Monday, March 01, 2004
Into the City
I take the Hoan bridge into the city. It used to be called "the bridge to nowhere" because people taking it out of the city would be dumped at the end of the port of Milwaukee into a small Italian neighborhood with few major streets and fewer landmarks. Several years ago the county added a small freeway to the end of the bridge that extends through my neighborhood, Bay View, through the small city of St. Francis, and into the city of Cudahy, so "the bridge to nowhere" went somewhere.
I used to live on the north side of town, except the people who live around here call it the east side, and I used to be able to see the Hoan bridge all the time, as it's visible from many places on the lake shore. One could watch the tiny dots of cars pass over the bridge to nowhere from miles away. But when entering the city from the north, one could not see any of its scope, as it was blocked by an antiquated freeway. So whenever I entered the city, it just eventually appeared around me without any sense of change or importance.
Back then I never did think much of the city. I remember taking a plane back to Milwaukee and seeing it from the sky, thinking, "That's it?" Suddenly, Milwaukee's terminal inferiority complex made sense: certainly there couldn't be anything so important or interesting in a city that looks like this. So there is a view from the shore, a view from the north, and a view from the sky.
But the view I have every day, now, coming into work -- entering the city from the Hoan -- differs from all the others. As my car climbs the Hoan, over the dirt and muck of the port, the entire city presents itself in front of me -- the brick-red lofts being built to the south; the low, industrial office buildings across the river to the west; the older historical buildings along the river's edge; the taller, financial skyscrapers of the east side of the river; and the sleek, granite precipices of the insurance buildings on the lake's shore. For a short moment as the car crests the top of the bridge, it is all there in front of me, as if I were sitting in the front row of a movie with the entire screen visible to me if I only keep my head straight so that I can see the whole thing.
I used to live on the north side of town, except the people who live around here call it the east side, and I used to be able to see the Hoan bridge all the time, as it's visible from many places on the lake shore. One could watch the tiny dots of cars pass over the bridge to nowhere from miles away. But when entering the city from the north, one could not see any of its scope, as it was blocked by an antiquated freeway. So whenever I entered the city, it just eventually appeared around me without any sense of change or importance.
Back then I never did think much of the city. I remember taking a plane back to Milwaukee and seeing it from the sky, thinking, "That's it?" Suddenly, Milwaukee's terminal inferiority complex made sense: certainly there couldn't be anything so important or interesting in a city that looks like this. So there is a view from the shore, a view from the north, and a view from the sky.
But the view I have every day, now, coming into work -- entering the city from the Hoan -- differs from all the others. As my car climbs the Hoan, over the dirt and muck of the port, the entire city presents itself in front of me -- the brick-red lofts being built to the south; the low, industrial office buildings across the river to the west; the older historical buildings along the river's edge; the taller, financial skyscrapers of the east side of the river; and the sleek, granite precipices of the insurance buildings on the lake's shore. For a short moment as the car crests the top of the bridge, it is all there in front of me, as if I were sitting in the front row of a movie with the entire screen visible to me if I only keep my head straight so that I can see the whole thing.
