Sometimes, I search for inspiration to begin a new piece of art, but other times and perhaps more often, that inspiration finds me. Over the past few years, I have become very interested in my family’s genealogy. At the moment, it’s more of a hobby, though it occasionally threatens to turn into an obsession.
My Italian ancestors initially settled in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in a neighborhood called East Liberty. As I’ve paged through digital census records, squinting at an astounding variety of cursive handwriting and making note of the changes in my family over the decades, I’ve also had to pay close attention to their changes of address. Some of my family chose to live in the same house for years and years and can be reliably found like old friends at the same place in every census count and city directory. Others, frustratingly, moved often and occasionally disappeared altogether in public records.
Through all of this research, I’ve found it valuable to familiarize myself with East Liberty, both then and now (there are some terrific maps of Historic Pittsburgh online), and thanks to Google’s Street View, I’ve been able to “walk” around my ancestors’ old neighborhood without ever having to endure going through airport security.
My virtual tours have been sadder than anything else, though. I suppose I am used to revitalized and thriving “Old Town” neighborhoods full of unique and fun little shops, hip restaurants, small theatres, clubs, and student housing. As a place where poor immigrants once flocked, I don’t know if East Liberty was ever a wonderful place to live, but it certainly isn’t now. Many of the places my ancestors used to live are empty, overgrown lots, flanked on both sides by boarded-up, decrepit buildings. Weeds overtake the sidewalks, and I have the general impression that in the next decade or so, the plant life will reclaim the remaining houses as well. Places that my great-grandparents called their homes for decades are just wasting away.
The house that struck me the most, the one the picture for this post was based on, I discovered while looking at a potential ancestor’s old address. The address turned out to be an empty lot that wanted to be a small forest. When I turned around, though, I was confronted by the shell of a house. The roof, windows, and doors were gone, but it still stood. I couldn’t help but think of all the things that house had seen, the memories embedded within it, and it just sat there, rotting away. I suppose it will be an empty lot one day, too.
There are still some nice houses in East Liberty, obviously maintained by loving owners, and the invading greenery is actually quite pretty. I don’t know if anyone will save what’s left. I would hope that something of it continues to live on. This place was once crammed with life, but now all I see is ghosts.
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