The Senate had finally adjourned and I could not wait to get home for the holidays; I eagerly anticipated the warm loving reception of my parents and grandmother and had futile hopes for an upstate New York snowstorm in time for a White Christmas. As I exited the highway and drove over a bridge my mind was racing with fond memories of my middle class neighborhood and families who had been its’ standard bearers for decades and generations.

There was Pat, an elderly gentleman and World War Two Veteran whose house always looked sharp whether is was flags, fresh paint or Christmas lights, the sweet old Italian Aunt of my junior high girlfriend who used to feed us during dog days of summer 1989, and sweet Gracie, whose husband Carmen had recently passed away, she had been heartbroken and alone ever since. Carmen was also a veteran of World War Two, in fact a combat veteran who never thought of himself as anything special just an American, a simple man who “simply did his duty” as he once told me after scolding me for setting off fireworks at 2:00 AM on the 4^th of July. That strong old man had always impressed me, even during my rebellious teenage years of quasi-delinquency I marveled at how he made a constant effort to keep up his property and always had the best lawn and shrubbery, shiniest green grass in the neighborhood. Also a seasoned pack a day smoker until he passed away at the age of 80. Carmen’s work ethic, even when he was quite ill made me look like a lazy bum on my most productive days.

My mind suddenly snapped out of this flashback in time to observe that the light in front of me was about to turn red, and luckily I had just enough time to break quickly and avoid running a red light. As I sat at the red light I looked towards the old mobile station expecting to see how much more expensive gasoline was in Rochester. Instead I saw nothing but boarded up windows with for sale signs in abundance. As I drive further down Buffalo road I noticed the old Millbrook Bakery Store was also out of business and all boarded up. That store always had a special significance in my youth because when we first moved to Rochester, my loving and overprotective parents would not allow me to cross any major roads so that old bakery store was the only store I could shop at without any adult supervision. When I think back to all the cakes and pies that that store sold me during my fifth grade year it’s a wonder I didn’t end up on the weight watcher’s 10 most wanted least by Junior High.

As I made a left onto Miramar rode I saw another for sale sign, only this time it was in front of a house. As I drive down further I saw more and more for sale signs and a sad awareness that this wonderful neighborhood was losing many of its best custodians. On Christmas Eve I drove down Green Acre to Ballys in the hopes that 5 miles of jogging might offset my preceding gargantuan holiday feasting. Before I had passed 2 houses I saw a big moving van in the driveway of a house and then a few more for sale signs. The sweet old Italian Aunt of my Junior High girlfriend’s house want not only for sale, but there was some godaweful debris pilling up in the driveway. Had she still lived there she would not have permitted so much as a single leaf to improperly inhabit her driveway. I knew then that she must have passed away or already moved out. As I drove down Green Acre I saw another for sale sign in front of a home, which previously belonged to a buddy of mine. Alan Webster was a popular black football player and also a senior when I was a freshman in high school. Just the frequent occurrence of him being seen hanging out with me in the halls did wonders for my pursuit of popularity when I was 15 years old. He Hated Syracuse (which I loved) and I hated Georgetown (which he loved) but except for those two days a year when we were not speaking to each other he was always a stand up guy and a pretty damn good friend to me. His house was SOLD and I dared not look at anyone else’s front yard for fear of yet another realtor’s proud proclamation, SOLD!

Well this Ballys was only a mile from my house and I had never appreciated it until I moved to the Washington, DC area. For years no matter which Northern Virginia Ballys I went to, the equipment wasn’t working and the pool and whirlpool were always closed. On the rare occasions when management had scheduled a lifeguard to actually work, the Fairfax County Public Health Department would close it down because the water was “unsafe and unsanitary.” Once in a while if the Health Department reopened the whirlpool and there was actually a lifeguard “on duty,” then the whirlpool would finally be open for all club members. At least for a day or two, until the thing would mysteriously “break” and remain broken until such time as parts arrived, repairmen arrived, and of course the county health department gave it the ok and then the lifeguard would actually show up or it would be closed again indefinitely due to lack of lifeguard.

