305. CAN'T BE BOTHERED
If you drive past
Philadelphia and
just keep going a
little bit, there's an
old town - really
crummy and beat
to death - called
Chester, or Old
Chester, some say,
and along the road
right there is Calvary
Baptist Church,
which was a big
surprise to me
because out front
of it is an old,
rickety historic
marker, perhaps
from maybe 30
years back, then,
and it makes mention
of Martin Luther King
and, I think it is,
Crozier Bible College
or something like that,
where he stayed and
filled in, preaching
and being mentored
by some other
minister whom
his father (King's)
had asked to
shepherd and take
under his wing -
his son's activities,
that is. Martin Luther
King, Jr. I guess this
was in the 1940's,
late, maybe. If you
see this Chester, PA
now you'd say to
yourself how
could anyone
have even lived
here, and for those
reasons especially,
of preaching and
study and religion.
I guess it's all
been a long way
down, for everything
- because there are
some old buildings
around - solid, old
and strong, and
they present the
appearance of
once really maybe
having been a part
of something. A
strong community.
But now it's all
forgotten, vacated,
or neglected. Like
so much else, you
have to use your
imagination a lot.
I've never understood
a country like ours
here, this USA,
how it can let, or
they, can let stuff
like this occur.
I've been to only
a very small
number of places,
but three, right
off the bat, head
my list of the
worst places I've
seen. Camden, NJ;
Reading, PA; and
this Chester, PA;
I might as well
throw in another
rickety dump in
that area of PA
as well - Hamburg.
Maybe a lot of
these places are
or were black-people's
towns, leftover and
filled out by poverty
and destitution
after the whites
were done with
them or got enough
money to move
along to somewhere
else ('better'); but
what they leave
behind is always
a nasty shambles
for which they
then blame others.
The indigent and
the really poor,
who have no other
choice or means
but to fill these
newly abandoned
towns, places,
and cities. Even
like Detroit and
all that. You leave
a void, or you dig
a hole, and somehow
you just think it
will be filled up
with 'something.'
It's a shame, and
there's really no
reason nor excuse
for it, that I can
see. All these
business-creep
types, always
lecherous for
money and deals;
any opportunity.
They run and hide
then, when they
come to aftermath
places like this.
All you get to see
see are crapholes
like 'Marge's Market'
or 'Wise Owl Grocers'
and such - tiny
little, cold and
dank usually, decrepit
places that sell
anything and whatever
they can, next to
the laundromat and
a liquor store. I know
because I make it a
point to see these
places. The lottery
counters, always,
the bread aisle, which
is a misery; no
selection worth
even stealing and
only called 'bread'
out of corporate
charity because at
the very least you
can throw some
cheap peanut butter
on it and go find
some jelly. Kids
are expected to
grow up on this -
nurtured on nothing
good, all they do
is run to the soda
and junk aisles
- which in these
places are always
vibrant and
well-stocked.
Meanwhile these
profit guys want
nothing to do with
investment in
salvaging such
a place. Ah,
what's the use;
I go on too much.
-
Anyway, I don't
know much about
Martin Luther King
anyway, nor, frankly,
do I care to know
any more than I do,
but it's also a shame
how someone like
him, whatever
his merits or
life's work, was
slandered and
defamed to death
- lurid stories of
sex-orgies and
two-timing, even
homosexual stuff;
all that junk was
bandied about,
stories planted,
cameras and secret
recordings, supposedly,
by - in the 1960's -
the likes of J. Edgar
Hoover and his FBI
henchmen. They
distorted and
pilloried this guy
- and once that
kind of stuff is
out, whether it's
right, wrong, true
or false, you can't
really ever recover;
your name is
besmirched and
your work often
detoured. That's
the manner in
which both these
ends of the same
disaster happened
- powers that be,
at work, distorting,
ruining and letting,
by neglect, things
fall apart. While
defending
everything else
that matters, to them
- like raking it in,
going to the banks,
amassing stolen
funds, and
ruining other
places and people.
