We met in clubs, danced at discos, attended concerts of Polish stars who visited from Poland, and went to the theater, as Polish theater groups also performed here. Every week, we could attend some performance, and on Sundays, we could attend a Polish mass in one of the two parishes. The priests also spoke Polish. When our daughter was born, she attended a Polish school on Newell Street.
I fell in love with the neighborhood.

I was 19 years old, had just passed my high school diploma, and had plans to study in the Polish city of Wroclaw. My brother and I came to New York in 1996 to visit our dad. Our dad had left for America 16 years earlier, and I hardly remembered him at all.

I knew that he was a building manager in Greenpoint and Queens. He rented rooms to Poles. I believe a lot of people who migrated from Poland in the 80s and 90s stayed at my dad’s place. He simply divided the apartments into tiny rooms so that more people could fit in. Later, he owned the building and also rented it out. Then he moved to Queens so we could have slightly better living conditions. When we arrived, he had a plan to keep us in America. I had no such intention, and my dad and I immediately had a conflict.

My first impression was not favorable. Manhattan was beautiful, but the city was terribly dirty. There was garbage in the streets and rats. It was a culture shock for me that one could not take such care of their surroundings. In our country, Poland, people did care.

Greenpoint didn’t seem like a place where I would want to live. People lived in basements, and there were several people per apartment. They worked hard from morning to evening, leaving no time for anything but work. They said they would make some money and return, but they didn’t, and life was passing by. I was somewhat horrified by this; I didn’t want my life to be like that. In Poland, work ended at 3 p.m., and people were already busy with their lives and families.

Two months after our arrival, my dad took my brother and me to Florida. We visited Miami and other prosperous, colorful places. We saw all those elderly ladies in red convertibles and smiling people who didn’t constantly complain. My dad wanted to show us the best parts of America. He explained that it was easier to start from scratch here than in Poland. Perhaps it was indeed harder back then in Poland.

My dad insisted that I stay, and I agreed. I said I would give it a try. I found casual work, packing catering for airplanes, but I quickly realized that this was not for me. If I were to live in America and not end up in a basement in Greenpoint, I knew I had to study. So, I started studying accounting. My brother and I rented a house on Staten Island. We wanted to be independent. And so it began.

At school, I met new people. Ironically, I quickly started an internship as an accountant at another airline catering factory. To this day, I still work in accounting, but now in a high position. My brother and I started exploring America. One time, I wanted to see Niagara. We got into my dad’s car with friends. We didn’t say where we were going because my dad would disagree – he only allowed driving around the city. Near Albany, my dad’s car started to emit puffs of smoke. The alternator had caught fire. We were terrified because it broke down in the middle of nowhere, near a town where time seemed to have stopped or where one could film horror movies. A friend of my brother’s friend came to pick us up. He drove five hours from New York to rescue us. He helped us so much that he became my husband. I soon returned to Greenpoint because he lived there. Years later, I joked when he asked me what I saw in him. Dear me, I saw a house in Greenpoint.

My husband and I led a very active life. We met in clubs, danced at discos, attended concerts of Polish stars who visited from Poland, and went to the theater, as Polish theater groups also performed here. Every week, we could attend some performance, and on Sundays, we could attend a Polish mass in one of the two parishes. The priests also spoke Polish. When our daughter was born, she attended a Polish school on Newell Street.

I fell in love with the neighborhood.

Even if Greenpoint was not well-regarded, for Poles, it was the best place in the world. especially for those who had recently arrived in America and felt that they were losing their footing. Everything in America was different. People were busy, self-centered, and strangers.

In our small Polish towns, people lived close to each other. Children played in yards under windows, and their mothers took turns caring for a whole group of neighbors’ children. One could go to the market, to the main square, and meet friends. You could always have a coffee and chat.

Greenpoint emulated a small Polish town. It was such a comforting place.

I always said that no force would make me move from here.

I’ve been living in Middle Village for two years now. And I still miss Greenpoint.