Heading off from Hightstown at 10:32 AM with a groggy scowl on my face and Ipod headphones in my ears, I jumped into the last seat of the bumpy school bus, somewhat excited and somewhat irritated
by the juvenile vulgarity of the boys surrounding me. We arrived in a timely fashion, and I jumped out of the bus with my partner, Anthony, who wore his usual mischievous smile. We had four hours to explore the city, and I was already getting impatient as all of the groups anxiously gazed at their maps and the street signs, trying to make out what direction they were to take. I pulled Anthony by the collar and we slowly paced down Chestnut Street, with some fellow classmates, Doug and Jelani, tailing us by a few feet. As Doug and Anthony jokingly fooled some strangers with their antics, Jelani and I walked behind, taking in the sun and stopping along the way to take pictures of several of the murals on the walls of brick buildings. I wondered at the importance of these murals to the city, to its people and its culture. A mural on South Street depicting American civil rights activist W.E.B. DuBois captured my attention and made me wonder who had viewed the mural in the past – what impact has it made on discrimination in Philadelphia? A small caption on the side of the painting said that Dubois researched and interviewed in Philadelphia and eventually wrote a volume titled, “The Philadelphia Negro” in 1899; the mural was just recently painted in commemoration of DuBois’ dedication to civil rights in Philadelphia. The beautiful colors, meaningful quotations and artful depictions on several others captured the past and put it in light of the present, where people can still view it today. These murals capture the culture, diversity and life of Philadelphia, a task that is also carried by the people, food culture and history of this American landmark. However, we had many other sights to see, and we had only tapped the shell of a fruitful adventure.
We eventually hit Independence Hall, which brought around nostalgic memories of walking with an ice cream in one hand and the sweaty palm of my big brother, Jon in the other. We walked into the building, and I was somewhat disappointed – the artificial scene portraying revolutionary Philadelphia was dimly lit and collecting dust; the fat actor playing Benjamin Franklin sat with his legs inappropriately open in a chair next to the exhibit, eating a McMuffin. However, I realized history won’t always be given to me; sometimes I need to go searching for it.
As we walked along the streets surrounding the historic district, I couldn’t help but notice a small metal figure in front of each home, sticking out of the ground in the shape of an H.When we were walking back towards Independence Hall, I stopped and asked Officer Joe Brown about it, and he told me that in the seventeen hundreds, men would come home with boots covered in horse manure, dirt and mud. The small cast-iron figures served as a “post” where men could scrape their dirty shoes off so as not to dirty the house. He also said that the homes with marble staircases and more elaborate shoe scrapes tended to be wealthier.
In addition to the colonial history of Philadelphia, we passed by a few churches, particularly Old Saint Mary’s Church on 4th Street, that peaked our interest. Old Saint Mary’s was founded in 1863 and was the site of first religious commemoration of the Declaration of Independence. In addition, the church was worshiped at by many Revolutionists, including George Washington. What I love about history is that it can be right in front of one’s face, she just needs to look for it. History can be found in buildings, burials, objects and skeletons – as the past changes to the present and the present to the future, old thing that were part of people’s lives suddenly become relics of the past – and we too, one day, will become ancient pieces of history; the computers we used to check our email will be primitive technology, the flip flops we wear will be characteristic of the fashion of this era and the food we eat will seem repulsive to the children of our future. In Philadelphia, the culture and diversity of life is not only reflected in the history, but also in the life and people living in the area.
From the church, we walked along South Street, observing the wild yet comfortable openness of the people and restaurants. Here, the diversity of Philadelphia came alive through the two skater-punks scootering down the street, the pair of transvestites happily walking arm in arm and the loving elderly couple sharing an ice cream. What I was most intrigued by was the artistic feel of South Street; many of the stores were covered in mirrored mosaics, murals and paint. On the way to the Italian market, Jelani and I stopped to talk to Deborah Parnell, who showed us her garden. On the land, stretching about 2 stores-length, there were women gardening and sowing different vegetables and flowers. Deborah told us that the seeds were given to them by the local prison, where the prisoners were learning to grow things. In addition, all of the crops that are reaped go to local charities to feed the hungry. She also told us that this area was one of the only spots to grow in Philadelphia. This fusion of cultures really showed me how the influx of immigrants transformed this section of Philadelphia from old to new over the years. Everyone in the community worked off of each other to accomplish their goals and sustain their way of life.
Our last stop was the Italian Market, my personal favorite, and not just because I happen to be Italian. Here, we stopped in a few shops, but the main event were the lines of stalls selling fresh fruits and vegetables at cheap prices. Here, I picked up a mango and decided to also get some of my great-grandmother’s favorite snack, Ceci, which are crunchy, dried chickpeas. We then walked down to Pat’s Steaks, where the boys ate their cheese steaks and I nibbled on my snacks. Food, was, is, and will always be one of the best representations of people and their values – in Italy, we sit around the table as a family, say grace and manja, and dig in to enormous dishes, sharing them among all of our relatives and friends. Family. Family and our character are the essence of our being and the essence of Philadelphia.
Our last stop was the Italian Market, my personal favorite, and not just because I happen to be Italian. Here, we stopped in a few shops, but the main event were the lines of stalls selling fresh fruits and vegetables at cheap prices. Here, I picked up a mango and decided to also get some of my great-grandmother’s favorite snack, Ceci, which are crunchy, dried chickpeas. We then walked down to Pat’s Steaks, where the boys ate their cheese steaks and I nibbled on my snacks. Food, was, is, and will always be one of the best representations of people and their values – in Italy, we sit around the table as a family, say grace and manja, and dig in to enormous dishes, sharing them among all of our relatives and friends. Family. Family and our character are the essence of our being and the essence of Philadelphia.
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