When neighborhoods were stolen with token pay and bulldozed and then their inhabitants put in housing projects, cohesiveness within community disappeared. Mrs.Jones' house was on the corner. Uncle Willie lived next door, and my best buddies lived a block over. This community was similar and certainly as good and maybe better than than what the rich folks across town had. Mrs. Jones, Uncle Willie, and the white cop who came over here when he wanted to hide all had high expectations for youth. Pride was evident The men had gone to war in 1917, 1942, 1950, and 1965. They came back, contributed, raised families, and died. My scenario is not idyllic because it omitted poverty, limited opportunity, and discrimination. But today we have fewer such neighborhoods. Instead we have public housing.
For 10 years of my 16 year tenure I directed and taught an in school GED program. I was told that I had the highest pass rate in the state. When my kids did not attend, I went into housing projects alone and looked for them. I searched in nearby areas. Always I found them. After I retired, several black adults from these neighborhoods told me that the only reason that somebody didn't kill me was that they thought I was crazy and left me alone. However, many knew me and understood my mission. I had help. Always I got a passport from the guy who controlled the drug trade. I minded my business and stayed out of theirs. I digress to show that when I write about the inner city, I have personal knowledge. At night I worked at the jail.