Gail, at Scribal Terror, tagged me with a Meme, the point of which is to have each of the tagees say four cool things about his or her hometown.  Not being flush with content at the moment, this came at a pretty good time.  Here we go.

I was raised in Kearny, New Jersey (pronounced, “CAR-nee”).

The Sopranos

Over the last few years, parts of Kearny have been seen nationwide, because many of the Sopranos’ location scenes are filmed in the town.  For example, every time Tony and his crew sit outside “Satriale’s Pork Store,” they are sitting on Kearny Avenue, the main street in Kearny.  “Satriale’s” is actually a closed-up auto parts store.  Several Kearny scenes (and those in nearby towns) appear in the opening montage as well.  It’s great sport playing “I Know Where That Is” when watching the show.

Location

One of the best things about growing up in Kearny was its proximity to New York and Newark (Newark was considerably nicer when I was a boy).  Both were a short bus ride away, or one could drive to Newark or New York in ten and twenty minutes, respectively (not during rush hour, of course).

The proximity to New York was a very big deal back in the days when New York’s legal drinking age was eighteen and Jersey’s was twenty-one.  Which, of course, meant that we were schlepping into “the City” at age 17 (with “appropriate” proof of age), starting at about age seventeen.  We could be in places like McSorley’s Old Ale House in no time.  The dark side of the drinking trips into New York was the death-defying drives back to Jersey (a product of the stupidity and recklessness of youth).  When I think back on that now, I get a cold chill down my spine.

On the other hand, Kearny was just far enough away from Newark and New York to provide some of the advantages of living in a “small” town.  (See below)

An “Ethnic” Small Town

Kearny was heavily populated with Scottish and Irish people (mostly Scottish), many of whom had parents or grandparents who immigrated to the U.S. to find work in the large thread mill in town.  Over time, these folks sponsored their relatives, so it was not at all uncommon to find one’s self surrounded by people speaking with a thick Scottish accent.  The town had (and still has) a Scottish butcher shop at which one can buy things like meat pies and haggis (I’ll take a Pasadena on the haggis), and it also boasts at least three fish and chips restaurants, an Irish-American Club, a Scottish-American Club, two pipe bands (one Scottish, one Irish), a place to buy bagpipes, kilts, and kilt stuff, and a store that specializes in darts and darts stuff.

Aye, ‘twas a bonny town, it was.

The “Av” (short for “Avenue” and pronounced something like “eeAv”)

When I lived in Kearny, shopping malls as we know them today had not yet been “invented”.  So, when we became too old to play in the street or in the playgrounds, we hung on Kearny Avenue, (the “Av”, which was the main street that ran through the entire town and continued south through Harrison to the Newark border and north through North Arlington, Lyndhurst and Rutherford.

Once all the guys got driver’s licenses and access to cars, we would spend hours and hours and hours “riding the Av” between Harrison and Rutherford (Back then, you could ride the Av all day for a buck’s worth of gas).  The stated purpose of all this mindless driving was to pick up girls, but that happened about as often as an asteroid strike.

If you stuck with this scintillating piece long enough to reach this point, this is the part where I am supposed to tag four people.  I am curious about the hometowns of several bloggers, but knowing that some people get cranky when tagged, I will invite anyone who stuck it out this far to jump into the pool, either in the comments or on your own site.  If you decide to post it on your site, please send a trackback, so we can check out the post.

 Update:  Rita posted about Marshall, Arkansas here, and Rob posted about Savannah, Georgia here.

Once in a while, Jersey gets something right.

On my way to work over the past couple days, I’ve seen the Orange Jumpsuit Guys picking up and bagging litter on Route 78.  They are “minimum custody inmates”, and they comprise but one of 108 work details of the Community Labor Assistance Program in the state.

The program involves the use of inmates to perform numerous public service projects, including “the development of the safe play areas for children, building rehabilitation, general maintenance work, landscaping of state parks, emergency/disaster relief and removing litter from highways….”

Having inmates pick up litter on the highways is a cooperative venture between the Department of Corrections and the Department of Transportation.  Over the past couple days, the prisoner detail has picked up enough trash to fill hundreds of trash bags, which are later picked up by a truck.

Given that New Jersey has plenty of prisoners and plenty of work that needs doing, this seems like a rare win-win situation.  I have no doubt that the inmates appreciate not being locked up, but, at the same time, spending the day picking up God-knows-what people toss from their car windows is hard enough work to serve as a disincentive to some of them to return to prison.

Speaking of disincentives, I wish that the pigs who throw the stuff from their car windows could spend a couple weeks working with the Orange Jumpsuit Guys.

At about ten minutes before closing time in Donovan’s Pub in Jersey City, Joe Crook enters the bar, pulls a gun on Mike the owner/bartender and says, “Empty the register.  Now!”

Mike:  “OK, buddy.  Take it easy.  Stay calm.  I’ll cooperate.  Just be careful with that gun.”

Crook:  “Fine.  Hurry up, and no one will get hurt.”

Mike:  (Removes money from register and turns towards Crook)  “Wait a minute.  What do you think you’re doing?”

Crook:  “What the hell does it look like I’m doing?  I’m holding up the place, fer Chrissake.”

Mike:  “I know that, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Crook:

Mike:  “You just lit a cigarette!”

Crook:  “Yeah, so what?”

Mike:  “No smoking allowed.  It’s the new law.  I’m going to have to ask you to take that outside.”

Crook:  “Don’t you see that I have a gun in my hand?”

Mike:  “Sure.  I see that, but I also see that you have a cigarette in the other hand, and you’ll have to take that outside.”

Crook:  “You must be out of your mind.”

Mike:  “Sorry, but you can’t smoke in here.  It’s the law, man.”

Crook:  “Don’t hand me that crap.  This is a goddamned robbery.”

Mike:  “I know that, but I’m going to have to ask you again to take that cigarette outside, and be sure to move at least twenty-five feet away from the door.”

Crook:  “Jesus Christ!  OK, I’ll put the damned thing out.  Now hand over the money.”

Mike:  “I’m sorry, but I can’t offer you an ash tray.”

Crook:  “You must some kind of nutcase.  You want me to go outside to smoke, and then what?  I’m supposed to come back inside to finish this robbery?”

Mike:  “Suit yourself, but you may have to hurry.  I’m closing in seven minutes.”

Crook:  “Just my goddamned luck.  Of all the joints in the city to stick up, I hadda pick one run by a kook.  (Walks to the door and flicks the cigarette into the street)  OK, happy now?  Hand over the cash.”

Mike: (Hands Crook the money)

Crook:  “What’s this shit?  There’s only twenty-three bucks here.  Where’s the rest of it?”

Mike:  “There is no ‘rest of it’.  That’s it.  That’s all of it.”

Crook:  “Don’t bullshit me.  It’s Saturday night, and you’re telling me you only took in twenty-three dollars?”

Mike:  “Yep.  All my former customers are smokers.  I’m gonna have to sell the place and get a job.”

Crook:  “Man, that stinks.  Waddya gonna do?”

Mike:  “I’m thinking about running for the State Assembly.  A guy can make some real money there.”

Crook:  “Damn, I had no idea.  I haven’t been reading the papers.  Here, take the money back.  Do I have time for a beer?”

Mike:  “Sure, just as long as you don’t smoke.”

Crook:  “Tell me more about that State Assembly thing.”