I grew up along the Passaic River in North Arlington. As a kid, I mostly steered clear of the river because, well, because I grew up in the sixties and back then the Passaic was even dirtier and creepier than it is today. But even though the Passaic scared me, it touched me too. I wasn’t sure what had happened to the river, how it had come to be so filthy and forgotten. But I was pretty certain, even as a kid, that whatever had happened to the Passaic hadn’t been the river’s fault. I was afraid of the Passaic, but mostly I felt sorry for it. I wonder if anyone else out there remembers feeling that kind of compassion towards the Passaic. If anyone out there has a story or a feeling or memory about New Jersey’s longest, crookedest, most historic and abused river, would you share it? Here’s mine.