Column Singing the praises of a neighborhood living out loud
By JEANNETTE BATZ
Five years ago, my husband and I
moved to the south side of St. Louis. Gingerbread bungalow, circa 1940, in a
quiet-conservative-Catholic neighborhood so whitebread it embarrassed us. The
area was best described as scrubby Dutch -- except that the Dutch,
legendary for their diligent housekeeping, were dying. As we watched, they were
gradually replaced by Bosnians, Vietnamese, African-Americans, Arabs and young
white yuppies looking to discover new diversity amid cheap, charming, old-brick
housing stock.
Southampton is fast becoming what the U.S. Department of Housing
and Urban Development holds out as its new goal: an economically mixed,
racially diverse community of responsible neighbors, the kind who plant
petunias, pick up their newspapers and leave their porch light on all
night.
Things are changing.
Last week, for example, we had a yard sale. An Asian couple bought
my moms jumbo ceramic coffee mugs; a Bosnian woman bought the original
watercolor that had rippled with the attics heat. An Indian couple
thumbed through my old murder mysteries. A young African-American woman showed
her boyfriend the gold comb and mirror set Andrews grandmother used in
the 30s. I glowed at my husband, perspiration mixing with triumph, and
murmured -- as I bagged china for the scrubby Dutch holdouts -- Its
not whitebread anymore.
That sounds patronizing, smug, multicultural to the point of
nausea. But I swear Im not celebrating diversity. Im
celebrating the life the change has brought to the neighborhood. More children,
more people sitting out on their front porches; more music, more pungent smells
at dinnertime, more -- OK, variety. I like watching an older couple swathed in
traditional Arab dress solemnly escort a little boy to the bus stop every
morning. I like talking to the slightly batty woman from Armenia about her
boyfriends.
I like people living out loud.
And I dont mind the dropping property values one bit.
Because what Ive noticed, in years of daily dog walks with my eyes wide
open, is a definite ratio. The more money and secure societal position, the
less visible, audible life.
Some of the houses in the area have stayed small and
shotgun-plain, and theyre showing some wear around the edges. Others,
however, have improved with age, their owners adding fireplaces and fancy
windows, mother-in-law cottages in back, terraced landscaping and gazebos and
trellised arbors. Sprinkled amid mediocrity, these are the desirable, enviable
houses.
But theyre also the houses with tall privacy fences
shielding their beautiful landscaping from view; motion detector lights
discouraging neighbors from congregating on the sidewalk; anonymous hired
contractors who do the fixing-up jobs; entertainment centers and recreation
budgets that keep the family either inside or gone.
The nicer the house, the less chance youll have to get to
know its residents.
Is this what Jesus meant by rich men squeezing through
needles eyes? Id always thoughtlessly assumed that the evil of
money was its unequal distribution; that there would be nothing wrong with
secure, luxurious comfort as long as we all had equal access to it.
But what Ive seen in these years is an inexorable turning
inward: The more material goods people have to protect, the safer and luckier
they feel, the higher the walls they build to shut out a world that might
threaten their status. Some turn a wee bit Calvinist, subconsciously deciding
they must be somehow superior to have made out so well. Others seem convinced
its random luck, but having had it, theyre determined to defend it
from lifes vagaries.
Odd, how few of the things money can buy are actually
designed to bring people together. When a family manages to squirrel away some
disposable income for home improvements, they dont create an inviting
patio off the front porch where neighbors can stop by, rest in a rocker and
chat. They build a privacy fence and put a locked hot tub inside the enclosure,
and there it waits, waiting for them to make some private time to use it.
Not that poverty is any guarantee of openness, cooperation, or
acknowledged need and warm gratitude. Often living at the margins makes people
a bit furtive, keeping a fortress mentality until theyre sure they will
survive and be accepted. Even in the new Southampton, those of us in the
mediocre houses remain a bit wary of each other. We havent yet learned to
coexist comfortably, with the easy exchanges that flow from an agreed-upon
collective identity. Without benefit of the old scrubby-Dutch code --
Sunday-morning Mass, 6 a.m. lawn sprinkling, barbecued brats and beer -- maybe
we never will.
On the other hand, a little boy approached one weekend while I was
gardening, said hi and asked if he could have a drink from our hose. Busy
trying everything short of CPR on some dying zinnias, I was too preoccupied to
ask his name, but I heard the hint of an accent when he thanked me for the ice
water I brought him instead of the hose. He was probably Bosnian,
my husband guessed later. No American kid would have assumed enough
neighborliness to ask for a drink in the first place.
Especially if his folks could afford bottled water or a
refrigerator with a spigot in the door so the kids can be self-reliant.
Jeannette Batz is a staff writer at The Riverfront Times
an alternative newspaper in St. Louis.
National Catholic Reporter, August 13,
1999
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