Paterson

                               Fairlawn looked bleak in sunlight, an upscale Levittown development into which the Jewish had settled, then transformed into an upperly middle class island amid a sea of mostly blue collar towns, with Garfield, Elmwood Park, Hawthorne and Saddle Brook pressing in on every side. Despite its own pretentions, Fairlawn looked little different than the other towns, bearing the same style houses along the same tree-lined streets. In summer, the lawns looked a little green for the extra care they got and the window boxes and gardens overflowed with a few more flowers. Yet each house stood in similar proximity to the others, front doors facing the street, back doors looking out towards the back doors of the houses on the streets behind, windows on either side facing off against each other like dualists. Of course, the owners had struggled to made their little castles seem more unique, ...

                               In 1792 -- after nearly 700 acres were purchased above and below the Great Falls by various well-established families in the area -- the Society for Establishing Useful Manufactures turned its attention to finding labor.                 Alexander Hamilton helped acquire the serves of several pivotal men, some who invented new machines for the production of silk and cotton, some whom had worked elsewhere in the world to establish the fabric industry.                 The society itself, ordered the construction of fifty clay and stone houses, each built upon a quarter acre of land -- to be leased to any "proper mechanic, married and of good character" at a yearly rate of $12.50. Or such a p...

                    Jack stared out the greasy window of the Greasy Spoon, half in apparent daydream.                 "Will you serve," Maxwell scolded. "We still have customers you know."                 Maxwell shoved clean platters at him just fast enough for him to slap eggs and home fries on them and cast them through the serving windows into the waiting hands.                 After three nights up late, Maxwell felt drained, hardly up to the grind of The Greasy Spoon. Yet the constant motion supplied him with an odd sense of relief. He didn't have to think or draw conclusions. All he had to do was collect plates, cups and silverware, wash them and let Jack have them again. All he thought about were the eg...