For anyone who has read my posts, you can see that I am a northern transplant that moved to the South. I was going into the 2nd grade when we left New England, so I already had adopted New England traits such as privacy and liberalism. The ways of the South were a little jarring to me. One of the things I noticed was that segregation was still happening. Even though Charlotte began the cross-town school bussing to integrate its schools in 1970, it didn't change the fact that bussing happened because black and white people lived in separate parts of town. I guess I should mention that where I lived in CT the most ethnic it got was Puerto Rican, yet I knew New York City wasn't far away, and I knew everyone mixed together there (thank you, Sesame Street).
So, I mentioned in my last post that the county was being eaten up by developments. I went to a private school near my subdivision from 3rd to 9th grade. It was 2 miles from my house, so I could walk there. I never rode my bike there, which is odd, since I rode everywhere else. Anyway, my parents didn't like the idea of a 3rd grader riding the bus for an hour and a half each way every day so I could go to a crappy school on the other side of town. The school was over by the Lance cracker factory. My mom and I drove over there to take a look, and it was pretty decrepit, so they made their choice. In 6th grade, our PE teacher was taking a group of about 12 girls for a cross-country run on the newly purchased land that our school had acquired. It was great. There were some woods, then a big open field, then some more woods that surrounded a winding stream. We were slowing down, cruising under branches and around bends, when we rounded a stand of trees, and our coach stopped, and motioned for us to stop and be quiet. I was up front, and I saw before us, with his back to us, an old black man, his arms outstretched, sitting on a rock by the stream, with a bottle next to him, singing a sad, old song. He was shaking his head as he sang, and I was transfixed. The girls seemed shocked, scared, whatever, and our teacher turned us around and we tiptoed out of there. The old man never turned around. I could still hear him singing. It was one of those moments that left a huge impression. I thought to myself, "Who are we to encroach on him now? He's probably been coming here for years, just to get away and commune with nature, have a little nip, and do his thing." It is one of those things that wouldn't happen in the north or out west, but maybe on the Mississippi River or near Chicago.
Every now and again I think of that man. Sometimes something happens and I find myself singing, "OH lawd, mm-hm-hm..." like Howlin' Wolf or some gospel singer. Then I realize that's what that man on the rock was singing. I don't know what his name was, but I imagine it was Rufus or Otis or something. So I call my inner bluesman Otis, in honor of the man on the rock. Blind Otis, Cryin' Otis, Lonely Otis; I don't have an adjective for him, but all these adjectives could describe the man I encountered on the path that day.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Memories of Moving to NC in the 1970s
In 1976, my dad got transferred. He was a senior vice president of a company that manufactured polyester. We moved from Connecticut to North Carolina. It was like going back to the '50s. Everyone seemed to be wearing those science-guy glasses that have pointed metal at the top corners of the lenses. The older men still slicked their hair. The women asked if I knew Jesus and what church we went to. They were still pissed off about the "War between the States". I was a little kid; they could have left me out of it.
I lived outside of Charlotte in Mecklenburg county. It's now part of Charlotte, but back then, it was far from everything. Like when cable TV arrived in Charlotte, it didn't come to the county. This was before satellite TV. We didn't have city water, so no fire hydrants. We all had wells (not the hand-pumps, though!). We had a fluorescent blue street lamp in the back yard called a "security light". Our house was at the end of a street that had a lot of paths crossing nearby that came through the woods from a big field that had persimmon trees and a hidden trash dump that I suspect was illegal. Lots of paths connected roads in the area, and were probably mostly used by kids like me.
The nearest store was a gas station called Greer's. It had a good selection of candy and was about 3 miles away. However, downtown Matthews was about 5 miles away, so I rode my bike there whenever I could after I turned 10. Matthews was a tiny town that resembled Mayberry (a common feature of NC towns). There was a railroad that served Seaboard freight. There were some general-store buildings that looked like they were from the old west, made of wood and sagging on the main street. One of these was called Ma and Pa's Bar and Grill. I once went in there to get some water after riding my bike on a really hot day. When I walked in the screen door, a bunch of old-timers turned and looked at me from the bar, which ran longways once you walked in, so that if you took two steps from the door, you'd be sitting at the bar. I got the idea they'd been drinking, and I don't remember if I drank any water before leaving.
