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He sat on the park bench in Prospect Point immaculately dressed, as was his custom, in a pin-striped suit, spectator shoes, natty overcoat, and his ever-present ivory walking cane. His silver hair offered dramatic contrast to the darkening skies that swirled above, as he absentmindedly flicked peanuts to the growing throng of squirrels that danced at his feet. I've known him my whole life and it occurs to me now that I don't even know his real name. I simply know him, as does everyone else in Niagara Falls, as Chickie C.
As I approached him, I saw that his face had a bit more of a scowl than usual. "What's happening, Chickie?" I said as I extended my hand.
"Hey, kid, have a seat beside a tired old man," he replied.
"Why the long face, Chickie? You look like you just came from a funeral," I offered.
"Dis whole town's a funeral, kid. The official song oughta be a dirge or something. Jus' thinking about it makes me wanna take the old gas-pipe myself."
"Come on, Chick, you're not still down on the city, are you? Things are on the upswing," I replied. "Upswing? You ain't on the sauce, are ya, kid?"
"I'm talking about growth, Chickie. You know, the new Aqua Falls, Little Italy, those sort of things."
"Man, I never figured you for such a sucker, kid," he said, "I though you was one udda, how do you say, enlightened ones around here. You're not buying that malarkey, are ya?"
"That's not fair, Chickie," I retorted, "The Aqua Falls is a state-of-the-art operation. The water volume is so great that it has to be built underground."
"Yeah, underground, dats where mosta dem politicians oughta be. Six feet underground," Chickie spat out. He continued. "Look, kid, I'll give 'em an A for effort, but lemme ask ya a question. If you got an apartment wit nuttin' in it but one stinkin' rocking chair and you hit the number fer $500, you gonna rush out and buy another rocking chair to match the one ya already got? Far as I can see, we already got a big fish tank downtown. Am I right or am I right?"
"Point taken. What about Little Italy, though? Certainly you must be excited by the prospect of Pine Avenue's transformation," I said confidently.
"Transformation? Is that whatcha call it, kid? You know my mother, God rest her soul, who stepped off the boat straight from Sicily must be spinnin' in her grave over the thought of that desecration of the Old Country."
"Now, wait a minute, Chickie. As a man of English descent, I might be speaking out of turn here, but nothing in the works seems disrespectful. The new street signs are rustic, the decorative flags are elegant, and the soon-to-arrive archways are supposed to be breathtaking," I said.
"You know, kid, yer like a dull pencil, constantly missin' the point. I never said that the things they're doing were bad. It's what they're not doing that's disrespectful. Pretend I'm a tourist, see. And I decide to take my family for a stroll along Little Italy. Fer every Como, DiCamillo, or Latina's we pass, we gotta be subjected to five non-Italian businesses like Wilson Farms, Auto Zone, McDonald's or, God forbid, one of them X-rated joints. That's supposed to represent the Old Country? Fuhgeddaboutit!"
"I see your point, Chickie. What would you have done differently?" I asked.
"You ever been to NYC, kid?"
I nod.
Chickie continues. "In Chinatown, every business is Chinese. There's not a Chinese food joint stuffed between a car wash and a burger shack. What Little Italy should be is four blocks, from the City Market to the Como, with every business having an Italian theme. Then I might break out the green, white and red and march in a parade or sumthin'."
"Makes sense to me, Chick. You ought to run for mayor," I said.
"That's rich, kid. The last three mayors dis town has had ran record 100-yard dashes as soon as they were elected to get the 'N.F.1' plate on their car, and to repaint all the 'Welcome to Niagara Falls" billboards with their name. Me, I ain't that vain. In fact, if I wuzza mayor, I would only wish fer one thing: to wave a magic wand over dis place and bring back 1955," he said in a singsong voice.
"You miss the old days, Chick?"
"The days and the people, kid. Me, I'm nuttin' but a relic now, but in the old days, in the old neighborhood, I was something. And my Marie, sweet as rhubarb pie and pretty as new-fallen snow. Ah, see what all this talk is doing, kid? I'm getting all mushy over here. Lookit, what I'm trying to say, son, is this ... my generation worked hard. Everyone's parents were immigrants with just one foot offa the boat and we had somethin' to prove.
Neighborhoods meant somethin' back then, family meant somethin', pride was more than a logo on a T-shirt. But, what we didn't do is work smart. Old Falls Street was a thing of b-e-a-u-t-y, packed every day and night to the gills. Main Street was hustling. From Norbans to Kresge's to Feldman Furs, you had to stand in line for the privilege of reaching in your wallet. At the Shredded Wheat plant, you could actually take a tour and get a hot bowl of the stuff fer a quarter on the way out. But we threw it all away, kid. We bought into a dirty word called "urban renewal." We thought that there was somethin' better in the suburbs. We wuz wrong, kid. Dead wrong. And now the only thing in this whole downtown that brings me any pleasure are these here squirrels. In each one of 'em, I can see someone who useta make this city great. That one there hops like Sammy C. useta. This one here reminds me of Kenny L. cuz he never eats a peanut, he just takes 'em and buries 'em fer later. And that one there, the jittery one with the big tail, reminds me of you, kid. Why? Because he's curious but he has no clue as to where the next peanut will drop.
"Hey, I'm just bustin' your chops, kid. Promise me one thing, will ya? That your generation will try to bring it back, the way it once wuz. Cuz the pretty things have all gone to hell."
And with that, he turned away from me and went back to feeding his squirrels.