"Some Cynical Guy" No. 51: November 4, 2001

Invaders of the Honeysuckle

If you've heard of Allentown, Pennsylvania, you probably associate it with the old Billy Joel song of the same name. A bleak place, naturally, full of marginalized souls in search of jobs and meaning. My theory is that Mr. Joel used Allentown in his famous ditty mainly because it rhymes conveniently with 'tearing all the factories down.' 

In fact, Allentown is a generally pleasant burg, more Midwestern than Eastern in its ambience and demeanor. Its traditional Pennsylvania Dutch populace is slowly, grudgingly giving way to an exotic multi-racial mix, but the town still largely exudes the bland and wholesome scent of shoo-fly pie. It's the sort of place where happy Rotarians still clasp hands, pat each other's backs and beam their prosperous extroverted smiles. The vast Farmers Market and annual Great Allentown Fair recall the old Pennsylvania Dutch traditions, for those still interested in traditions. 

But the town's most noteworthy (and yet unnoticed) feature is its truly spectacular park system. From west to east, from south to north, along ancient rushing streams lined with gnarled willows, Allentown is crisscrossed and bounded by the most soothing and resplendent green oases of any city I've ever encountered. I moved to Allentown because of a job offer I couldn't refuse, but it was the parks that kept me there for sixteen years.

I used to live next to one of those parks, the most beatific and beauteous of them all. Trexler Memorial Park, to call it by its official name, sounds like a fitting moniker for a cemetery. But it was actually the former summer estate of local mogul General Harry C. Trexler, a genial small-town combination of Teddy Roosevelt and Andrew Carnegie. Farmer, soldier, industrialist and good-deed doer, Trexler grew businesses like so many tomato plants. To his everlasting credit, he also masterminded the creation of the Allentown park system. When Trexler was released from earthly bondage in a car accident back in 1933, at the reasonably ripe age of 79, he bequeathed his property -- all of it, including his extensive farms -- to the good people of the Lehigh Valley. 

I used to walk in Trexler Park whenever I had a chance. It would invariably unrumple my brow at the end of a hard day's work and restore needed oxygen to my battered circulatory system. The broad expanse of lawn, the undulating contours and artfully clustered trees brought to mind an English country seat, and on summer evenings the fireflies glimmered there by the thousands.

One of the paved paths in Trexler Park meandered past a dense bank of honeysuckle that extended hundreds of feet from beginning to end. The beauty of those wild vines, with their multicolored blossoms of white and apricot and lemon ice, had powers to charm the jaded eye; their sweet fragrance practically transported you to botanical heaven. So it was a matter of concern to me when, during the course of an afternoon stroll last summer, I noticed dozens of sharp-leafed ailanthus trees sprouting throughout the honeysuckle. 

The ailanthus, also known as the 'tree of heaven,' is an Asiatic plant with a demonic genius for rapid reproduction. It's not an ugly tree, if you observe it with an objective eye, but the effect of those sharp and spiky leaves, growing in all their abundant immigrant profusion, can jar the eye and rouse one's arboreal alarm system. Normally the ailanthus colonizes city streets and other sites where more sensitive trees fear to take root. There it thrives amid the garbage cans and broken bottles, the shaded alleys and sinister courtyards where life is hard and often brutal. 

The ailanthus is the ultimate inner-city tree. So what was it doing in the midst of Allentown's verdant Trexler Park, reproducing and apparently overtaking a fragrant bank of native honeysuckle? A few more visits convinced me that the ailanthus trees were taking over the block, crowding out the honeysuckle and reducing it to scattered clumps of embattled greenery. 

I was alarmed -- and so, apparently, were the caretakers of Allentown's parks. One day I strolled past the ailanthus-honeysuckle battleground and discovered that the invading trees had all been lopped off near the base, leaving a hundred or so miniature stumps poking up through the suffering honeysuckle. I'm always sorry to see healthy trees felled in their prime, but I shed no tears for the departed ailanthus sprouts. Their deaths would spare the honeysuckle so future generations of Allentonians might whiff that intoxicating scent.

For the next few weeks I neglected Trexler Park while I packed for my move to Philadelphia. Then, just before I loaded my goods aboard the U-Haul, I decided to go for one last walk around my favorite haunt. I strolled once again past the honeysuckle and made the grim discovery that the ailanthus trees were already back in business. They had sprouted anew from the roots of their ancestors and were once again crowding out the honeysuckle vines. I couldn't believe it, but then I could. There are certain natural forces that no amount of willful management can contain. You can't suppress a gene for color-blindness or hemophilia. You can't suppress the inclination of robins to catch worms or shoes to come untied. You can't suppress Irish wit or Jewish brilliance or Afro-American exuberance, though people have tried for years. And apparently you can't suppress the urge of fanatics to be fanatical; no amount of bombing will show them the error of their ways. It's like trying to cut down a spreading grove of ailanthus trees. I have to tip my hat to that kind of tenacity even when it threatens to obliterate the honeysuckle I loved so well.

The Cynical Pick of the Week
At the murder trial of Rabbi Fred J. Neulander, a representative of the jury actually asked the judge if their verdict had to be unanimous. Don't any of them watch 'Ally McBeal'? Makes you wonder if trial by jury is such a bright idea after all. You need a license to serve liquor, but any untrained bozo can decide life-or-death matters in court.

© 2001 by Bridget Petrella Media Relations. "Some Cynical Guy" appears here by permission of the publisher. If you'd like this column to appear regularly in  your own site or publication, write to UPBEATmag@aol.com.

Profile of a Cynic...

Bayan, who claims to be a "kinder, gentler cynic," currently lives in Allentown, Pennsylvania. His weekly column, "Some Cynical Guy," is published and syndicated by Upbeat Online.