During the many years which I had frequented the Ballys in Gates, NY the whirlpool had never been closed while I was there, the equipment if broken would be fixed immediately and you got the feeling that people were responsible and did not believe customer service only exists as an oxymoronical concept. It was with great happiness upon revisiting this Ballys that upon recognizing the girl behind the counter I told her how happy I was to be back at my hometown Ballys because “everything always works here, ever since I was a kid.” After hearing this her faced turned sad, she looked down and with the sound a criminal condemned to the gallows she said; “ you better enjoy it Scott because they are closing us down for good.” When I inquired as to whom the “they” was she informed that as part of Bally’s new “modernization program” this place would only be open a few more days and then close forever. I said what do you mean this Ballys even has a special steam room, eucalyptus room, sauna whirlpool and swimming pool; do any of the new modern Ballys have these things? She said Ballys was building these new super centers but as part of there “modernization plan” there would be no whirlpools, swimming pools or any of the things I had just mentioned.

Having just had my contempt for modernity exacerbated I went to take solace in the steam room, where 120+ degrees soon separates the men from the boys. Soon after two large and pissed off Italian men entered and were visibly distressed about something. One big fella says to the other “ I can’t believe this shit Tony” The other one says “Ya I know” “We gave our lives to that company and why did they sell us down the river?” Well said the other fella, “GM sold us to IT, then IT sold us to some French Company and they decided to sell us down the river. “Why did they do it Tony?” Well the French don’t give a fuck about us because they aint never been our bosses before, so why should they care about our lives here? About whether or not we can make the payments to keep our homes or provide for our families? “But GM we both worked for them straight outta school, we were loyal to those guys our whole working lives and they just sell us down the river like we aint nothing. Like we aint been loyal to them since we got out of high school.” “GM said it’s part of there ah, “whatdacallit” modernization program, shut us down then move the plants offshore to some 3^rd world country where they aint gotta pay people shit, then sell the cars back here.” “Yah Tony your right but what are we going to do right now to get a job? “We could always be school bus drivers.” “My Cousin does that and he said it would be OK but one day some kid was acting up on the bus and he had to hit him, he told me he almost got fired.” But some punk kid was out of line, and he gotta keep order to drive the bus, why would he be in trouble?” I know Tony I know. It’s like nowadays everything is fucked! Upside Down Inside Out but what are we going to do to make a living? “How about driving buses for the city?” “Are you crazy? You know we could get shot by some crack head because he doesn’t have bus fare?” “Yah I know but I a friend o mine, he been there 5 years after his job went to China and he aint been shot yet so why do you say? “Well it’ll put food on the table so we’ll do it. Yah! Call your friend and let’s see if we can get in.”

As I exited the steem-room after what must have seemed like an eternity I thought about what those two guys had said. It made me remember all the 100,000’s of thousands of jobs that had been lost in Rochester during the last decade. First it was Kodak which slashed more jobs houses torched by Sherman on his way to the Sea, then Bausch & Laumb came out with there restructuring program as part of there “modernization plans” Then Xerox did the same and Kodak completely closed down the Elmgrove Road plant which many of my classmate’s father’s had been employed by. My hometown and the old neighborhood were falling apart, a casualty of “free trade” and “modernization,” the kinds of costs on people’s lives that economists don’t factor into GDP growth.  Here these guys had lost all that they had ever known yet they came to grips with it and mapped out a strategy for finding replacement work all before leaving the steam room.

As I was getting dressed I heard the old timers say goodbye to each other and said “Merry Christmas Tony” Yah Merry Christmas Pizzon. Give my best to the wife and kids.”

As I walked to my car it started to rain, HEAVILY! I thought of Steinbeck’s novel “Grapes of Wrath” and how in its movie adaptation the poor migrant Oakies have been booted from the subsistence fruit picking jobs they had and one of the young family members asks the grandmother what will they do? How would they survive when all that they had was lost? The very last scene of the movie she says “We’ll just a keep on coming, like we always done before. We’ll just a keep on coming and never give up.”

As the rain intensified I made a right turn on to Buffalo road for the mile drive home. It was then that I noticed that even the old Dunkin Donuts had gone out of business and been boarded up beyond belief. I was overcome with the realization that this was Christmas Eve and all evening I had encountered depressing and gloomy side effects of free trade. The “collateral damage” which our Congressman and Senators so often neglect because of there cozy corporate campaign contributors. As I drove back I noticed more FOR SALE signs in front of people’s homes. For this was Christmas Eve in a Free Trade Zone.