Well now, gather ’round, folks, and let an old general tell you a tale. Seventy-nine years I’ve seen this grand nation of ours, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the past ain’t just dusty books and dates.

It lives and breathes in the very ground beneath our feet, especially here in Albany. This city, the capital of our great New York State, is a living testament to generations, to struggles, and to triumphs. And that, my friends, is a story worth telling.

My grandpappy, bless his soul, used to tell me about his own grandpappy, a tough old Dutchman who saw the turn of the 19th century. He’d speak of the Albany of 200 years ago – not some bustling metropolis, mind you, but a vital hub, already deep in the currents of American history. Two centuries ago, in 1825, Albany was a city with its eyes on the future, yet firmly rooted in a past that stretched back to the Dutch fur traders.

You see, the Hudson River, that mighty artery, was everything.

My great-great-grandpappy, a man of the land and the river, would describe the ceaseless activity down at the docks. Barges, sloops, and steamboats, yes, even back then! The Erie Canal, a monumental undertaking, was just reaching its completion around that time, and Albany, positioned at its eastern terminus, was poised to explode. It was a strategic point, a gateway to the vast interior of the country. Folks were pouring in, seeking opportunity, bringing their dreams and their grit.

He’d tell me of the bustling markets, the taverns filled with the hearty laughter and rough-and-tumble talk of traders, farmers, and politicians. Politics, of course, was already deeply entrenched here. Albany was the capital, after all, and the wheels of state government were grinding, shaping the future of New York and, in many ways, the nation. Imagine the debates, the compromises, the fiery speeches echoing through those early legislative halls!

My own father, a man of quiet strength, carried on these stories. He’d emphasize the resilience of the people, the way they weathered economic downturns and the inevitable challenges of growth. The city was a melting pot, even then. Irish, German, and later Italian immigrants came seeking a new life, contributing their sweat and their spirit to the fabric of Albany. They built the canals, the railroads, and the very infrastructure that allowed this city to thrive.

I remember my father telling me about the old buildings, some of which still stand today, silent sentinels of time. He’d point out the architectural styles, each brick and beam whispering tales of craftsmanship and enduring purpose. He taught me to see beyond the surface, to appreciate the layers of history that had accumulated over two centuries.

From a small Dutch trading post, through the colonial struggles, the Revolutionary War, and then into the dynamic expansion of the young American republic, Albany has always been a place of significance. It’s a city that has witnessed pivotal moments, adapted to change, and consistently played a crucial role in the development of New York and the United States. When I walk these streets, I don’t just see asphalt and modern buildings; I see the ghosts of my ancestors, the pioneers, the builders, the dreamers, who all left their mark.

It’s a powerful feeling, to know that you are standing on ground trod by generations of your own blood, and by countless others who contributed to this nation. This sense of continuity, of being part of something much larger than oneself, is a profound comfort in these later years.

Next time, we’ll talk about what Albany looks like today, what she’s become in our own time. But for now, let’s reflect on the journey she’s taken.

Thank GOD for letting me survive. Thank GOD for giving me your blessing. Thank GOD because you are the blesser. Amen.