't exactly there to sight-see. And it reminds me that I don't think I could live in the city again. Parking is terrible, there are so many people, and gas--the gas station on the corner said regular unleaded is $4.15 with a car wash. It's $4.45 without. Holy crap. Out here, there's a ten-cent difference between the wash price and the normal price. (Also, it was $3.68 today.) No thank you.
Jake's dad still lives in the old neighborhood. This is where my father lived from one to twenty-five, and where he made the vast majority of his friendships--and, really, when it comes down to it, where he met the people who truly matter in his life, save for my mom. This small neighborhood was his entire world. His local park was there, his church and school, just everything. I've heard about this place and seen pictures, but if I've been there, it's been decades. I have zero memories of it. This is why, even though I barely knew Jake, I felt I should go to his funeral--to be there for his dad, sure, and my dad, but also to see such an important place in my father's life.
We left an hour and a half before mass and it only took us an hour to get there. He lived at Division and the Kennedy. Like, the church is well-known because they actually moved the Kennedy over so that they didn't have to tear it down. (Alas, at least one of dad's friends lost their original house to make room for the expressway.) It was weird to be there because even though I know it's right off the Kennedy, you don't realize how close it is until you walk around by the park area separating the church and the school and you go, these kids are playing with all these cars whizzing by just yards away! Pretty wild.
The neighborhood is nothing like I'd pictured it. For some reason I thought my father lived directly across from the park; he's a block over. And I thought the church was at the north end, facing the park on one of the narrow edges. It's actually on the east end, with the fieldhouse on the north end, and the church faces one of the wide edges. The park is one full city block, and in that area the blocks are longer than they are wide. It is almost entirely apartment buildings. Some of them are new. The ones that Jake's dad and other family members own are original; I don't think Jake's dad has ever lived his life elsewhere. I should ask my dad. As for my father, he'd lived on the next block. He told me today that when they first moved to the city, they lived in one apartment building, and then when the older lady next door passed away my grandfather bought that building. However, there were still tenants there, so they had to live in this cottage in the back for a while. Dad gladly drove us around and pointed out all sorts of buildings, saying this person lived here, this person lived there, that person lived here... It was like every third building had a story, and this is in the city where all the buildings are jam-packed close together. When he got to his old block, he confused me; I thought he said that his house wasn't the same, like the building had been torn down and rebuilt. I'd been taking pictures and said, well, I got the address. My mom kept insisting that the second time we went past, because dad I guess wanted to go by again, that I should get the building. I actually had, but again, didn't think it mattered. Today when I asked, dad said, no, that *was* the building he'd lived in; it just looked different. It was actually the first apartment building that wasn't the same. Ah. Okay. Good thing I had taken the picture.
The church is beautiful. On Wikipedia it's called the mother of all the Polish churches in the area. You can tell it was built for Polish families because, well, one, its saint is Polish, but two, the artwork on the walls is labeled in Polish. Usually it's Latin if it's anything, because these old churches were built pre-Vatican II. The church is undergoing renovation but there wasn't any scaffolding up or anything. The church has changed, though; a number of the pews were taken out, so they don't go as far back as they used to, and they had these odd half-pews about halfway back. Like, most pews are long; you can get out at the center aisle or on the far aisle, but that's it. The back pews ended up having a small aisle in the middle, though, so each pew could fit 3-4 adults comfortably. (That's where we ended up sitting. We could have fit a fourth person with us but it was nice having room.) The only trouble was that the kneelers in the half-pews were not cushioned. The full pews had cushioned kneelers, which is what I'm used to. Oh, man. Now, they had cushions you could grab, sort of like gardening pads, but I was not aware we'd be sitting there and in fact thought my father wanted to sit in a row with a cushioned kneeler, but for whatever reason he chose a half-pew. Grr. Note to self, I should remember that my father stops thinking at funerals (see: his brother's) and mom or I should lead the way. Mom actually gave up on kneeling because it was so uncomfortable. I didn't blame her, but I stuck it out as long as I could. Anyway, the ceiling is very ornate, as is the altar, and there were some additions that I had no idea what they were--shrines, perhaps? Dad told me that all the priests had to say mass once a day, so that if they weren't leading actual mass, they had to say it at one of the little side altars they had at the church. Weird. I've never heard of that. Things were also moved around, like the confessionals; I think dad said they used to be on the sides of the church, and now they're at the back. (I asked my father to go in one and I'd take his picture. He did not.)
Part of me wouldn't mind going back again some day so that I could walk around and see a little bit more, but it was cool while we were there, and very windy, so it wasn't exactly conducive to that when we had the time--and, well, we weren't exactly there to sight-see. And it reminds me that I don't think I could live in the city again. Parking is terrible, there are so many people, and gas--the gas station on the corner said regular unleaded is $4.15 with a car wash. It's $4.45 without. Holy crap. Out here, there's a ten-cent difference between the wash price and the normal price. (Also, it was $3.68 today.) No thank you.