I was continuing on my Walk Across America when I stopped on a cracked sidewalk in Trenton, New Jersey, and stared up at a bridge that’s seen better days. Its steel spine carries a motto that still packs a punch: Trenton Makes, the World Takes.
Those words aren’t just a slogan. They’re a battle cry from a time when this city’s pulse was the bustle of factories, the hum of machines and the sweat of men and women who built something real— something that mattered. From here, steel, rubber and ceramic material flowed out, shaping the world beyond the river. That was Trenton’s pride, its soul.
Walk these streets now, and you feel the weight of what’s been lost. The factories are gone — hollow ghosts, like the dreams of the people left behind. Where industry once stood, poverty now sits. Where jobs gave life, drugs and gunfire, now write the story. Boarded-up houses stare back like empty eyes. The bridge still proclaims its motto, but it feels like a cruel reminder of a city that used to be.
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I know this story. I live it on the South Side of Chicago. Same script, different stage. Industry packed up, left town and took hope with it. Families splintered. Streets turned mean. Kids who should be dreaming of college are dodging bullets instead. Trenton, Chicago—pick your city. Too many carry this scar.
But I’m not here to mourn what’s gone. I’m here to fight for what’s possible. Standing in Trenton’s shadow, I see more than ruin. I see a spark that refuses to die. This city, like so many others, isn’t just a graveyard of the American Dream — it’s a battlefield for its revival.
Think about it: If America could forge steel to build bridges, why can’t we forge opportunity to build lives? If we could raise factories to churn out goods, why not raise up centers where kids learn to thrive in the modern world, where hope gets a second chance? We didn’t just make things in this country — we made futures. We can do it again.
This isn’t just about Trenton. It’s about every corner of America where despair has settled in like dust.
This isn’t just about Trenton. It’s about every corner of America where despair has settled in like dust. It’s about the kids who’ve never seen a clear path to something better, only the haze of violence and want. I’m walking across this country—Times Square to Santa Monica Pier, one stubborn step at a time—because I believe we can carve out those paths of opportunity.
There’s a passage in the Bible, in the book of Ezekiel where God shows the prophet a valley of dry bones, picked clean by time and neglect. He asks, "Can these bones live?" Ezekiel, honest, says he doesn’t know. God tells him to speak to the bones, to call them back to life. And they rise—bones knitting together, flesh forming, breath rushing in. Death turns to life. A valley of nothing becomes an army of something.
There’s a passage in Ezekiel where God shows the prophet a valley of dry bones, picked clean by time and neglect. He asks, "Can these bones live?" (iStock)
That’s what I see in Trenton. In Chicago. In every place we’ve written off. Those dry bones can live. These streets can breathe again. But it won’t happen if we sit back and wait for someone else to fix it.
Governments can’t do this alone. Money won’t patch broken systems. It’s on us — regular people, you and me — to build, to mentor, to show up. To say: This kid, this block, this city — it’s worth fighting for.
Trenton’s motto doesn’t have to be a faded postcard from the past. It can be a dare for the future. Not just Trenton Makes, the World Takes, but Trenton Builds, America Rises.
If we can do it here, we can do it anywhere.