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In Other Words: Give Cleveland a chance

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August 22, 2010

by Stephanie Fellenstein, Hudson Monthly editor

I have resisted you, Cleveland, with your cold, never-ending winters, unlucky sports teams and sparse skyline.

But you did not give up on me.

I'm sure we met long before I can remember. I see you through a 6-year-old's tears in the basement of the Terminal Tower. Dressed in your holiday finest, I ponder the floor while my mom chastises my brother and me for not fully appreciating your beauty.

I grip the moving railing on the escalator at Higbee's with its wooden-slatted steps, the space between the slats so wide I think it will swallow my sneakers as I stand there.

It is summer.

Our faces press against the windows of the green line rapid as we wait for the switch that turns off the daylight and brings the pitch black underground Terminal Tower station into focus. Pushing through the heavy doors onto Public Square, we walk to the library where a cool quietness envelopes us as we wander among the stacks of books.

The return trip means a package of Chuckles -- flat, rectangular gum drops -- from the vending machine on the platform along the tracks. My brother and I fight over the red, orange, yellow and green ones, leaving the black licorice one for my mom.

You kept pulling us out of the suburbs. Calling us back.

On warm Sunday afternoons, my dad drives us down to "see the boats" by Captain Frank's Seafood House on the E. 9th Street pier. Cigarette smoke, exhaust and lake breezes mingle together as I toe at pieces of trash stuck along the pier's walls. I contemplate the ramp that disappears under the murky green water, wondering where it ends and who uses it.

I watch Mike Hargrove and Rick Manning at Municipal Stadium over the top of my Nancy Drew mystery.

It is winter.

I stand on your frozen shores and scoop up snow to melt for my seventh-grade science fair project on acid rain.

You shout Merry Christmas to me from the LTV Steel sign as I zip around I-77 toward downtown and you use plumes of fire shooting out of smoke stakes to wave good-bye when I leave.

In high school, I hang over the brass railing at the Old Arcade watching the people below move, work and relax, while my friend Jenny spends $10 on a palm reading to find out if David B. really likes her.

My friends and I brave the throngs to see Bill Clinton when his campaign tour stops downtown and my college roommate and I steal away during a wintry finals week to visit Santa at Tower City.

Over the years we ice skate on Public Square, sip hot cocoa, cheer on the Omar Vizquel-era Indians, watch the Browns leave and come back.

We have both changed a lot over the years, Cleveland.

The pier and Captain Franks are gone, replaced by Voinovich Park.

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Great Lakes Science Center, Tower City, Progressive Field and Cleveland Browns Stadium stand proud along the shore.

You are growing on me.

I search out your skyline every time I drive across the Valley View bridge. The familiar sight reassures me.

Now, almost 35 years since my earliest Cleveland memories, I follow that familiar road for a weekend away. I visit the Rock Hall, filled with dreams, sweat, tears and triumphs; stay at the Hyatt at the Old Arcade, one floor above the store where the fortune teller outlined Jenny's future.

I wander past The May Co. building, watch the workday end on Public Square, pass the library and cut through the shady reading garden next door. I eat at Lola's and see Grease at the Palace Theater.

Before the Cleveland Rite Aid 10K, I wait for friends on the steps of St. John's Cathedral -- where over the years we rang in the New Year at Mass before heading to Chin's or Chung Wah's for dinner. I race along your shores with 15,631 other runners.

It is good to see you so alive.

My daughter's third-grade class tours your streets, touching history, oblivious to your past. Her classmate's father can't understand your appeal. "What a stupid field trip," he says.

But I know better. Why can't other people see how much you have to offer?

More needs to be done. I admit I voted against a casino marring your beautiful landscape. Maybe it's time. Maybe the Higbee building should be filled with people again. Maybe those people will spill through those heavy front doors onto Public Square, breathing in that perfect blend of Lake Erie air, hard work and promise.

I will not give up on you Cleveland. I am here to stay.

E-mail: sfellenstein@recordpub.com

Phone: 330-688-0088 ext. 3163




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