Park Street Story

Park Street in Hartford, CT has interested me immensely because of its vibrancy and its history of being a point of entry to many immigrant groups transitioning to American life. It has been home to French and Irish immigrants, and now hosts a rich Hispanic, primarily Puerto Rican, population. 

Park Street runs like a river to the sea... The primarily Hispanic section runs from Hartford's Main Street through Washington Street, then through a section known as "frog hollow" to Sisson Ave., where the street's name changes to Park Road. The street becomes a little more upscale and there are many shops and restaurants of various nationalities. The section is seen as safer than Park Street. Many second and third generation citizens live in this area. Park Road continues to flow to the sea of suburban contentment where Park Road changes name to Sedgwick Street at the prosperous West Hartford town line. 

I have never felt richer is better. I feel Park Street has more character than its wealthier cousins up the Street. Park Street lives more on the edge. When I photographed the area in 1978 and 1979 the Hispanic section was quite poor. These neighborhoods had poverty, drug problems, rodent infestation and lots of gang activity. Nevertheless, the residents were open, friendly and welcoming. 

The children, precocious and full of life, were the best ambassadors. I remember one very cold early Thanksgiving morning photographing a barefooted ten year old having fun with a grocery cart that he had turned into a truck while I shivered. The kids played in rubble and trash and had a great time finding games like jumping from roofs onto dirty discarded mattresses just missing broken glass. I would love to know what these kids are doing now that they are all middle aged. 

The primary gang was the Savage Nomads. They were wild and dangerous but generally didn't mind being photographed. The "Lady Nomads" were also something else. Gang related trouble was seen as normal and a part of everyday life. 

There were a great variety of shops and botanicas. There were also many run-down bars and cafés. There was the Bean Pot café where French Canadians still met for breakfast, a great pizza shop and a Spanish bakery. Travel agents, tattoo parlors, furniture shops, and Caribbean grocers were common. There were package stores, clothing dealers out on the street, barber shops and shaved ice carts. There were can collectors and garbage pickers. You could often see the homeless ambling and the street hustlers scurrying to the tune of girls chanting as they skipped rope. 

I took photos inside shops and the Casino Café; I got invited inside homes and rode the Park Street bus shooting street scenes. I climbed rickety staircases in burned out buildings and shot discarded platform shoes. I got to know many people of all types. Tony for instance was an aged Italian philosopher-barber who sat in a burned out barber shop and cut nobody's hair. He taught me to always sit on the sunny side of the bus. 

I had experiences both joyous and sad. Time went by fast on the street. I spent two years photographing inside and outside Park Street and grew quite a bit from the people I met and the things I saw. This photo essay is of a time long past, and the prints themselves are likewise old; developed in black and white from my 1970's negatives. Photography has completely changed since then. But on this website and in my book, you will find an untouched, hard honesty seldom seen in today's world of digital cameras and Photoshop. 

In 2020, select photos from Park Street Story were admitted into the permanent collection of the New Britain Museum of American Art.