Building a Road

A story about family, transportation, and people who connect.

When you travel, you learn. The way my mother raised me, humility has been a foundational facet. Yet one aspect I can affirm is the distance I’ve journeyed over the course of my life. And I’ve often found that what brings people together—through shyness, across borders, and even defusing conflict—is what different cultures share. Storytelling is one such example. The need to streamline transportation is another. Familial responsibility (though this can get complicated at times) is a third.

 

So if I may, please allow me to share something that crosses all three of these planes.

We’ll start with family. My Aunt Loretta—on my mother’s side of my lineage—has always been a charitable soul. She’s strived to help others throughout her life, no matter what the cost is to her. Her constant reach to offer kindness and support is something I’ve seen firsthand, as well as witnessed countlessly with my mom—who shares my aunt’s name, as a matter of fact.

I have fond memories of spending a large part of my childhood in the North Jersey home of my Aunt Loretta, my Uncle Ken, and my Cousin Mike. We would drive up from our house in the greater Philadelphia area of South Jersey, get onto the New Jersey Turnpike, and then travel onto the all-important road of I-287 to reach them (but more on that later). These trips were always enjoyable times, and they started my ever-present passion for both dogs and gaming.

Not so much cats, though. You can ask my Aunt Loretta about those particular stories. Claw marks and a shift to dogs, mostly.

In India, a country where I’ve studied, worked, and lived, family is simply a part of your life that you stand by and support. This is unquestionable. Hindi, one of 22 “scheduled languages” of India (there is no one official language), has specific terms that you use for each family member in your life. For example, you don’t merely call your grandmothers on either side of your family both “grandma” and “grandma.” “Daadi” is your father’s mother, while “naani” is your mother’s mother.

There is a word in Hindi, then, that corresponds to my Aunt Loretta. It sounds as bright as the light that shines from her. “Maasi”: my mother’s sister.

With that somewhat rambling introduction, let me share that tri-plane tale about how my maasi’s father—my great uncle—helped to streamline transportation and as well as bring my family (and others) together in my home state of New Jersey.

My great uncle, who was also named Ken, was a brilliant, diligent engineer. And a devoted husband and father. I had known these esteemed traits about him, but the following story was unveiled just a few weeks ago, when my Aunt Loretta shared it between the three of us—her, my mother, and me—as we sat down to savor some chole bhature (a delicious north Indian dish) from our local spot. I couldn’t imagine a better setting to hear it.

So let’s back up a bit to when my Aunt Loretta was growing up. This period would be in about the 1960s and 1970s (don’t worry, maasi, I won’t divulge your age). My great uncle was a professional engineer all his life. Having worked with engineers in the marketing industry, I know the conscientious work that they do, and how many projects would simply be lost without their expertise.

Ken was heavily involved in the building of Interstate 287, an auxiliary interstate highway that runs between New Jersey and New York. She remembers him coming home late at night multiple days a week. He’d be carrying so many blueprints on the I-287 project that they’d fill his hands up to his chin. My great uncle didn’t just put effort into his craft, but dignity and honest dedication.

I mentioned the task of streamlining transportation earlier. If you’ve traveled on the New Jersey Turnpike or one of the many highways in North Jersey, you know some of the craziness that can transpire on those journeys. Cardboard boxes dumped out mid-drive, cars weaving between each other at 100 miles an hour. You know, standard scenarios like that. 

The creation of I-287 provided a convenient commuter route along the metropolitan area of New York City. My great uncle had to go through multiple government meetings, delays, and other stalls in bureaucracy to finish the project.

Overall, this took more than 20 years to complete. Property owners along the proposed route between US 202 in Montville, NJ, and the New York State Thruway fought against its completion through the 1960s and 1970s. The Army Corps of Engineers finally issued permits to begin construction in 1988. The ribbon-cutting ceremony (which my maasi’s husband, my Uncle Ken, snuck into to shake hands with the governor) was finally held in 1994.

My maasi remembers her brother in these settings as well, who was also named Ken. I’ll refer to him as Kenny for the remainder, so as not to have him confused with my maasi’s husband or my great uncle. (In Hinduism, children are beautifully named through astrology and are given the Naamkaran ceremony. As you’ve already read, the Adler-DeIntinis family tree has a woefully simpler naming practice.)

Engineering was a focal point of not only my great uncle’s career, but also his longstanding reputation. He was so proud of the work which he did that, when he left this earth, he made sure that “P.E.” (professional engineer) would be put onto his tombstone next to his name. 

The day I first saw my great uncle’s grave was the same day of my maasi’s brother’s funeral. The sun was out, but this was a grey day of hardship for our family, and especially so for my maasi. I remember her eulogy for Kenny, and the funeral service prepared for him. Afterward, we gathered in the hearse with my maasi on the drive to the cemetery. You stand by your family.

At this point, it’s important to note that my Uncle Kenny dealt with schizophrenia, a debilitating mental disorder. The last few years of his life had my maasi traveling from Florida—where she and my Uncle Ken had moved—back to New Jersey in order to care for him.

But that’s what you do. It is unquestionable. And so that’s what my maasi did, up until the very last breath that Kenny took. And while flights and air travel were part of it, she also drove on I-287 to make sure to get to him.

The very same road that my great uncle helped build decades ago. Time has a way of becoming cyclical. The strength of one’s work isn’t measured by how much is said or practiced at the moment, but by how much the message resonates over time.

