Albany

I saw Joe Smallbany sitting on a Washington Park bench. As usual, he had a sour look on his face.

"What's wrong, Joe?" I asked, sitting down next to him. "You're not enjoying this beautiful spring weather?"

"I just got through reading the paper," he said. "It's full of crime and corruption, and I'm more convinced than ever that this area is going to hell in a handbasket."

This is one of Joe's familiar themes. In fact, it's what he likes to talk about most.

"You should go spend the day in Troy," I told him. "It might cheer you up. Downtown is full of new restaurants, there are crowds of people on the streets, and..."

"Troy?!!" he said, looking aghast. "First, I was raised never to cross the river. Second, if I did go I'd probably get mugged or gunned down in an alley.

"And third, there's nowhere to park."

I knew from experience that there was no changing Joe's mind once he settled on a conclusion. So I shifted the topic of conversation southward.

More Information Contact Chris Churchill at 518-454-5442 or email cchurchill@timesunion.com See More Collapse

"I take it you're more of an Albany guy then," I said.

"Not really," Joe replied. "I'll admit that Albany is better than Schenectady, Watervliet, Cohoes and Troy. But that's like being the tallest leprechaun on the rainbow. It's hardly an honor."

The sun reflected off the windows of a State Street brownstone. A couple walked by holding hands. The sound of happy children wafted over from a distant playground.

"But look at this beautiful park and all these gracious old buildings," I said. "You don't find this in all those ugly new Sun Belt cities, where a Taco Bell might qualify as a historic landmark. Albany can't really be that bad."

"Albany is the next Detroit," Joe said. "I know that for a fact, because I heard Fred Dicker say it on the radio. And they should have put a highway through this neighborhood when they had the chance.

"Now," he said, gesturing toward Madison Avenue, "some of the nut jobs in city government want to narrow that road and put in a bike lane. A bike lane!!"

Joe was really getting worked up. I figured I should proceed cautiously.

"Well, cities are changing," I said. "More and more, people want to walk, bike and enjoy themselves, rather than rushing through the city on the way to somewhere else. They think cities should be designed for the people who live there, instead of commuters."

I thought I'd made an intelligent point, but I don't think Joe heard me.

"What's next?" he asked. "Fields of marijuana growing at West Capitol Park? Nude sunbathing at Buckingham Pond? Why don't they just fly the Cuban flag from City Hall?"

Joe paused for a moment, watching as a golden retriever chased a tennis ball across some nearby grass.

"When I was a kid, things were different," he said. "Everybody shopped on North Pearl Street. You knew everybody on your block. And Corning ruled over it all with an iron fist.

"But it's been all downhill ever since," he continued. "Look at all the boarded-over buildings on Clinton Avenue. Look at all the vacant lots in the South End. This city is done. Hello Detroit."

We sat in silence for a few minutes, before I got up the courage to try again.

"Things might be getting better," I said. "Just look at downtown. There's a convention center rising, Wellington Row is finally being rehabbed and hundreds of new apartments are under construction."

Joe's face turned red. I knew I'd said the wrong thing.

"Apartments!?" he yelled. "Why in the world would anyone want to live down there? Downtown is for working, and then you're supposed to drive home and watch TV."

"Many people don't feel that way," I said. "They're tired of commuting and they want to live near stores and restaurants. There's even a rumor going around about a grocery store opening downtown soon."

Joe scoffed.

"Oh yeah? What's it going to sell? Forty-ounce cans of beer and lottery tickets? It sounds like it'll be a good place for an armed robbery."

I started to feel sorry for Joe. It must be hard living somewhere that you don't like. And what could be more depressing than believing that nothing will ever get better?

I asked Joe if he ever thought about moving away.

"I've thought about it," he said. "But if I lived somewhere else, I wouldn't know what to complain about."

cchurchill@timesunion.com • 518-454-5442 • @chris_churchill