Moving on up

One of my many dreams has come true. On May 1, I will have my own apartment. I’ve had some bad experiences with roommates in the past, so I’ve had this dream for a while now. The studio has a separate kitchen and is fairly spacious, quite beautiful, and best of all, entirely affordable. There are hardwood floors and a poor man’s balcony in the form of a fire escape.

The thing is that’s in a rough part of Bridgeport. According to some, it’s an extremely bad part of Bridgeport and I’m going to die. For some reason I’m not concerned.

Some residents of the city I work with said I’m immediately going to be a target since I’m white. They say I’ll get jumped going from my car to the apartment (a 20 foot walk). Many people said they will never visit me because of the location. Sure, some of these people might know more than me, but it all sounds over the top. It’s not like I’ll be strolling the streets in my tailored suit with a wad of cash.

Some of the reactions I get really bother me, as if the area is some sort of war zone. Cops are there all the time, and the realtor told me there are dealers around. That doesn’t mean I’m going to die. It just means I’ll actually be living. I’d report in Iraq without hesitation if I had the chance. Same with war zones in Afghanistan, Africa and anywhere else in the world. My street and those places can’t even be compared.

I also want to report in a city with lots of problems. Where people have a right to be mad as hell, and corruption and dysfunction are prevalent. That’s Bridgeport. Working in Westport makes for some great experience, but living in the type of city I want to one day report in is invaluable.

I have no illusions about the neighborhood. It isn’t paradise. The streets are filthy and I see police there often. I might be one of the few white guys there, but what does it matter? I’ve got an awesome apartment and I’m becoming a better reporter just by living there. I can’t do that anywhere else. Then again, I can’t even afford an apartment anywhere else.