LETTERS FROM HOME: MAKING LIFE MORE WONDERFUL HERE IN THE HOOD

Aug. 3, 2000

Dear Pat,

Here in the hood, we've got armed robberies, dope deals, little boys who try to dress like gangstas, we've got people whose primary way of communicating with their children is to scream and beat on them, we've got landlords who can't be bothered, unfriendly dogs, squealing tires and car stereos that rap on your windows, we've got women for sale and men trying to drum up their glory days again on the basketball court.

We've also got people whose yards are erupting in flowers, people restoring 100-year-old landmark houses, showplaces among the ruins, we've got church bells to wake us up, train whistles to put us to sleep, more trees than any 10 subdivisions, friendly dogs, neighbors who care about each other, and black people and white people who know how to get along.

If this were "It's a Wonderful Life," these blocks would sit somewhere between the Pottersville of George Bailey's heavenly nightmare and Bedford Falls, the idyllically dull town he thought he wanted to escape. A city planner might call it a neighborhood in transition.

The question is, Which way will it go? Some people want to stay here and some people want to get out of here. Some people aren't sure whether to stay or leave.

A few years ago, the university bought an old seminary in the area and plans to turn it into a performing arts campus. Everyone with hopes for the neighborhood thought this was the turning point. Surely the city and the university would do something to curb the neighborhood's vices once it becomes the environs of a showplace campus.

That may happen but it's years in the future. Meanwhile, we live in the hood.

Two miracles occurred in our neighborhood a few days ago. First the street was blocked off to all but local traffic because of a construction project. Then we discovered that the primary source of the neighborhood noise pollution had moved out.

Suddenly, silence. Not the silence Tibetan monks seek, but a level of quiet every neighborhood deserves. The sound of children playing was predominant. The neighborhood seemed almost Bedford Fallsian.

It was as if everyone suddenly had become considerate of everyone else's "space."

The detour signs have disappeared, and the hot wheels and bombastic stereos have returned. But now we have an aural vision of what the neighborhood could be.

I am not given to bothering the police unless it's an emergency, but lately car stereos that not only disturb but shatter the peace have become nuisances I no longer am willing to abide. Disturb your own peace. Police, do your duty.

If George Bailey could stand up to mean moneybags Mr. Potter, the least I can do is start a one-man noise crusade.

I have become my dad. Turn down that noise! Ear drums were not meant to endure such decibels. Among the lessons the Who ought to have taught us is that drugs can kill (Keith Moon) and sound can deafen (Pete Townshend).

First-time visitors to our home often leave saying they like our house and yard but couldn't live here. The noise bothers them the most. Some days DC and I talk of moving away, of finding a quieter place, maybe one with more room for the dogs to be dogs and especially for Hank the unfriendly dog to be Hank.

We look but we don't find, I think because we know a wonderful life is created, not bought.

For part of my life, I thought happiness and peace of mind were somewhere over the rainbow, just around the corner, a bluebird I hadn't been visited by yet, a woman I hadn't met yet, only to discover these are delusions. Sometimes leaving is best but it can't by itself make you happy.

Each of us eventually discovers the happiness and wholeness we are looking for was within us all along or we keep looking elsewhere and never find them at all.

Love, Sam