“Nothing’s wrong with the street lights
They all work just fine
But I ain’t always satisfied”
I wrote "Flower City" two years after I returned to Rochester from Nashville. I had moved down there to be a full time musician and part time teacher with Teach for America, but it didn't quite work out that way. I resigned and moved back home after 6 months, was unemployed for a while and then started grad school at the Warner School of Education at the University of Rochester.
Then I taught 9th grade English for two years at East High School.
I have reacquainted myself with Rochester twice in my 27 years of life. The first time was my freshman year of college. Being from Henrietta, I hadn't spent much time in the city of Rochester. The University showed me a new side of my hometown: a privileged, cosmopolitain, liberal, and educated Rochester. I had friends from all over the country who got to know their new home through me and the of-the-beaten-path places (to college kids without a car) I took them to like Mendon Ponds Park. I was the local expert. I felt proud of what my little city offered. It wasn't a great city, but it was my city.
The second time was my first year teaching at East High School. The kids I taught lived a completely different experience from how I grew up. My friends from suburban Texas, Massachusetts, and Minnesota never saw this side of town. Most of my students are from the North side of the city-- the "14621" or the "Fatal Crescent". They're immigrants and refugees who have already seen more hardship at 14 than I have in my entire life. They live near dilapidated, boarded up houses, abandoned factories, walk by used needles on the street, and over soil contaminated by industrial run off. They're far from the glowing aisles of perfect produce at Wegmans and the hipsters drinking their kombucha, single origin coffee, and craft beer. The longer I teach at East and the more I learn about how parts of Rochester got to be that way, the less proud I am of my hometown. I get angry at the inequity and how oblivious many people in Monroe County are to it. Privilege is being able to drive into the city, enjoy it at your leisure, complain about its struggles, and escape back home.
During my first summer as a teacher I walked the Genesee River Trail from Genesee Valley Park to Main Street. The path brings you through the University of Rochester River Campus, past the Dinosaur BBQ and through downtown to the old Sibley Building. On your right is the power and glory of the University: beautiful, manicured green spaces, ivy covered buildings, and brand new dorms. On your left is the skeleton of industry. Old factories and warehouses with caving roofs and neglected 19th ward homes that were long ago split into multifamily apartments. You pass historical signs along the way that describe a once great and bustling boomtown. Rochester has its own history walk, a faded blue line that guides you through the original heart of the city. The signs show blueprints and diagrams of the old grain warehouses and flour mills, and if they still exist, they're idle or being transformed into luxury lofts. The Kodak tower sits largely empty and start ups are moving in and parts of town are being "reclaimed" like the St. Paul Quarter.
For most of my life I expected to call Rochester home. It's where my family is, the native culture I grew up knowing, the place I wanted to buy a house and raise kids. It's a fine place to live your life comfortably if you're lucky enough to be able to. I In some ways I feel a responsibility to stay and to give a damn. Yet, I feel enticed by what the rest of the country and the world offers. For now, anyway, I choose to live here.
So, that's this song: the narrator is grappling with the decision to stay or go, the privilege and entitlement of others and his own, the effects of a changing economy, and hoping the future is a little more promising.
Lyrics:
It’s a rust belt town, don’t pretend
It started to slow down, before my momma was 10
I tried moving away but didn’t stay
I could stake a claim, or pack all my bags today
Living here young wasn’t the plan
But I wanted to raise kids next to mom and dad
Now that I’m here I’ve made my choice
Not to sit back and criticize but have a voice
Everyday I get older in Flower City
A little town against the times
Nothing’s wrong with the street lights
They all work just fine
But I ain’t always satisfied
There’s problems here, some you can see
Rusty old buildings rotting next to the Genesee
The rest aren’t hidden, they’re in sight
All the holes created by all of that white flight
It won’t ever be like it was before
Nostalgia won’t find you what you’ve been looking for
If you change your mind, see what shines
Maybe you'll start to see some wilted flowers climb
Everyday I get older in Flower City
A little town against the times
Nothing’s wrong with the street lights
They all work just fine
But I ain’t always satisfied
But I could be satisfied...