The reason I went downtown was to visit Godfather's Pizza, where they had a couple of video games, and to visit the Revco drug store and a toy store. Sometimes I did business at the post office. Once I rode my bike behind the shopping center and found myself in this little neighborhood called Tank Town (named for a water tank). It had little one-story houses that seemed to be sagging, with Black folk out on the porches. Everyone was staring at me as I rode through there, probably wondering what the hell I was doing there. A smiling old man called from a porch, "Hey, can I go with you?", which I thought was pretty funny.
That's kind of a sad thing about Mecklenburg county back then, though it plays out everywhere, I suppose. Black folks were still living in little shacks. I saw this one place on the regular school bus ride that was a shotgun shack in the middle of a big soybean field, usually with people on the porch or nearby in the field. It was gray and raised up off the ground about 3 feet. There was a big gray farm house a few hundred yards from that. To me, it looked like it was the 1930s. Roots came out around the same time, and it made me wonder what the deal was on that piece of land.
Another weird thing was this old institution green school bus that was overgrown with weeds that sat abandoned on a fork in the road on my school bus route. It looked like ages ago there might have been a gas station there. That bus sat there until about 1981, so I passed it for about 5 years. Then the development of Matthews really started taking off. Charlotte annexed the subdivision where I lived, and subdivisions started popping up everywhere.
That's the end of the nostalgia for now.
I lived outside of Charlotte in Mecklenburg county. It's now part of Charlotte, but back then, it was far from everything. Like when cable TV arrived in Charlotte, it didn't come to the county. This was before satellite TV. We didn't have city water, so no fire hydrants. We all had wells (not the hand-pumps, though!). We had a fluorescent blue street lamp in the back yard called a "security light". Our house was at the end of a street that had a lot of paths crossing nearby that came through the woods from a big field that had persimmon trees and a hidden trash dump that I suspect was illegal. Lots of paths connected roads in the area, and were probably mostly used by kids like me.
The nearest store was a gas station called Greer's. It had a good selection of candy and was about 3 miles away. However, downtown Matthews was about 5 miles away, so I rode my bike there whenever I could after I turned 10. Matthews was a tiny town that resembled Mayberry (a common feature of NC towns). There was a railroad that served Seaboard freight. There were some general-store buildings that looked like they were from the old west, made of wood and sagging on the main street. One of these was called Ma and Pa's Bar and Grill. I once went in there to get some water after riding my bike on a really hot day. When I walked in the screen door, a bunch of old-timers turned and looked at me from the bar, which ran longways once you walked in, so that if you took two steps from the door, you'd be sitting at the bar. I got the idea they'd been drinking, and I don't remember if I drank any water before leaving.
The reason I went downtown was to visit Godfather's Pizza, where they had a couple of video games, and to visit the Revco drug store and a toy store. Sometimes I did business at the post office. Once I rode my bike behind the shopping center and found myself in this little neighborhood called Tank Town (named for a water tank). It had little one-story houses that seemed to be sagging, with Black folk out on the porches. Everyone was staring at me as I rode through there, probably wondering what the hell I was doing there. A smiling old man called from a porch, "Hey, can I go with you?", which I thought was pretty funny.
That's kind of a sad thing about Mecklenburg county back then, though it plays out everywhere, I suppose. Black folks were still living in little shacks. I saw this one place on the regular school bus ride that was a shotgun shack in the middle of a big soybean field, usually with people on the porch or nearby in the field. It was gray and raised up off the ground about 3 feet. There was a big gray farm house a few hundred yards from that. To me, it looked like it was the 1930s. Roots came out around the same time, and it made me wonder what the deal was on that piece of land.
Another weird thing was this old institution green school bus that was overgrown with weeds that sat abandoned on a fork in the road on my school bus route. It looked like ages ago there might have been a gas station there. That bus sat there until about 1981, so I passed it for about 5 years. Then the development of Matthews really started taking off. Charlotte annexed the subdivision where I lived, and subdivisions started popping up everywhere.
That's the end of the nostalgia for now.
Helping a Blind Man Cross the Street
Originally from June 2011:
Walked a blind man across the street today, then took him to the liquor store! I was crossing the street and he was just standing there, so I said to him, "Hey, you crossing the street?" He says, "I was just taking a break." He was an old man. A black man. I said, "We got 28 seconds." He said, "Let's go."
