Pershing and Broadway

Cleveland's Slavic Village neighborhood is as tough as it gets. This is an old old old section of town rooted in the deepest of working class sensibility. The tiny homes sit on postage stamp lots within walking distance of the once-mighty steel mills that fueled this town's fire throughout much of the 20th century.

Everything that goes wrong in neighborhoods like Slavic Village went three-fold wrong here. White flight, shuttered factories and general urban malaise all swirled into a terrible confluence; and then the housing crisis descended.

Slavic Village was nationally recognized as "ground zero" of the foreclosure/sub-prime loan debacle, which you don't really understand until you drive around East 55th, Fleet Avenue and the adjacent grid of streets. Boarded up houses are overgrown with vines. Others are stripped of their aluminum siding. "Condemned" signs abound. Vacant lots dot the streets like so many missing teeth.

As painful as the story of this place is, you'll find a different page in the book at the intersection of Broadway and Pershing.

Here stands the Bohemian National Hall, circa 1896, and when you step inside you won't need to hear about the memories; you'll feel them.

You just know that not so many years ago all of the little houses surrounding this great old structure were immaculately tended. And on every Saturday night, the families that lived in them came here. You can hear the echoes of the adults drinking and dancing and playing cards in the ballroom while the kids romped around in the basement rooms where the teenagers were in charge.

So that era is gone. So be it. What makes my heart beat out of my chest for this place is that the Bohemian National Hall is still here and the Cleveland Czech community has preserved this place and what it stands for.

The best part? Yesterday, Eric and I went to their holiday open house and bazaar. The joint was full up with Czechs eating schnitzel and strudel, washing it down with Pilsner Urquell, and admiring all things Czech: from finery to folk dancing.

If that were the whole story, it would be poignant and sweet. But oh dear reader, it is not--and it gets even better.

Right across the street from this nearly 120-year-old historic building sits something completely different, but every bit as unique. Behold a static tornado: The Cleveland Velodrome.

Yes, the local cycling community banded together and turned tragic fallow into a spinning reality. They raised the funds and raised the track and now Cleveland is home to one of those crazy giant pasta bowls in which Lycra-clad cyclists speed around, nearly parallel to the ground.

And they built it in a neighborhood void of vegan diners, Starbucks shops and "free WiFi" signs. They built it in a city that's cloaked in snow three or four months out of the year.

They just built it.

So yeah, dear Rest of the World, this here is Slavic Village in Cleveland and it is beat-to-shit. So what?  We've got so much heart in this town, it's spilling out right here at the intersection of Broadway and Pershing by way of a bunch of stalwart old Czechs who are here because of yesterday and a bunch of funky high-speed cycling fanatics who are here because of tomorrow. Most importantly, they are all here because of today.

Oh--and if you're hungry, the Fortyniner Restaurant is open on the other side of the street.

Cleveland, I love you, I love you, I do.

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A Cleveland Carol

Three short acts featuring the Ghost of Cleveland Present

Hey man, you ever see a Toynbee tile? Come on, take a hold of my sleeve and we'll fly. Don't worry, you can do it. It's easy. Just grab a hold.

See? It's not so bad, like gliding in a dream. Okay, here we are--West 3rd and Prospect. Time to land.

There are Toynbee tiles all over creation, but no one knows what they mean. You're talking your real-life mystery here. No one knows who put them there or quite how they did it. You want to believe that vapors might seep out of the Toynbee tile that you could sniff up like the Oracle of Delphi and have visions. And if you don't get any vapors and visions, maybe the thing will emit mysterious rays that'll fly you up to space where you'll learn important space alien secrets.

Well, maybe not.

But hey--it's still a Toynbee tile and it's right next to the Ritz Carlton, where you have your Ritz doorman with his long stiff coat and furry hat. Although he looks sort of like one of the guards patrolling in front of the Wicked Witch's castle (sans evil spear), he's totally cool. Instead of being all I'm-the-Ritz-Doorman-who-the-hell-are-you, he's utterly righteous and even asks people diggin' on the Toynbee tile (like us) what they think the crazy thing is all about.

Who needs vapors and space rays? You're talking to the Ritz Carlton's front man. You're seeing that Toynbee tile.

You are so down.

Hey man, you hungry? Come on. Let me take you over to the Slavic Village Deli.

Brother, you see those empty lots down there like missing teeth lining the streets? Every one of 'em used to have a house that's since been torn down on account of that being a better option than leaving it vacant. But sometimes this town's heart beats strongest where the fabric is worn thinnest, and while this neighborhood may be torn and frayed, the heartbeat at the Slavic Village Deli will not be denied.

Now up front you've got your deli. You're talking your homemade Polish sausages and bakery--old school from the bottom up. And the pretty girl with the Polish accent and the apron hanging around her hips in a way that makes boys swoon will wrap up all your stuff in white paper so perfectly, you'll practically weep. Now follow me. The dining room is in back.

Slow-cooked kielbasa and sauerkraut? We've got that. Cabbage and noodles? Check. Homemade mashed potato and stuffed cabbage? No problem.

Now, I'm not trying to freak you out or anything, but sometimes when you eat a slice of the poppy seed pound cake, your eyes will get all goo-goo and your heart will grow three sizes too big like that green ol' Doc Seuss dude. No, no--don't worry. It doesn't hurt a bit.

Hey man, you ever see a blimp house? Come on. Grab the sleeve--you know the drill by now. Let me take you over to the blimp house.

Wow. would you dig that.

I know. You're wondering about the blimp activities going on inside the blimp house. Of course the blimps may be out blimping, but even so, you want to yell: Hey man! What's going on inside that blimp house?

Don't worry. It's perfectly normal to become excited while visiting the blimp house. It happens to most everyone.

Wouldn't it be great if the blimp house magically opened up and released a whole bunch of blimps like so many giant balloons? They'd all come floating out of that blimp house and go up up up in the air and blimp around the sky.

And if none of that cool stuff happens, you can still be happy that you are visiting the blimp house. You can smile. You can wink. You can inhale. You can exhale.

You can dance madly backwards until the world disappears.

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