GROWING UP IN BRIDGEPORT IN THE 40S AND 50S is a collection of essays written by the author and published in The Bridgeport Leader over a two-year period, from 2002 to 2004. Drawn from the author's memory, these essays describe the sights and sounds, adventures, drama, humor and tragedies of the author's youth. With its informal and familiar tone, and its recurring references to local figures and locales, the author draws the reader into this world, making it more than just the memoirs of a single individual; instead the memoirs of a small Midwestern oil town.

GROWING UP IN BRIDGEPORT IN THE ‘40S AND ‘50S is a collection of essays written by the author and published in The Bridgeport Leader over a two-year period, from 2002 to 2004. Drawn from the author’s memory, these essays describe the sights and sounds, adventures, drama, humor and tragedies of the author’s youth. With its informal and familiar tone, and its recurring references to local figures and locales, the author draws the reader into this world, making it more than just the memoirs of a single individual; instead the memoirs of a small Midwestern oil town.

This is a personal memoir of good times in Chicago back in the days when candy bars and White Castles cost a mere 5 cents. Chicago is a "city of neighborhoods," whether you are talking about Chinatown, Canaryville, Bridgeport, Beverly, South Chicago, Bronzeville, Hyde Park, Woodlawn or Englewood. This story takes place in the old South Shore neighborhood nestled on Lake Michigan between Jackson Park to the north and the booming steel mills to the south. My cousin, Dr. Bruce Hannon of the University of Illinois, used to say, "Good people make a good place good" and South Shore was one of those places...

From the Pulitzer Prize–winning author of Barbarian Days, this narrative nonfiction classic documents the rising inequality and cultural alienation that presaged the crises of today. “A status report on the American Dream [that] gets its power [from] the unpredictable, rich specifics of people’s lives.”—Time “[William] Finnegan’s real achievement is to attach identities to the steady stream of faceless statistics that tell us America’s social problems are more serious than we want to believe.”—The Washington Post A fifteen-year-old drug dealer in blighted New Haven, Connecticut; a sleepy Texas town transformed by crack; Mexican American teenagers in Washington State, unable to relate to their immigrant parents and trying to find an identity in gangs; jobless young white supremacists in a downwardly mobile L.A. suburb. William Finnegan spent years embedded with families in four communities across the country to become an intimate observer of the lives he reveals in Cold New World. What emerges from these beautifully rendered portraits is a prescient and compassionate book that never loses sight of its subjects’ humanity. A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK • A LOS ANGELES TIMES BEST NONFICTION SELECTION Praise for Cold New World “Unlike most journalists who drop in for a quick interview and fly back out again, Finnegan spent many weeks with families in each community over a period of several years, enough time to distinguish between the kind of short-term problems that can beset anyone and the longer-term systemic poverty and social disintegration that can pound an entire generation into a groove of despair.”—Los Angeles Times Book Review “The most remarkable of William Finnegan’s many literary gifts is his compassion. Not the fact of it, which we have a right to expect from any personal reporting about the oppressed, but its coolness, its clarity, its ductile strength. . . . Finnegan writes like a dream. His prose is unfailingly lucid, graceful, and specific, his characterization effortless, and the pull of his narrative pure seduction.”—The Village Voice “Four astonishingly intimate and evocative portraits. . . . All of these stories are vividly, honestly and compassionately told. . . . While Cold New World may make us look in new ways at our young people, perhaps its real goal is to make us look at ourselves.”—The Philadelphia Inquirer