Ernie Bristow

We All Need Each Other: The Philadelphia Story of Ernie Bristow

Ernestine Bristow was eight years old when her family left Brooklyn for Philadelphia, just in time for the 1976 Bicentennial. To her very young eyes, it seemed her new city’s party had been thrown in their honor.

“They painted everything red, white and blue, right down to the fire hydrants,” she remembers. “It seemed like everybody just came together to have fun and celebrate. That feeling of the city being abuzz with excitement was just so strong.”

It was quite a moment. The Liberty Bell was moved to a gleaming new glass pavilion on Independence Mall. Queen Elizabeth II arrived to present the city with a Bicentennial Bell. There were concerts, fireworks, and a birthday cake that reportedly weighed 50,000 pounds. Philadelphia was putting on a show for the whole world, and an eight-year-old girl from Brooklyn had a front-row seat from the North Philly block where they’d decorated even the fire hydrants.

She’d barely arrived, and she already felt welcome.

So this year, with Philadelphia celebrating the nation’s 250th anniversary, Ernestine Bristow, known to everyone as Ernie, is happily stepping up to return the favor and host. And if you ask anyone who knows her, that is right on brand.

“I normally jump on board when it’s time to support and do important things here in the city,” she says. “My whole thing is, if I’m helping other folks, it’s going to come back tenfold.”

This city, Erni says, has a way of meeting people who show up for it. And she’s been at it her whole life.

Her number is one of the first people call when someone needs to step up and work hard. She’s served on more boards than most people can count, volunteered on political campaigns, sat in Harrisburg hearings, helped run free tax preparation for neighborhood families, served as a Vision Zero Ambassador, and somewhere in the middle of all that, enrolled in college at 45 and got her associate’s degree. Even her company name, an acronym for “We All Need Each Other,” tells you how committed she is to the city she calls home.

“You never know who you’ll meet that needs your support,” she says. “That’s why I stay involved.”

Showing Up

Erni’s working life reads like a tour of Philadelphia’s civic infrastructure. She started at SEPTA right out of business school in the mid-1980s, fresh off the dean’s list, answering a newspaper classified ad like everyone did back then. She worked in purchasing, then payroll, then clerical support for bus drivers filing grievances at Callowhill Depot. She moved to the Philadelphia Corporation for Aging, then Temple Children’s Hospital, where she joined District 1199C, the healthcare workers’ union, and stayed in the labor movement for close to 20 years.

And then, her union president asked if she’d be his special assistant for political and community affairs.

“I was the go-to person when it came to the meet and greet for political things and community outreach,” she says. “I got to meet Hillary Clinton, Chelsea Clinton. I got a picture with Michelle Obama that I am still glowing about.” She pauses. “That role got me into rooms where you normally can’t get.”

Philadelphia’s union culture works like that. It opens doors for people who show up and do the work. And once those doors opened for Ernie, she made sure to hold them open for everyone behind her.

In 2008, the late school superintendent Arlene Ackerman launched Parent University, a program that offered Philadelphia parents who’d never finished college the chance to earn a degree alongside their kids. Ernie was 45, working full-time, raising her family. She applied anyway.

“There were 250 parents who applied,” she says. “They could only pick 25. Pierce College picked us up, and we went part-time because a lot of us were working parents. Out of 25, 19 of us graduated and got our associates, and a lot of us went on to get our bachelor’s and master’s degrees.”

She’d trusted Philadelphia’s public schools with her children. Philadelphia gave her a diploma in return.

She invests in this city, and the city invests back. Thirty-five years of it. She’s vice president of the Logan Civic Association, a board member for literacy programs and youth organizations, a fixture at community meetings and Harrisburg hearings. Ask her what would interest a visitor about Logan and she doesn’t mention restaurants. She talks about the organizations. The people.

“I just put my all in things,” she says. “I don’t do things sloppy.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “I’ve been blessed to receive five city citations over the years.”

Five city citations. Said like she’s mentioning she found a good parking spot.

She made sure her four children all have union jobs. She’s passing the same instincts to her grandchildren — showing up, pitching in, looking out. Because that’s what you do. That’s what Philadelphia taught her.

Ask Erni when she knew this city was hers, and she’ll probably tell you about 1983, the year the Sixers won the championship. Word spread through the halls of William Penn High School the way only good news can. Without any real planning, she and her classmates walked out of the building and headed to the Spectrum.

“We didn’t even know how far we were walking,” she laughs. “There were thousands of us. Once we got there, and the excitement wore off, we all realized: we have to walk back home. But at the time, we did not care. Not with Julius Erving, Mo Cheeks, and Moses Malone.”

Only in Philadelphia do you skip school, walk miles to a parade, walk miles back, and remember it 40 years later as one of the best days of your life.

Some cities you live in. Some you belong to. Erni Bristow has known the difference since she took that long walk home from the Spectrum.