Not everyone here was as friendly and open towards me as Abby, Ben and Arlen were. I was leaving the house one afternoon and I noticed a car parked a couple of houses away. The driver turned towards me when I came outside, and he looked like Ron, someone I had recently met here. I waved and said hello as I walked to my car.
Suddenly the driver and his passenger jumped out of the car and ran towards me. One of them began circling my car and looking inside. The other circled me and asked “What’s up nigga? What are you doing down here?” I replied that I live here, and pointed to my house. He stopped circling and stared at me for a moment, then both of them walked back to their car without saying another word and drove off.
Although I only encountered this one incident of open hostility during my first year here, there were several people who would always glare at me. I could turn my back for a few minutes and when I looked around again, the person’s gaze was still locked on me. Apparently, I was quite the phenomenon here for a while. Although I was about the only white person that lived here, that was not the real issue. The problem was that nobody knew much about me.
I had several people ask me if I was “the police,” or otherwise question my motives for being here. Frequently, people would ask if I was OK, or if I needed anything. A few people asked if I was straight. I really thought it was strange that so many people were concerned about my comfort or about my sexual orientation. Yes, I was a bit naive at first.
One day a guy named Cliff and I were talking out in front of my house. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, he was a drug-dealer. After talking for a few minutes, Cliff leaned in to me and asked in a low voice “You do realize this is pretty much a black neighborhood?” I laughed and said “Yeah, I kind of noticed that. You don’t think there’s a problem with me being here do you?” He responded “No, you’re cool with me, I just wanted to make sure you realize what you’re getting into.
His words didn’t come across as threatening, it was more like he was worried about me. I guess if it was believed that I wasn’t a cop, then I must be mentally deficient in some way. What else could possibly explain why a young white guy who doesn’t do drugs would be in this neighborhood?
I should point out also that the neighborhood was somewhat masking itself at first. I believe that many of the guys who regularly sold drugs on the streets and in front of my house greatly curtailed their activities when I first moved in. It was only when they got to know a bit about me and came to assess me as a non-threat that they resumed their usual habits. Over time, the glares subsided, and the drug activities became more overt.
Some signs that you might be living in crack-town:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KJNo7dXIQBU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BiwpJo8qPnc&feature=related
Phil,
ReplyDeleteI'm enjoying the blog. Keep it up.
Scott,
ReplyDeleteThanks for the encouragement. Check out this site:
http://www.360cities.net
Maybe you can get one of these installed at H.S. That would be pretty awesome.
Bobby.
I am a different person today than I was when I moved here twelve years ago. Perhaps it's age, or maybe I've just had too much crap thrown my way, but I am far less tolerant of a lot of things than I used to be. If I just moved here, and had not yet sunk a few thousand dollars into the place, it's very likely that what happened in 2006 would have been enough to convince me to move.
But hey, it's hard to walk away from an investment. I would sell though, for a reasonable price - Any offers?
As I always say:
ReplyDelete"WE" shouldn't be the ones considering a move...what NEEDS to be done is to find SOME way, SOME methodology, SOME thing that makes THEM want (read need) to leave...and the sooner, the better.
It seems to be the ONLY way to reclaim once good neighborhoods.
B.G.
(will also sell - for the ASSESSED value!)