We pass my old high school, which was John’s high school, which was the first school where my wife taught, which was LeBron James’s high school, which is now my son’s high school, this mysterious young man who communicates best with a shy, crooked smile. I tell him to take a right, and he pauses, uncertain, glancing to me for guidance.
Right there, I say, pointing to the opening beyond a dark stone wall. Because, I realize now, we are going somewhere. We are going to Cadillac Hill, an oddly truncated stump of unnegotiable road that has no meaning or context unless someone is along to explain it, someone who’s been here before.
Cadillac Hill rises up between some diced-up rental houses overlooking the old cemetery, the one where all the mustachioed colonels and the fancy philanthropists and the inventors and the industrial captains are buried, just beyond the house where Thomas Edison was married. It’s in what the night-shift cops call a “known drug area,” which is to say that a slowing-down car is likely to draw the attention of law enforcement. But I’ve never known anyone who slowed down on Cadillac Hill. That’s not the point.
Nicknamed for its proximity to the city’s only Cadillac dealership, the road is concocted of chunky nineteenth-century street bricks, which over the years have settled into a Seussian order, their joint lines softened into gentle sine waves, the edges tilted into a haphazard washboard. The rise is bafflingly steep—its grade exceeds 25 percent—and short. From its beginning down by the cemetery, to its peak, and back down to its other end, the road covers less than a city block. With its teeth-rattling surface and breathless rise-and-fall, it’s more roller coaster than roadway. At the bottom of the steepest end, the street’s real name—Bates Hill—is carved into a granite obelisk that looks unmistakably like a grave marker.
Despite all of this, and because of all this, it has always been a destination, particularly for young men, one always taken at breakneck speed: a Springsteenian test of velocity, amplitude, aimlessness, anger, failure, freedom. It’s the motoring equivalent of a tequila shot.
* * *
E-mail from my friend Chris, who works on the seventeenth floor of a downtown office building, received during an afternoon blizzard, February 12, 2008:
Happiness is . . . Watching a guy try again and again to drive his Geo Tracker up Cadillac Hill, only to watch him slow to a crawl, get sideways, and slide back down almost completely out of control. Only to loop around and try again. At least six times since we’ve been watching. The whole floor is standing at their windows, cheering for him.
* * *
He realizes now that this is where we are headed. He’s been here many times, but always sitting where I am now sitting, never as the driver. He rolls toward the foot of it, looking up the steep, jagged, timeworn brick.
I tell him to gun it, hard, as hard as he can, and we take it pretty fast, chattering up its rise, feeling it all the way through our bones, spirited by the jarring rush, and we hit the crest weightless, then slow into the curving decline, and at the bottom he looks to me for where to go next.
Do it again.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I cannot overstate the support, commitment, and tenacity Daniel Greenberg has devoted to this book. He is a friend, a gentleman, and a true guardian.
Brant Rumble’s brilliant enthusiasm and editorial harmony can best be summarized thus: He once e-mailed me on his day off (possibly from the zoo) upon random spontaneous realization that I may have misspelled smooth-jazz guitarist Lee Ritenour’s name. And he was right.
Many and ongoing thanks as well to Nan Graham, Susan Moldow, Colin Harrison, Lauren Lavelle, Kara Watson, John Glynn, and everyone else at Scribner, and to everyone at Levine Greenberg Literary Agency.
The following people shared generously of their friendship, reading time, guidance, and/or bar tabs: Gina Giffels, John Puglia, Bob Ethington, Chuck Klosterman, Eric Nuzum, Michael Weinreb, Dave Rich, Andrew Borowiec, and Annie Murray. Thank you all.
Norma Hill, librarian at the Akron Beacon Journal, responded with deadeye accuracy to countless, often vaguely framed requests for information.
I owe enduring thanks to David Highfill, Lisa Gallagher, and Seale Ballenger at William Morrow for many, many good things. A hearty shout-out as well to my colleagues and students at the University of Akron and the Northeast Ohio Master of Fine Arts creative writing program, particularly Robert Pope, Eric Wasserman, and Mary Biddinger.
If faith is a belief in what you cannot see, then my family has granted me a remarkable gift, responding with patience, understanding, and encouragement as I disappear up a set of stairs and behind a closed door, day after day, year after year. Thank you Gina, Evan, and Lia for this, and all the rest.
Finally, and by no means least, my sincere thanks to the University of Akron Faculty Research Fellowship and the Cleveland Arts Prize for their generous support during the writing of this book.
© TIMOTHY FITZWATER
DAVID Giffels is an assistant professor of English at the University of Akron and the author of All the Way Home, recipient of the Ohioana Book Award. His writing has appeared in the New York Times Magazine, the Wall Street Journal, the Akron Beacon Journal, Grantland, and many other publications. He lives in Akron, Ohio, with his wife and two children.
MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT
SimonandSchuster.com
authors.simonandschuster.com/David-Giffels
ALSO BY DAVID GIFFELS
All the Way Home:
Building a Family in a Falling-Down House
Are We Not Men? We Are Devo!
(cowritten with Jade Dellinger)
Wheels of Fortune: The Story of Rubber in Akron
(cowritten with Steve Love)
We hope you enjoyed reading this Scribner eBook.
* * *
Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Scribner and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Scribner
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2014 by David Giffels
Frontispiece courtesy of photographer Billy Delfs
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Scribner Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Scribner trade paperback edition March 2014
SCRIBNER and design are registered trademarks of The Gale Group, Inc., used under license by Simon & Schuster, Inc., the publisher of this work.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Interior design by Jill Putorti
Cover design by Rodrigo Corral
Cover photograph © Alan Schein/Getty Images
ISBN 978-1-4516-9274-7
ISBN 978-1-4516-9275-4 (ebook)
“The Lake Effect” was previously published in Rust Belt Chic: The Cleveland Anthology.
“Cutting the Mustard” and portions of “Battleground” are reprinted with permission from the Akron Beacon Journal and Ohio.com.
“Unreal Estates” will appear (in another form) in The New Heartland: Looking for the American Dream by Andrew Borowiec.
style = " -webkit-filter: grayscale(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
The Hard Way on Purpose Page 23