I’ve complained a lot in this space about the Steel City, but I haven’t said enough about the stuff I like here in my hometown, where I was born.

I’m sure some folks wonder why I won’t give old Pittsburgh a break and say something nice every once in a while. After all, we’re not fighting this culture war because of things we hate that we just want to vanquish, but for things we love that we want to see preserved.

Some afternoons I can look out my back windows and see the skyline of downtown Pittsburgh a few miles away as clear as day, while v-formations of Canadian geese pass low overhead, being full-time residents of an old cemetery nearby.

If I were to leave Pittsburgh tomorrow and never return, readers should know some of what I’m a fan of about this place—like the old church ladies in the Sacred Heart of Jesus store in Bloomfield, Pittsburgh’s “Little Italy,” which is still Italian—una specie di (sort of).

Sister Mary Madalyn Shleifer sounds like a Catholic cookie, and she is a sweetie. The joy of the Lord shines from her eyes when you see her at the store where she works with her partner in the ministry, Sharon Oldaker. They are Italian-American, and Irish-American, respectively.

Mary Madalyn, a retired nun, still wears the dark habit of her defunct order. Sharon often wears a crucifix big enough to choke a Clydesdale, or at least make the horse seriously consider confessing its sins. You might think of your sins and blessings if you stopped to chat with the ladies. And you might not get out of there without joining in a Hail Mary.

The books, statuary and such will cost you a little at the Sacred Heart of Jesus store, but the blessings are free.

“A place belongs to whoever claims it hardest,” the obsessive compulsive writer Joan Didion wrote.

So I’m claiming Pittsburgh, in a way, like the church ladies have—for the good.

I’m claiming it for my ancestors who died here, and for my many nieces and nephews who might someday visit or live here. I’m claiming it for St. Nicholas Croatian Catholic Church and its Maxo Vanka murals, and for all Croatians.

I am claiming it for my childhood church—First Presbyterian Church in downtown, with its 13 Tiffany stained glass windows that made me gaze in wonder as a kid.

I’m claiming it for the iconic U.S. Steel Tower, with its funky Corten exterior and the huge shadow it casts; the skyscraper where Dad worked for many years.

I am claiming Pittsburgh for all of those who still believe in freedom and self-government, and who don’t agree with being ruled. I am claiming Pittsburgh for people who believe in the rule of law, and who believe in honoring their American ancestors.

I claim Pittsburgh for the many good memories it holds.

Like childhood memories of heading to the now-gone produce yards in the Strip District early in the morning (about 4 a.m.) with Dad, to pick up crates of fruit, logs of cheese and more. He’d take a couple or a few of us boys, and never fail to mention to one of the old Italians he was haggling with to lower the price on something: “They’re a couple of my 12 kids.”

The hard old merchant would look down at us kids and you could see his face soften.

And, oh yeah, lest I forget—I’m claiming this town for the folks at Paddy Cake Bakery in Bloomfield, or for some of the other merchants over there, too, and for all of the folks in my childhood hometown of Bellevue (including the Lincoln Bakery and Bellevue Brewery folks).

For what are you claiming your town?

Image: Free image, Pixabay license.