NEWBURGH

Aug.24th: NEWBURGH

In many ways we found Newburgh to be a microcosm of American society as a whole. It is composed of three distinct groups: whites, blacks, and Hispanic immigrants which experience different realities within the same town.

We docked at the immaculate upscale waterfront which had slips filled with expensive cruisers facing a line of trendy open-air restaurants. We were comfortable and happy here but, deciding to explore the town beyond, we naively set off on foot up a hill that led to the main street of Broadway about a mile away. As we passed government buildings and public housing, there was nothing to alert us to what we would find as we rounded the corner to the main drag. Without warning we suddenly found ourselves walking in another world. Litter blew down an empty street of shabby shops and boarded up buildings. But on the sidewalks groups of young blacks were staggering around, shouting comments and insults at each other, loitering and looking for action. We did not want to be it! We were very obviously out of place and fast becoming a centre of attention as we invaded their turf. Instinctively we pocketed the brochures which identified us as tourists and, keeping our eyes averted from theirs, carried on a confident conversation with each other as we moved quickly and purposely out of the area and toward a line of police cars that seemed to be separating this part of town from access to the waterfront area we had just left. We were really scared here and happy to return to a comfortable riverside table in a little café where we “cooled off” with ice cream and “cooled down” with a copy of the New York Times.

Later we talked with a local historian who said that this town was separating along racial and economic lines. Recent Hispanic immigrants—honest and hard-working people who kept the town running—were welcome additions. Many of the resident blacks however were not and the town, we were told, was rife with an undercurrent of drugs, crime and corruption as a result. The whites, many of whom were 9/11 refugees from NYC lived a protected existence in isolated enclaves. We saw evidence of this in the evening when throngs of the white moneyed class crowded into Torches Marina and Restaurant where we were docked behind locked gates. We watched as they dined on expensive entrees and drank the night away with endless cocktails. A high school reunion was in full swing and I had a long conversation with one of the “polished people” whose cultured speech and cultivated manners were a world away from the loud brazen behaviour we had witnessed on Broadway only hours before. As things heated up on the waterfront a “Battle of the Bands” broke out with the shoreside group belting out “Brown Sugar” against music blaring “Sweet Home Alabama” from a floating paddleboat. The clash of sounds simultaneously competing to be heard eerily symbolizes the clash of cultures also trying to exist in this place. We felt safe and secure in our protected little dockside enclave but were happy to leave and move on to something else in the morning.