Losing My Religion

First of all, I haven’t given up on God,  “Losing my religion” is actually an old southern expression for being at the end of one’s rope, and the moment when politeness gives way to anger. And that’s how many feel about the “Quality of Life” in Syracuse. I’ve lost my religion, and my ability to be polite, especially when I have people bending my ear to the horror stories detailing conditions on their street, on their block and in their city. I’ve said it quietly and now, I’m saying it out loud, we have a tremendous quality of life problem in the city of Syracuse.

Despite new and innovative programs and processes planned for our city, for those who remain in some of our neighborhoods, confidence in the direction we are headed in is waning. While new and exciting things are being celebrated, bringing new residents and new wealth to the city, there are many of us who feel left behind.

Would you be my neighbor? “Click” on image to enlarge.

Anyone who has been to my home have seen the growing junkyard complete with multiple cars, trucks, assorted trailers and other items, reminiscent of TV’s Redd Foxx of Sanford and Son; a place selling junked items from his home.  From assorted lawn furniture gathered in piles, several trailers, to the rotting carpet jutting out of a busted attic window.

As I near the end of my mortgage I suddenly realize who’s going to invest in a dump? Who is going to want to see blight as the Bluebird sitting on their shoulder, every morning?

Living on the “wrong” side of West Genesee Street comes with its own set of problems. The conditions on what I’ve deemed the Coleman’s Pub side of W. Genesee Street, are far better. The homes are maintained, not a tinge of blight in the Tipperary Hill neighborhood. A stone’s throw away from Tipp Hill, merely 400 feet away from that neighborhood, across from Porter School, good golly Miss Molly; an unregistered, uninspected truck sitting there for well over a month, this is not uncommon. It’s like the bad part of the Wizard of Oz, we have everything except flying monkeys.

After 12 years and three different Mayoral administrations I’ve surmised that I live in a sanctioned slum.  Dealing with quality-of-life issues in this small area behind Brooklyn Pickle west is like bailing water out of the bowels of the Titanic.