Friday, September 17, 2010

"The Pittsburgher's Creed" by James G. Connell, Jr.

I was looking for an old note that I had put up on facebook, and I came across this quote by James G. Connell, Jr. that I had posted last year. I initially found it on the Carnegie Library's Pittsburgh history website, and  think it is sufficiently awesome to archive here.
I believe in Pittsburgh the powerful--the progressive. I believe in the past of Pittsburgh and in the future founded on the heritage of that past; of clean living, frugal, industrious men and women of poise, power, purity, genius and courage. I believe that her dominant spirit is, has been and always will be for uplift and betterment. I believe that my neighbor stands for the same faith in Pittsburgh, although his expression may vary from mine. I believe in Pittsburgh of the present and her people--possessing the virtues of all nations--fused through the melting pot to a greater potency for good. I believe in taking pride in our city, its institutions, its people, its habits.

I believe in the great plans born of initiative, foresight and civic patriotism in the minds of the great men of to-day; here--now. I believe that the Pittsburghers who truly represent her are those of God-fearing lives, scorning ostentation and the seats of the ungodly, building surely, quietly and permanently.

I believe that those who know Pittsburgh love her, "her rocks and rills, templed hills." I believe that Pittsburgh's mighty forces are reproduced in a mighty people, staunch like the hills--true like steel. [See note at end for attribution.]
"I believe that her dominant spirit is, has been and always will be for uplift and betterment." 

One might contest such a statement now by pointing to the many whom we hear despair and disparage our fair city. I am, however, more inclined to agree with Mr. Connell. This City built the world. This City was one of the mightiest industrial capitals on earth. From those towering heights, we crashed with an equally resounding bust. Pittsburgh has been abandoned, kicked, and left for dead. Many who left did so with heavy hearts and empty wallets. Those who have stayed, come back, or ventured in for the first time, saw the diamond under the soot, and have set about cutting and polishing it.

Despite it all, still we rise, the phoenix out of the ashes (but unlike Phoenix, we have water). 

I believe that my neighbor stands for the same faith in Pittsburgh, although his expression may vary from mine. I believe in Pittsburgh of the present and her people--possessing the virtues of all nations--fused through the melting pot to a greater potency for good.

Pittsburgh is not well-known as a town of cosmopolitan, avant-garde living (though those elements are certainly here, and have been so historically). We are, in fact, reputed to be a bit xenophobic, content to remain nestled in our hollers and on our hilltops, unwilling to pass over a bridge or through a tunnel to see the other side of town. I can speak personally of the Pittsburgh Gene that renders natives constitutionally incapable of living more than 3 miles from the house in which they grew up. 

This tendency to hole up in one's own part of town has made Pittsburgh a profoundly racist and segregated town. But this manifests itself, or, I guess more accurately, fails to manifest itself in some odd ways. Pittsburghers are notoriously nice people. Of course, this is not universally true--we have plenty of jagoffs and racists running around these parts, but often you'll see bigoted bluster contradicted by compassionate action. A neighbor in need is a neighbor in need, even if you are someone who falls into an abstract category of people they allegedly dislike. This in no way excuses myopic and misinformed bigotry against people of color, immigrants, foreigners, or people of different religions or sexual orientations. As one on the receiving end of such confusing treatment, I do not enjoy the cognitive dissonance to which the experience gives rise. I only mention it because the phenomenon reveals a Pittsburgh tendency to dislike "them," but erase the dividing lines if you are one of "us."

Despite these more unfortunate tendencies, many Pittsburghers can and do come together as one under the black and gold flag, and not just the one with the yellow, red, and blue stars. As parochial as we may be, we actually do love the ethnic flavors of this town. I consider myself part Italian, Jew, Eastern European, and Middle Eastern by association. I don't care that "my" people didn't make pirohi, polkas, accordians, latkes, or baklava--the ethnic foods, music, dancing, and celebrations that have woven the beautiful tapestry of this town, are also a thread in the tapestry of me. And yes, I believe that the fusion of all of our ancestries have come together to create something better and stronger.  There are pieces of the originals throughout, but together they have woven a new story, a Pittsburgh story, of which we are all a part.
 
I believe that those who know Pittsburgh love her, "her rocks and rills, templed hills." I believe that Pittsburgh's mighty forces are reproduced in a mighty people, staunch like the hills--true like steel.

Let us hope that this is true.  We've got some vexing problems to deal with, and it's going to take a lot of love for this place and a lot of "mighty people, staunch like the hills--true like steel" to have the fortitude to right the ship.

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From Pittsburgh "Promotes Progress": Presenting a Brief Story of the Country's Greatest Industrial Center, a City Powerful and Progressive; Emphasizing Its Unique Position in Reference to the Nation's Population; An Omen of a Mighty Future, Dominant Like Steel. Pittsburgh: R. L. Polk & Company, [1924], 62.

Mr. Connell was the son of Dr. James G. Connell, an East Liberty physician. In 1905 James Jr. was a "clerk" at Penn Paper Box Co. at 302 Ross St. Within five years he had risen to manager. In 1913 he became manager and vice-president of West Penn Paper Co. at 300-304 Penn Ave. He died 9 October 1914. His grave is in Chartier's Cemetery.
-- Sources: The Pittsburgh Press, no date; and, George T. Fleming. Pittsburgh: How To See It.
n.p.: William G. Johnston Company, 1916. p. 5.
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updated May 23, 2013

2 comments:

Why is this place called Rough Branch?

Rough Branch is a reference to Wendell Berry's "mad farmer" poems. Berry is an agrarian populist poet, and advocate for sustainable agricultural practices. I don't agree with every position he takes, but his reverence for the beauty and balance of the natural world, for the preciousness of the life that runs through it (including our own), and of the community that sustains both the land and each other, speaks to my heart.

Over the past few years, I have sunk myself into the soil in my back yard, and into the community of neighbors that surrounds it, and it has begun to restore me. My garden is not just a plot of dirt providing vegetables for the salad bowl, it is an act of love, a place of profundity and awe. If you knew about the ecosystem that lives in but one gram of good earth, you would be humbled, literally, to the ground.

Berry's poems are passionate calls to live--deeply, profoundly, fearlessly. To step out of narrow-minded egotism, to secede "[f]rom the union of self-gratification and self-annihilation, [to] secede into care for one another, and for the good gifts of Heaven and Earth."

And so I have made my own nation small enough to walk across. I have named the small corner of the earth I steward Rough Branch. I have declared myself free of ignorant love, and I secede...

From the union of power and money,
from the union of power and secrecy,
from the union of government and art,
from the union of science and money,
from the union of ambition and ignorance,
from the union of genius and war,
from the union of outer space and inner vacuity,
the Mad Farmer walks quietly away.

There is only one of him, but he goes.
He returns to the small country he calls home,
his own nation small enough to walk across.
[...]
(From "The Mad Farmer, Flying the Flag of Rough Branch, Secedes from the Union")
The Mad Farmer challenges us to reconnect, to resurrect our land, our communities, and our souls.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.

Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
[...]
(From "Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front")
All quotes from Wendell Berry.