We all came for the houses, I think. Grand and glorious old hulks, beasts and beauties that stirred our souls. Unpainted ladies with some remaining hints of grandeur. Workmanship and materials no longer available, still standing even after years of abuse and neglect. Symbols of elegance and Victorian romance that could, we imagined, be revived and resuscitated with nickels and dimes, attention, sweat, small equity loans and a little perseverance. We saw them through eyes veiled with youthful exuberance and unreasonable optimism, inexhaustible energy, as well as total naïveté in matters of infrastructure and construction.
We came for the houses. “Save the Houses!” we all cried. “Save these Dignified Ladies!” Because the Visigoths were at the doorstep. They bulldozed soullessly forward and exchanged cathedrals for parking lots. Mansions for gas stations. Manors for empty lots.
We came for the houses but also for the neighborhoods, bound together as they were with history and a sense of elegance. It was a noble cause, we agreed, and we righteously worked together to that end. We encouraged and argued and shared and disagreed and partnered. We welcomed any and all newcomers. Warm bodies with earnest money. Woo-hoo!
We drank the wine of communal effort and fought all those monied goblins and unimaginative enemies who lobbied and bullied to flatten our remaining beauties into piles of brick dust and rubble and then hurriedly haul them off. We bought derelict architectural relics which no one wanted and moved into them so no one could steal the plumbing in the middle of the night. Or the downspouts in the daytime.
We bought each other’s help with six-packs of beer and promises of reciprocity. We boarded up and replaced windows one by one to demonstrate to others and ourselves that we were making progress. We planted trees and rose bushes and then parented children so everyone could see that we were putting down roots and were not afraid. That we did not intend to walk away from what we had wrought.
We created neighborhood associations, legal entities, so we would have standing and invoke the Force of Law. We volunteered to clean up and clean out what others had left behind. We collected dues and signatures and ran our own candidates to develop the political clout to resist the powerful. We invoked a national movement to prove we were not a passing fancy, silly young urbanites mooning the Establishment. We made our name recognizable, created a brand before brands were a Thing. We started our own real estate companies to show and sell what others would not. We organized an event which brought people to the Neighborhood, people who appreciated what we had done and wished they could be a part of it themselves.
And then we stayed. Not all of us, but a lot. Because we too appreciated what we had done. We stayed because we were convinced it was somehow a noble cause, and we knew that we weren’t done. Because we respected our neighbors and did not want to lose them as friends. We stayed because we believed the children we were raising were benefitting from this diverse, multiracial, polyglot environment. We stayed because we believed that our own understanding of Life-As-We-Know-It was somehow being enhanced by continued exposure to crappy grocery stores and all the funny and rude and generous and flawed and charming and angry people who shopped there. Folks who often had to try three credit cards before finding one that was accepted. Folks who unfolded dollar bills out of their purses and then chose what stuff to leave behind. We stayed because we believed that was important information if we didn’t already know it. That everyone should know.
We stayed because it felt like a place worth fighting for. We patrolled the alleys at night and painted over the graffiti to let the criminals know they could not have it back. “Not this street, gentlemen. And not the one over there either.” A home is worth defending. A neighbor is worth standing up for.
We stayed because we like having alleys in the back of our houses and mailboxes on the front porch and restaurants that don’t all look the same and front yards that don’t look anything at all alike. We stayed because there were so many saloons and so little time.
We stayed because there was a park in the middle where Civil War regiments had paraded and John Phillip Souza had played. Because a tornado tore it apart, limb from limb, but could not destroy it. Because the statue of Thomas Hart Benton had stood his ground, his toga intact, through that fearsome storm, and the ducks and the swans now beckoned us into the future. We stayed because families of all ages came on weekends in the summer to listen to music and get a little tipsy and dance and picnic, and it was cool to be able to walk there.
We stayed because the City is such a beleaguered and battered underdog with so much good to give. We stayed because we do not watch much local news and because young people and poets and eccentrics and wild-assed entrepreneurs love it here. Because the pigeons and starlings have mostly been replaced with cardinals and robins and wrens, finches, doves and mockingbirds. Even hawks and owls.
We stayed because the crooks and the swindlers, the scoundrels and the scalawags, the rogues and the rounders have been nibbling on this City for hundreds of years now but have not managed to consume it. We stay because there is much that is still recognizable and valuable. We have wasted much, it is true, but the pulse beats strong and the core remains. A river runs through it, and its music is still rich and mellifluous.
It is not complicated. We came for the houses. We stayed for the neighbors. We stayed for the neighborhoods. We stayed because we are stubborn and hard-headed and perhaps less fearful than some. We stayed because The City is a noble cause and a fine place to live, and we’d like to see it triumph.
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