Leaving Milwaukee

Go on, people say, tell us what your home town is famous for. I
don't answer at first, I know what they're waiting for. After a few
beers it must seem real funny. My old man told me to be proud and I am
after a fashion but not so proud that I can't laugh along with anyone
who feels like ripping me about the place.

Sure, I'll defend it. Who wouldn't? Everyone should defend where
they're from. I don't care if you're from New York City, Pittsburgh or
Canada, you gotta be proud to be a part of that whole thing. So am I.
I'm from Milwaukee, Wisconsin and the place is famous for beer and
cheese.

If you go into the Grand Avenue Mall you'll find a stall, it sells
things that tourists pick up. It sells cheese and beer and T-shirts
about beer and cheese. You can buy a cheesehead hat too and inflatable
beer bottles. We don't get many tourists though. It's not that kinda
town and I like it that way. Any place that has to bend and grovel to
people who don't live there, that's the kinda place it must be hard to
be proud of.

I've been to Europe. I've been to London and seen all the stalls
selling postcards and T-shirts and all manner of crap. How do the
people selling that shit feel that they know that place? How can they
take pride in their town's achievements, their nation's achievements
when all they want to do is reduce to a photo with 'Wish you were here
&;#8230;' stamped across it.

So I'm from Milwaukee but I'm walking down 5th Street to the Amtrak
station and making plans for what I'll do when I'm not around there any
more. I could be flying or driving but taking the train's more
dramatic. It's more final to pull away in a train with the town behind
you than to fly and look out the window and see Veterans Park and the
Lake Michigan waterfront beneath you, or than take a slow drive away
down the interstate.

My first stop is Chicago. It's about the only place that trains from
Milwaukee go. You ride through Edward Hopper scenery to you get to
Sturtevant, which is still in Wisconsin, and then about fifty minutes
later the train pulls up into Glenview which is very much a suburb and
in Illinois. After that it only takes about twenty minutes and you're
in Union Station, Chicago. Sure, I could fly but I need the separation
that only a train ride can give me.

I've left the place before but I've always come back. I went away to
college and came back, got a job in the pr department of the Marcus
Center. I'd come up with some press releases about the next Milwaukee
Symphony Orchestra concert would be, put some spiel out about the
summer concert series and all that sort of stuff. Easy work. My dad got
me the job. A pal of his from school worked there and used whatever
contacts he had to get me an interview. They were impressed I wanted to
stay.

I didn't want to stay but I didn't want to run away from the place.
Besides Chicago wasn't that far away and I'd go there whenever I felt
seeing lights. It's not that different but everything is bigger, more
alive. And now I'm heading to the station to get on an Amtrak and leave
Milwaukee for the last time.

I'm not sure that I'm going to stay in Chicago very long. I don't have
any firm plans beyond a desire to do something with myself. I've got
some money stored away that my parents don't know about but I'm still
going to have to find a job pretty soon.

I was talking to Billy about this - that's my best mate from school -
and he told me he couldn't understand why I didn't just cut the crap
and go to New York. Manhattan, he said as if he'd been there, is it. He
talked about Broadway as if he'd stood outside in the lights himself;
he went on about the vitality of the place, about SoHo and the streets
so crowded with people at night doing stuff. He looked out of the
window of the bar we were in as he said it all. Not like this place he
said and chugged again on his beer.

I've already gone to the station in a cab and checked my bags. I did it
a while ago and then walked back into the city. I was looking for some
closure maybe. It's hard to accept that you're leaving a place. I'm
really not sure if I'll be back. My parents are going to retire in a
couple of years and they're definitely not going to stick here. They've
been here all their lives but they've got their hearts set on retiring
to Florida and they've got the money. Dad's even started getting
brochures about retirement complexes.

As I was walking back I caught myself thinking that I didn't know what
I'd miss. Billy, sure and maybe a couple of other people. Friends from
way back. But nothing about the place and that made me feel a bit low.
This has been my home for twenty-six years and I should feel something.
The drama of leaving should make me feel something. The very fact of
getting on a train and turning my back on the place. Nothing.