Walked a blind man across the street today, then took him to the liquor store! I was crossing the street and he was just standing there, so I said to him, "Hey, you crossing the street?" He says, "I was just taking a break." He was an old man. A black man. I said, "We got 28 seconds." He said, "Let's go."
Big Blue Marble
Originally from June 14, 2012:
Any of you old kids remember a show called Big Blue Marble? Maybe that's where I got the idea to learn to say a little something in every language I could, and took an interest in what kids around the world were doing. I even had a penpal when I was 5. Her name is Lita, from Cypress, CA, and we are friends on facebook today! Hooray for the 1970s and all the conscious programming they had for kids. Thank God I grew up before the '80s and the dumbing down and entitlement that ensued.
Any of you old kids remember a show called Big Blue Marble? Maybe that's where I got the idea to learn to say a little something in every language I could, and took an interest in what kids around the world were doing. I even had a penpal when I was 5. Her name is Lita, from Cypress, CA, and we are friends on facebook today! Hooray for the 1970s and all the conscious programming they had for kids. Thank God I grew up before the '80s and the dumbing down and entitlement that ensued.
Where is he?
Originally from December 13th, 2012:
Syria's war touched me today. I waited on an older couple who asked to plug in a phone in the restaurant. I asked my trainer, who said no. When I told the lady, she said that her son is being held captive in Syria and she needed to keep the phone on, and it was losing charge. The manager said ok. I took her phone and her hands and told her I was sorry. She looked like she was going to start crying. Please pray for Austin Tice's freedom. He's been held for 115 days. His parents are distraught.
Editor's note: It's been around 500 days now. Where is he?
Syria's war touched me today. I waited on an older couple who asked to plug in a phone in the restaurant. I asked my trainer, who said no. When I told the lady, she said that her son is being held captive in Syria and she needed to keep the phone on, and it was losing charge. The manager said ok. I took her phone and her hands and told her I was sorry. She looked like she was going to start crying. Please pray for Austin Tice's freedom. He's been held for 115 days. His parents are distraught.
Editor's note: It's been around 500 days now. Where is he?
If you have never been inside a traditional Catholic church...
Originally from March 20, 2013:
Every time I go into a Catholic Church, I feel it. The incense, the glittery stuff, the music. The senses get hit. I have to admit, I really like it. Tonight, there was this really interesting ceremony called the Chrism Mass at the crypt in the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. It's in "Little Vatican City" where my school is. The last time I went to a church, St. Gabriel's, on a Wednesday, it was Adoration. Since I'm not intimately familiar with the Church, I have no idea what happens when or what's going on. I love the Latin (shout out to 8th grade Latin teacher, Mr. Olson at Charlotte Latin School). Tonight they had all these priests and they promised their service for the next year, and the archbishop blessed 3 samovar-cans of oil. There was a large contingent of navy people, and the program said it was the Archdiocese for the Military Services. I even went up to get the blessing without the wine and wafer. Then I found the grotto for Our Lady of Lebanon (shout out to ancestors). My hair smells like frankincense and myrrh.
Every time I go into a Catholic Church, I feel it. The incense, the glittery stuff, the music. The senses get hit. I have to admit, I really like it. Tonight, there was this really interesting ceremony called the Chrism Mass at the crypt in the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. It's in "Little Vatican City" where my school is. The last time I went to a church, St. Gabriel's, on a Wednesday, it was Adoration. Since I'm not intimately familiar with the Church, I have no idea what happens when or what's going on. I love the Latin (shout out to 8th grade Latin teacher, Mr. Olson at Charlotte Latin School). Tonight they had all these priests and they promised their service for the next year, and the archbishop blessed 3 samovar-cans of oil. There was a large contingent of navy people, and the program said it was the Archdiocese for the Military Services. I even went up to get the blessing without the wine and wafer. Then I found the grotto for Our Lady of Lebanon (shout out to ancestors). My hair smells like frankincense and myrrh.
Promischievous
Awesome new word I heard at the corner store while hanging out with local dudes showing me how to play Keno for a dollar a play: "promischievous". Context: one guy said if he won money, 1st thing he'd do would be to buy a bottle of champagne and drink it all. I said I thought it was a bad idea, because then he'd make bad decisions with his money. He said he didn't drink champagne often; I said "even more reason not to do it, you'll lose your head like a sorority girl" and gave my best drunk sorority girl giggle. Another dude chimed in, "Yeah, you'll get all promischievous!" I said, "You mean mischievous and promiscuous?"
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