Wednesday October 8, 2008 at 1:56 am
Carson
The other night, after Derrick and I spent twenty five minutes trying to find a decent parking spot and ended up wedged between a chain link fence and an abandoned digger, we began walking our way to Diesel on East Carson to see one of his favorite (and admittedly, one of my new favorite) local bands.
As we were approaching the main drag, we disagreed for the millionth time on the right direction, and for the millionth time, I was absolutely, confidently correct. When I highlighted that fact, he softly mentioned something about how he doesn’t know this part of town, and my reply was a very vocal, and completely mock-serious, I GREW UP ON THESE STREETS.
One thing I discovered upon moving to suburbia when I turned fourteen was that no one ever left. At least until they could legally get into one of the hundreds of bars, nestled comfortably between churches and tattoo parlors, or had to pass through on their way to a high school football game in Mount Lebanon.
While my infancy was spent in my grandparents’ home in Mount Oliver, my mother and I eventually moved nearby, to an apartment on the South Side. This period of my life wasn’t especially documented, save for a few pictures of my diaper-clad self bouncing between sidewalks, staring in awe at dozens of hot air balloons (and not just the colorful bags above wicker baskets — we’re talking giant cookies and bottles of Miller Lite) celebrating the Pittsburgh Regatta, which has since gone to the toilet, along with the balloon festivities.
And as we continued walking, I realized how I haven’t just gone out and taken pictures of the city for a while, and yesterday on my way to work, I shot a few of my old neighborhood and realized how happy I was that I grew up there.
The playground, near the once-home of the South Side Summer Street Spectacular, which my grandfather took me to every summer. There was a massive (from a six-year-old’s perspective), ripply slide that one could climb up via what seemed like a rickety fire escape and ride down in burlap sacks.
Our little Ukrainian Orthodox church, which we attended at least once a week, and had some big effects on my upbringing.
If we walked along these far enough, we’d eventually meet a group of ducks by the river, and feed them slices of white bread.
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P.S. Thank you to everyone who let me know that this post was printed in City Paper. It was strange, and awesome, to see something I wrote published simply as black text on paper, without photos and colors and links. And electricity. In any event, as is usually the case, I’d be clueless without you.
The other night, after Derrick and I spent twenty five minutes trying to find a decent parking spot and ended up wedged between a chain link fence and an abandoned digger, we began walking our way to Diesel on East Carson to see one of his favorite (and admittedly, one of my new favorite) local bands.
As we were approaching the main drag, we disagreed for the millionth time on the right direction, and for the millionth time, I was absolutely, confidently correct. When I highlighted that fact, he softly mentioned something about how he doesn’t know this part of town, and my reply was a very vocal, and completely mock-serious, I GREW UP ON THESE STREETS.
One thing I discovered upon moving to suburbia when I turned fourteen was that no one ever left. At least until they could legally get into one of the hundreds of bars, nestled comfortably between churches and tattoo parlors, or had to pass through on their way to a high school football game in Mount Lebanon.
While my infancy was spent in my grandparents’ home in Mount Oliver, my mother and I eventually moved nearby, to an apartment on the South Side. This period of my life wasn’t especially documented, save for a few pictures of my diaper-clad self bouncing between sidewalks, staring in awe at dozens of hot air balloons (and not just the colorful bags above wicker baskets — we’re talking giant cookies and bottles of Miller Lite) celebrating the Pittsburgh Regatta, which has since gone to the toilet, along with the balloon festivities.
And as we continued walking, I realized how I haven’t just gone out and taken pictures of the city for a while, and yesterday on my way to work, I shot a few of my old neighborhood and realized how happy I was that I grew up there.
The playground, near the once-home of the South Side Summer Street Spectacular, which my grandfather took me to every summer. There was a massive (from a six-year-old’s perspective), ripply slide that one could climb up via what seemed like a rickety fire escape and ride down in burlap sacks.
Our little Ukrainian Orthodox church, which we attended at least once a week, and had some big effects on my upbringing.
If we walked along these far enough, we’d eventually meet a group of ducks by the river, and feed them slices of white bread.
————————-
P.S. Thank you to everyone who let me know that this post was printed in City Paper. It was strange, and awesome, to see something I wrote published simply as black text on paper, without photos and colors and links. And electricity. In any event, as is usually the case, I’d be clueless without you.
Hi, I found your blog on this new directory of WordPress Blogs at blackhatbootcamp.com/listofwordpressblogs. I dont know how your blog came up, must have been a typo, i duno. Anyways, I just clicked it and here I am. Your blog looks good. Have a nice day. James.
That looks quite lovely. All it needs is a donut. (No, I don’t know why; I just looked at those pics and suddenly wished for a donut.)
I really enjoyed your documentation of Pittsburgh and remenicing about the neighborhoods of yesteryear. My how Pittsburgh has changed. I grew up about 3 or 4 miles from here and every time I drive through the ‘old’ neighborhood I can’t help but feel that time has forgotten it.
What a cute neighborhood. The red bank reminds me of those decorative Christmas towns people put up in December.
I am so far away from home right now and wish I wasn’t. These pictures warm the soul! The Southside looks so nice in the summer:)
My wife basically grew up in Mt.Oliver and then went to the SouthSide Hospital School of Nursing. Her grandmother lived down on Mary St. close to 18th. When we were first married we lived in an upstairs apartment on 18th street. So, much time was spent wandering around da southside. We now live out in the ‘burbs but travel to SS frequently, due to my wife being a nurse at UPMC SouthSide. We still love the sandwiches from Real McCoy on Carson. The mill is gone replaced by the Cheese Cake Factory now and , of course, Mt Oliver is NOT what it once was at all. No longer visit Mike’s Lunch up there. Thanks for the pictures. Always nice to see…and I miss the Southside spectatular.
hey sweetie,
now i’m very homesick. what would it take for you to send me some pictures.
your uncle michael
I didn’t know quaint and charming little places like that still existed. I read everything you write.
Small towns 4Evah.
Seriously. I had to write it like that.
I love these pictures! Having grown up in a suburb of Pittsburgh (until 5th grade at least), it’s always nice to flashback and think about hearing them broadcast from the Pittsburgh Regatta on B94 (which I’ve been told has also gone to crap since I moved…)
Those made me miss Pittsburgh. And Amanda mentions B94! Awesome.
Odd that you should write about the old neighborhood just after friends and I had spoken ,over a beer or two or three, about our old neighborhood. The carefree days of childhood and the colorful memories of growing up. But,
Thomas Wolfe was right, you can’t go home again, I tried and was in shock.
Garfield hill is nothing like it was and never will be again, a shame for those yet to cherish the memories.
Some places perhaps, age gracefully others do not.
hiteach – Mike’s Lunch was a frequent stop for us, as was Josephine’s. I got a kick out of going to either place when I was little, as they correspond with the names of both of my grandparents.
Amanda – B94 recently came back on the air, although it doesn’t quite hold the same…spunk…for me as it used to. Although, that may have more to do with my age than the station.
I always love your pictures :) Your childhood does sound happy, I always get so nostalgic when I go back and visit my old neighborhood.
Carson Street will always be one of those timeless places for me.
thanks for your photos of the southside. I grew up in knoxville and really miss the area. i live in NY, but am relocating back to the burgh in a few months. just can’t stay away…
used to play softball in the field behind the park. used to walk up and down carson during the street spectacular buying jewelry from random people sitting outside coffee shops. used to love going to the pretzel shop. good times…
btw…my grandfather lived in mt. oliver too. right at the top of carson. mikes lunch was a frequent stop after pirates games with him. :)
i meant at the top of 18th, not carson. my bad…