When I fell in love.

Published
by
PittGirl
on November 12, 2008
in Uncategorized
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I love Pittsburgh and it’s no secret.  I say it in every interview I give and I write about it as often as I can.

I don’t even know when it really happened. I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve always liked it.  But when did I love it?

Was it the 1st or the 20th or the 650th time I shot out of the Fort Pitt Tunnel into the quiet night to gaze on the city in its vibrant sparkling glory, wondering how slow can I drive across this bridge to soak it all in without pissing off that guy behind me? That bridge always ends too soon.  Always.

Or was it that time I was on a date on the South Side and we happened to end up on Mount Washington and suddenly, out of nowhere, for no reason or event or holiday that we could gather, fireworks started?  Literal boom boom bing bang splash psshh fireworks over the Point.

Or was it those late September days that I would lunch on a bench at the Point, watching the quiet rivers, comforted by the crisp air, marveling at the fountain, wondering what the Bayer sign would have to say tonight, pleased that the mountainside hugged the city close, and amazed that the incline was still chugging up and down the face of it without hurling into the Mon?

Or maybe it was all those trips my old job sent me on to New York City, showing me a city that never sleeps and making me really really really wish it would just take the bottle and go night night?

Is it the food?  The bricks on Grant Street?  The Kaufmann’s clock?  The cost of living?  The fact that as long as you don’t cross a bridge by accident and you keep the USS Tower in your sights, it’s very easy to find your way anywhere downtown?  That guy that plays the sax outside of Saks?

Or is it the people?  The real, kind, simple, hardworking, genuine people?

I don’t know when I fell in love with Pittsburgh and I will never know.  That’s fine.  It’s not a relationship where you need to be aware of the second he grabs your face in his hands and says the words.  It’s a friendship that steadily grows into something deeper.  I remain incredibly aware of those moments that my love for my city deepens to even greater depths.

Reading this letter to the editor was one of those moments. Read it.  Really read it.

My dear friends, colleagues and neighbors in Pittsburgh: Six weeks ago, in Squirrel Hill, my beloved wife, Eva, was hit by a school bus and killed. We arrived in Pittsburgh at the end of July and had spent two wonderful, happy months here. We were looking forward to living here for the next five years.

The house we rented on Ebdy Street had a beautiful garden with raspberries and many animals and was a place where our young daughter, Ene, Eva and I enjoyed sunny days. I was very lucky with my new position at the University of Pittsburgh, and Eva expected to find a job where she could help other people by making use of her extraordinary work experiences in Africa, Afghanistan and Pakistan in the field of international development.

But the most important thing of all, the reason for our happiness, was you: the people we met in Pittsburgh, in our neighborhood, at the Department of History at the university, at the EU Centre for European Studies and in the shops and streets of this town, where so many friendly, open-minded, interesting people live.

After Eva’s death, after this incredible shock and the loss that I still do not really understand, I first thought that I would have to leave Pittsburgh and return to Germany. The incredible amount of compassion, help, friendship and encouragement that you provided to my daughter and me, and continue to provide each day, convinced me to remain in Pittsburgh. I know that Eva would have approved of this decision, which was not easy for me to make.

I want to thank you all and to let you know how much your support has meant to me and to my family. I would like to express my deepest gratitude to the Pittsburgh Police Department; to Father Bryce, who met me on the evening of Sept. 19 and told me the words I needed to hear; to the parish of St. Bede; to all the neighbors and friends; to the wonderful staff and faculty of the Department of History and to the many people I have never met who have moved me with their condolences and expressions of support.

ARPAD von KLIMO

Point Breeze

I remember reading the story when it happened, horrified at the tragedy and wondering what would become of that man and that child.

Now we know.  He’s not going anywhere just yet.

Neither am I.

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