Y-Town is My Town

Though I have lived in the Columbus area for almost 40 years, I was born and raised in Youngstown, Ohio. I am a Buckeye born and bred. Well, actually, I was born in Youngstown but raised in Austintown, a suburb on the west side of Youngstown (Proud graduate of Austintown Fitch High School Class of 1981. Go, Falcons!).

Restless, in search of adventure, and attracted by the bright lights and the promising prospects of the big city, I joined the great migration that left Youngstown in the mid-1980s for Columbus, the capital city. Needless to say, this was ironic given Columbus was then widely known as a “cow town.” Regardless, my twenty year old self reasoned, aside from family, that it had more to offer than Youngstown. At the time, irony upon ironies, it seemed everyone I met in Columbus was from somewhere else, especially from Northeast Ohio. In fact, the Youngstown transplants numbered so many that an annual gathering, the so named “Y-Town is My Town Party,” convened to, of all things, connect with each other and celebrate the town we had all deserted.

Columbus, especially Dublin where I’ve lived for the last 25 years, is my home. But, “home” is where my Momma is. Therefore, Y-Town is, and will always be, my town.

Indeed, you can take the girl outta Youngstown, but you can’t take Youngstown outta the girl.

A Boom Town Gone Bust

Bruce Springsteen, my favorite balladeer, tells the sad story of Youngstown…

Well my daddy come on the Ohio works

When he come home from World War II

Now the yard’s just scrap and rubble

He said, “Them big boys did what Hitler couldn’t do”

These mills they built the tanks and bombs

That won this country’s wars

We sent our sons to Korea and Vietnam

Now we’re wondering what they were dyin’ for

Bruce Springsteen

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A boom town gone bust after the steel mills closed, Youngstown, scrappy as ever, takes its punches, too many landing below the belt, but it doesn’t pull any either: even when it is seemingly down for the count, it always finds a way to get back on its feet. Sometimes wobbly. Other times punch drunk. Or slap happy. Gasping and groggy. Often on the ropes. Still, however, standing. The boxing metaphor is particularly apt considering Y-Town is the home of world champion pugilists with title belts forged in the fiery furnaces of the rust belt. More on that in a future post. It’s more than just a metaphor, though: it’s the character and tenacity and grit of its people who, round after round, answer the bell – No. Matter. What.

Before the Boom

A wave of European immigrants flooded Y-Town in the early 20th century in search of opportunities in the burgeoning steel mills – opportunities that promised prosperity and a better way of life. They settled in Y-Town, creating ethnic enclaves of Italians, Irish, Germans, Poles, and Slovaks – all with rich traditions firmly rooted in family, faith, and food (oh the food!), and all familiar with every sort of adversity. They built families and businesses and whole new lives in a whole new land. And, upon their backs and through their hard work, they built America with Youngstown steel.

My Dad’s parents were among those brave souls who set sail from the shores of the Old Country in pursuit of the American Dream. They left behind everything and everyone they knew to journey to the New Country with its new ways and new language. As well, my Mom’s family – the Pennsylvania Dutch and Irish – emigrated, too, first from afar across the ocean, then from the coal towns of central Pennsylvania to that steel town of Northeast Ohio.

I’ll tell you about them.

Their stories.

My remembrances.

And, in this blog, I’ll write more about Youngstown – part memoir, part travelogue, part family tree, part history lesson, part love letter – to share with you why Y-Town will always be My Town.

#InAroundAndBeyondTheBuckeye