What was most surprising? During the story that my maasi told my mother and I, she let us know just how much Kenny had honored their father’s memory in Kenny’s later years. This I had not known. Kenny and my great uncle didn’t get along as much during their childhood. But then again, fathers can certainly be a Rubik’s cube that defy understanding. Oftentimes it’s through the platform of communication that familial relationships become more complicated.

As the brilliant YouTube channel Nerdwriter explains in its analysis of “Succession” (the greatest drama on TV, which just won its second Emmy in a row for such at the 72nd Primetime Emmy Awards), words can carry incomprehensible power when wielded between family members. This is especially true when coming from the mouths of fathers. In certain situations, “promises that are made today are void tomorrow. Words are here, then gone.”

While it’s important to note that my great uncle was not nearly like “Succession’s” paterfamilias, Logan Roy, the show carries this related message: it’s often long afterward that one understands the value of lessons learned from fathers. But those teachings aren’t always conveyed with clarity, making for eventual yet delayed resonance. Sometimes there’s even conflict in the interim.

(By the way: Jeremy Strong, who plays Kendall Roy—the eldest son to Logan in “Succession”—just won his first Emmy for his performance. He is simply thunderous in the last scene of season two’s finale.)

My great uncle and his son Kenny didn’t have the greatest of relationships during their earlier years. But Kenny actually had kept a highway sign of I-287 to commemorate his father’s work at his own home. This he kept as both a memory of my great uncle Ken, as well as honoring the legacy of Ken’s craftsmanship. Despite their quarrels with each other while my great uncle was alive.

It should be emphasized how vastly important communication and artistry are to my mother’s side of the family. My maasi and I have watched dozens of great television shows together (including “Succession”), while my mom has brought me to numerous plays and musicals. “Catch Me If You Can,” a supremely underrated musical adaptation of the famous 2002 film, first came to Broadway in 2011. It starred Aaron Tveit and the incredible Norbert Leo Butz. (Norbert won his second Tony Award for his performance.) Midway through the musical, which also deals with familial themes, there’s a song about fatherhood. The beginning lyrics mention an “eternal cycle” of parenting. Early on, the song has more of a despondent, and even darkly humorous, tone. But later on, the singers, in unison, go:

“Like dad after dad after

Dad after dad

Since the whole mess began

You do the best that you can

‘Little boy, be a man.’”

My great uncle did his best. Perhaps it wasn’t fully understood at the time by Kenny, who dealt with immeasurable weight on his own end. But from what my maasi told me, Kenny acknowledged my great uncle’s teachings in his own way, and at his own pace. She even used the term “idolized” when talking about Kenny’s remembrance of their father. My great uncle was the rock that kept the foundation of our family grounded and stable. I even heard about how my naani—my mother’s mother—would come to him for support when there were familial difficulties at her home. After all, my mother’s family and my maasi’s family only lived six blocks away from each other in North Jersey.

They were close families, my mom’s and my maasi’s—both in distance and in terms of love for one another.

This led back to our talk about my great uncle’s history. His legacy, his work. I wanted to know even more about his engineering, about his history. And after Kenny’s passing, I wondered where this sign was now. 

Apparently—out of all the places it could be—it was sitting in the garage of my family’s home in South Jersey.

So what to do with this sign? Where was it going to go? It couldn’t just remain hidden away in storage as if it was some random family heirloom. 

Well, my aunt was kind enough to gift me the highway sign from I-287. The same highway sign previously owned and hung by my Uncle Kenny, which encapsulates more than just an old interstate marking. I’m still figuring out where to hang it in my apartment. This will be a much less formidable task than the road my great uncle helped build off of the NJ Turnpike.

When I say that my great uncle Ken built a road, he didn’t merely just organize a few hundred miles of pavement. This was a man whose planning and expertise literally brought people together—not only with his work, but also with his persona as a family man. Interstate 287 runs between two of the most populated states in the country, encircling the Greater New York Area and connecting its multitude of suburbs. He also kept my family together at their weakest moments. And my maasi’s tale led to discovering previously unknown facts about him and my lineage. These traits further emulate the type of person he was.

Though I was born in Washington, D.C., and have spent most of my U.S. years in the greater Philadelphia area, my blood still lies in North Jersey. I feel a slight, inexplicable pull whenever I drive up to the area for doctors’ appointments or to visit friends. 

In some way, that connection still lingers. It always shall. When you build a road, you connect. When you make these connections, you extend your reach to others and help them grow.

And when you do that, well…you’re doing the best that you can.

My great uncle Ken did the best that he could.

His “best” was more than anyone in New Jersey, New York, or our own family could have asked for. But then, that’s the type of man he was. A kind and charitable soul who cared for others and just…wanted to help.

So he helped. And he built. And he loved.

And that is what we, and time, will always remember.

-Paul Adler

P.S. I want to thank my maasi, Aunt Loretta, for telling me this story about my great uncle and his workmanship on I-287. I also want to thank meri maa—my mother—for helping to fill in a few details. Please allow me to also thank two friends and colleagues: Punit Modhgil, a constant source of inspiration; and Prasant Naidu, for connecting with me and showing me this platform.

P.P.S. Since I did mention our family’s love of dogs, it would be rude not to include this snapshot. Tatum, our Brittany Spaniel, just wanted to be part of the occasion.