I was at a Brewers game with Cindy once and they were getting ripped by
Chicago. That was the White Sox then, now it would be the Cubs. She
asked me if I'd always be in Milwaukee and I said that, yes, I thought
I always would be. She asked me why. I said I didn't know but that I
was born here, had gone to school here, had friends here and always
came back whenever I went away. She said then that she'd always be here
too and we kissed as the Brewers struck out 1-2-3 in the ninth to go
down 5-1.

Cindy isn't here any more. She left last year when her husband got a
job at Medway Affiliates in Portland. I got a card from her at
Christmas saying that they were both settling nicely and that everyone
there was so friendly. At the time I couldn't understand why anyone
would voluntarily move to and stay in Portland. But I guess it's the
same as anywhere else.

I did American Studies at college but what they don't teach you is that
most places are the same as most other places. They've got shops,
lawyers, politicians, police, banks and whatever. Mostly they read the
same books and watch the same TV. And they've all got people who are
proud to be a part of that place even though it might not seem much to
anyone else.

I didn't realize a man could live his life again in the time it takes
to walk a couple of blocks. I only made my move to head to the station
a couple of moments ago. My mind is spinning over everything and in no
particular order. I guess I'm trying to take a step back, live outside
myself and explain to myself that this is the last time I'll make this
walk. The last time I'll turn and see the huge conference center, the
last time for any of that.

My dad asked me why I'd decided to leave now. He thought I'd had so
many opportunities before. Going to college, splitting up with Cindy,
when Niall left to work in Chicago. He thought all those might be the
spark. I didn't tell him the reason because it doesn't seem to me to me
like it was a defining moment. It just happened.

I was sitting at my desk typing up a report on the coverage we'd
received for an earlier concert. It was for the benefit of our sponsors
to show them how much reach they were getting for their dollars. I was
beefing it up as you're told to do. And I just looked at the screen and
typed, "Who even cares?"

I deleted it and finished the report, went home and called Niall in
Chicago and asked him if he knew anyone with a spare bed. He called me
back with a name and a number and I called them and asked if I could be
there in four weeks as I'd have to work a notice period. They said fine
and we agreed a figure for rent and how we'd divide the bills. I've
still not met them but they sound nice enough on the phone.

After that I went to the PC in the bedroom and typed a resignation
letter. "I feel it is time to move on. I have developed personally and
professionally in my four years at the center and &;#8230;" I can't
remember the rest but I remember how long it took me to word. I
disciplined myself not to say, "It's been a waste of time and you know
it." I told them I wished them all the best and expressed the hope that
I could count on them for references should I need them in the future.
I printed it all out, signed it, put it in an envelope and the next day
handed it to the Development Director who did not look as surprised as
I thought she might.

So I'm from Milwaukee but I'm leaving the place. Leaving the cheese and
the beer and the empty streets and heading out. First stop Chicago and
who knows where after that and who knows when it will be. Maybe in a
couple of years I'll be away some place and somebody'll say, "Don't
recognize your accent where are you from?" and I'll tell them without
hesitating that I'm from Chicago, famous for wind, blues, losing sports
teams and Old Style. Or maybe NYC, Denver or any place. I just might
not be from Milwaukee any more.

And as I hit St. Paul's Avenue with the 'PASSENGER STATION' sign in
front of me I wonder what it will feel like when the train pulls out
and that process begins. I won't be craning catch a last glimpse of the
place.

I'll have my eyes closed and be thinking about Cindy or about Danielle
or about running down Wisconsin Avenue with Billy or about going to the
game with dad or about something else I've done in the last twenty-six
years.

The doors are automatic at Milwaukee station. You don't have to push
forward. They just open without comment, let you through and close
again.

They do so, I turn to my right and take a seat and wait for Amtrak 340
to be called.