The porch light was left on late into the night. Shadows danced in the glow, each one cast by an old friend or acquaintance making their way home after a weekend barbecue or evening game of bridge. The swinging gate creaked on its hinges, a soothing hymn that announced an approaching visitor or bid farewell to a just-departed friend. It was a scene of communal warmth and an antidote to the chill of isolation that seems to hang heavy in the air of the town I’ve called home for five decades.
Schenectady, New York; nestled in the loving embrace of the Mohawk and Hudson Rivers, it is a town once renowned for its embrace of neighborly trust. It’s a sentiment that seems a distant memory now. These days, it feels as if we’re more likely to view our neighbors through the pinpricked lens of suspicion than the open arms of community fellowship.
But why? As someone who’s seen the span of fifty hard years here, the transformation leaves me puzzled, disgruntled even, and desperately yearning for yesteryears. My name is Brian McCarthy, and lately, I’ve been wondering why we don’t or rather can’t return to the days of trusting our neighbors.
After a long day at the General Electric factory where I worked, I’d trudge home and offer a weary wave to the Romano family gleefully kicking a soccer ball in their front yard. Their ball would inevitably make its way into my yard, and I never minded tossing it back with a chuckle. That was the way of our neighborhood. We were documents of each other’s lives – witnesses to changes, triumphant beginnings, and somber endings. But somewhere along the line, that strong, invisible thread that connected each house unravelled.
Perhaps it’s the evolution of technology and social media that has made us more inclined to trust the people we know digitally than those who share our physical spaces. Our neighborhoods have transformed into ghost towns, where we only engage with others through apps on our devices as we retreat further into our digital cocoons.
When Rosanne Doyle’s cat, Whiskers, went missing back in ’77, word spread faster than you could say “mixer.” By day-end, a search party was in full swing, scouring bushes, shouting the feline’s name, and causing quite the neighborhood clamor. In stark contrast, when the Johnson’s terrier, Rufus, disappeared last month, a hastily typed Facebook post served as a replacement for communal search efforts. Technology has redefined our interactions, and regrettably, it seems to have done more harm than good for the communal spirit of Schenectady.
Evidence of this transformation is everywhere. Just last week, an unfamiliar car rolled up Walworth Street, prompting an immediate flurry of posts on neighborhood watch apps. An invading stranger? Hardly, it was only Sarah O’Connell returning home in a rented car owing to her vehicle being in the shop. Such is the state of our town now—an unknown car raises alarms while a missing pet engenders little more than a scroll and swipe on social media.
Politics too plays a role; have we become so entrenched in red and blue that there’s little room for the simple humanity that binds us all? Election seasons seemed like jovial affairs in the past, with friendly banter, heated debates that were robust but respectful, and the simple understanding that differing beliefs didn’t equate to enemy status. Now, a mere yard sign seems enough to delineate boundaries and breed mistrust.
I’ve seen Schenectady weather some of its absolute worst days, from the terrifying flood of ’66 to the double-digit job losses at General Electric in ’92. But we came through each of these, battered perhaps, but unbroken, because we relied on each other. Through the highs and lows, we were Schenectady—neighbors through thick and thin. That fabric of solidarity seems worn thin now, and the tatters are irrefutable.
Yet, I refuse to accept that this is our new normal.
Let’s start small; return a stray ball, offer a small act of kindness, put technology on a leash rather than letting it dictate our interactions. When a neighbor’s pet goes astray, let’s not just share the post, let’s step out and share the search.
If you cut through the hum of technology and the cacophony of political discord, you can almost hear the echo of the Schenectady I remember – a lively town with the heart of a village. I have lived and worked here, gotten married here, raised a family. Schenectady is my home, and I sincerely believe we can restore it to the warm, interactive neighborhood it once was. We just need to remember that the embers of community spirit still glow within each of us and it’s high time we blew some life back into them.
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