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Imagine it's January 15th, 1919, just afternoon in Boston's North End.

You're a breakman in the third car of the city's passenger train, rattling up the rails

on elevated tracks.

The trains chugging north at 20 miles per hour, and approaching a section you've always

loved, where you can see the docks and feel the ocean wind blowing in from the wharf.

You look down and see Longshoreman hauling kegs of beer and carts loaded with livestock.

To you, there's a sense of progress and optimism in all this activity, something your city

desperately needs.

The flu pandemic has ravaged Boston for months, and thousands of the city's young men were

killed in the war in Europe.

You turn to your assistant next to you, who's bracing himself by the window.

It's his first time on this route.

Now, look, when you get here, you gotta be careful, because this bend up ahead is really

tight.

The young man nods.

You know, sir, my parents' family used to live in this neighborhood.

They moved over Charleston before I was born, though.

Irish, right?

Yeah, mostly Italians down here now.

It's been built up, too.

...