Since 2000, Greenpoint has begun to change. New music clubs were created, where rock and metal concerts were held in addition to Polish discos. Usually, my parents took me there. Bands from Poland came, but American bands also played. Sometimes, it was so that a heavy-metal concert was ending, and outside the door, Poles were already waiting for their disco-folk dance. It was funny to watch the audience exchange. People with long hair in studded leathers were coming out, and those in pressed shirts and combed hairstyles were waiting.
I was upset that my parents had left Poland and left me with my grandparents, who told me what I could and could not do. It was a difficult year. Then they took me to New York, where I stayed with my mom and dad. Was I happy? Not really. I think I was eight years old. I didn’t understand a word of what they said to me here. I felt alone.
There was a tradition in my dad’s family to migrate to America. First, his mother, my grandmother, left. I don’t know why, but I think it was for money. She went to Italy with her husband first. There, she lived in a camp for displaced persons, and then they ended up in the States.
Then my dad left. He was a musician. In Poland, he played bass in a popular rock band. He and my mother met when they were 18. I was born right away.
Dad toured a lot. He traveled around Poland and to communist countries. I think he wanted to see the world: the Grand Canyon, California; he wanted to play in America. It was a holy grail for him. Well, his parents lived here. Dad left in 1989, and then he persuaded my mother.
The parents settled in Greenpoint. They rented an apartment on Driggs, close to the St. Stanislaus Kostka Church. Greenpoint was a very conservative neighborhood then; everyone went to church on Sunday. You didn’t rent apartments to people of different skin colors, and you didn’t cross Greenpoint Avenue as if that part of the neighborhood didn’t exist.
My parents did not fit this pattern. They were very young, not very religious, and were friends with other young people, not just Poles. I think they really liked it here: parties, freedom, music, concerts.
Since 2000, Greenpoint has begun to change. New music clubs were created, where rock and metal concerts were held in addition to Polish discos. Usually, my parents took me there. Bands from Poland came, but American bands also played. Sometimes, it was so that a heavy-metal concert was ending, and outside the door, Poles were already waiting for their disco-folk dance. It was funny to watch the audience exchange. People with long hair in studded leathers were coming out, and those in pressed shirts and combed hairstyles were waiting.
Unfortunately, trouble began in my family. Dad traveled a lot and liked other women. Mom put up with it for a few years and then had enough. I was a teenager when they divorced. It was a very bad time, although, from today’s perspective, I think they should have divorced much earlier. Dad now lives in Florida.
I’ve been a bartender for ten years. I started in Greenpoint, in a really seedy bar, which was a bit dangerous. It was located on the corner of Freeman and Manhattan. Until I started working at Tommys Tavern I had never been to that part of Greenpoint. The owner was an 80-year-old Polish woman, Helena, together with her crazy son Tomek. Raised in the States, he didn’t speak Polish and had a drug problem. He was unbalanced and some people were afraid of him.
People came to this bar for three reasons: their parents used to come there, they were barred from other places, or they wanted to buy drugs – cocaine was prevalent. We still had some hipsters who were curious about what such a dive bar looked like. We didn’t have to worry about the police. They never ventured in there.
I had a problem with one of the patrons there. He often came in high and didn’t listen to any warnings. One time, he started playing music louder and louder. Despite my repeated requests, he ignored me. I left my post behind the bar and confronted him. He shoved me hard, and no one intervened.
When I started working, I quickly realized the structural problems in my job. Dealing with aggressive customers was one thing. Another challenge was customers who wanted to befriend you and invite you to do shots with them. A bartender shouldn’t refuse to build a rapport with a customer. But if he doesn’t set boundaries, he won’t last the rest of the shift. I came up with a solution: I would agree to drink, but only spirits, which I can handle well. I would even set the drink on fire for effect. Most customers decided it wasn’t worth risking their lives for a drink with the bartender.
As Greenpoint began to gentrify, I faced a dilemma. I’m not an umbrella cocktail bartender, and I don’t want to work in a wine bar. I found that there weren’t many places where I’d like to work. What’s the ideal place? A traditional bar, where people come and want to form a community. Yes, they gossip about each other, but you can trust that no one will fool you. The next day, everyone would be talking about it.
Despite the gentrification and the influx of posh drinks in some parts of Greenpoint, you can still sense the old spirit of the neighborhood. There’s a hint of racism and misogyny in some bars. When people have a few drinks, they start saying strange things, making my black friends uncomfortable. We avoid those places. I believe that’s the core of the place.
I recently switched to a bar in Williamsburg. People smoke weed, and I hear about ketamine, blankets, mushrooms, and acid, although I don’t see anyone dealing drugs in our establishment. I observe couples who meet at our place through Tinder. I think it’s like Russian roulette, and sometimes I’m taken aback. I belong to a Facebook group called ‘Are we dating the same man?’ Women exchange photos of men they are dating to verify their stories and identities. Recently, a woman posted a photo of a man. I recognized him because he used to come to our bar with a different woman. Another woman posted a photo and asked if anyone else was dating her boyfriend. Three women responded.
What keeps me in Greenpoint? My hobby. I fish in Newtown Creek and have an aquarium at home where I cultivate plants from the creek. Sometimes, I also introduce small fish that I catch. The rest, I release back into the water. I don’t believe in harming living creatures.
A vibrant community has formed around Newtown Creek. It includes boat owners, walkers, and environmentalists. We’ve become friends. Except for one elderly man who comes and yells that fishing or oystering is not allowed in the creek. He yells in English but with an accent. Just in case, I never admit that I’m Polish.