Thousands of
man-hours put
in to destroy a
guy like Martin
Luther King,
and then finally
have him killed
anyway, and at
the same time,
taking places
like Reading
and Chester,
and letting them
rot in their
abandonment.
Hoping the
miserable people
left living there
all drop dead.
Yeah, pledge
allegiance to that.
-
You get yourself
down to Old City,
Philadelphia, and
Carpenter's Hall,
and the old friends
meeting House and
all that, and the
only thing you
get there are these
high-minded tales
and stories about
the Articles of
Confederation and
the Constitutional
Convention and the
founders and a million
stories - to one about
how enlightened
and high and righteous
they all were about
any of it. I've gone
into recreations -
they kind of crud
they put on - of
Quaker meetings,
and constitutional -
supposedly - discussions,
'just like the founders
in the days of the
Federalist Papers'
- and I come
away perplexed,
always, about how
all of that, today,
with all that
sponsorship by
Aetna and AT&T
and a million other
creepy corporate things
(those are only two
of the 'A's), can
stand there with a
straight face and
try to promulgate
all that twisted
malarkey. And all
those interested nobodies,
from Dubuque and Peoria
and Kansas City sitting
or standing there
gaping and taking
all this wondrous
baloney in. There's
just nothing into the
insides of any of this;
just don't look too hard.
And, by the way, I've
always loved the
Federalist Papers,
and thought it was
a really cool name
for a bunch of essays
about which not too
many know or
delve into. John Jay,
James Madison,
Alexander Hamilton,
all that - grouped
together and written
'anonymously' as a
guy named 'Publius' -
pretty cool.
-
New York City always
had its slums and
problem areas, really
big time. Some of
these places had
historic tales attached
to them too; I never
got bothered by any
of that. There was
a multifarious place
called Harlem, which
as it turned out, was
numerous places all
in one. There was
Spanish Harlem,
and Black Harlem,
which is mostly
the one people
talked about back
then, 1970's and
all. And there was
also an older Italian
Harlem as well,
like east 116th street
and up that way.
That was the area
of the Italian
immigration, in
my father's day,
when the construction
and digging and
excavating that
went on for the
new Lincoln Tunnel,
back whenever it
was, 1930 say,
moved out and
displaced all the
old Italian
neighborhood
stuff - houses,
churches, schools
and all, along the
area by W42nd
street. It all ramps
and entries and
exits and all now,
for that tunnel.
My father's days
was the time
when it happened,
and his earliest
days were spent there
and then the family
got broken up -
all over to various
foster-homes and
stuff, mostly Bayonne,
NJ. But, my father's
father ended up -
some Mafia bigwig
I was told - as my
father related the
tales to me of his
infrequent visits
back to 'see' his
father, at 116th Street.
That entire Lincolc
Center Italian area
crowd had been
transplanted to there.
But, anyway, these
places were never
as deeply embedded
as sad places to me
as were these old
Pennsylvania
towns such as
those I mentioned.
The people in New
York seemed always
more resilient,
tough as shit, they
could take anything,
and would, and
would right come
back at you too,
with their own stuff,
often worse than what
had been meted out.
Like skullduggery,
murder, mayhem.
The stuff you
remember; the kind
of things that get you
scars and missing
fingers and things.
These old Pennsylvania
places, they never had
any of that - those
people just withered
and sunk. Maybe
Camden was a
little bit different,
but I don't think
so. If you sought
Mob power
thereabouts,
you had to go
into Philadelphia
proper - almost
the same as NYC
tough there.
South Philly,
whatever they
call it. Philadelphia
has like thirty
neighborhoods,
by name, as does
New York - after
a while you get to
know them and
what they are and
signify. But, these
Chester sorts of
haunts, those people
are just the walking
dead by comparison.
They stay, get stuck,
and wither and die.
-
I don't think I really
ever did real Harlem,
black Harlem, by
choice, all the time
I was there. It was
deadly. A few times
I can remember -
wrong subway, or
express train by
mistake, or missed
exits and all, getting
off finally in any
of a number of
God awful places
I'd never want to be.
Marauding packs
of killers and
guys with knives.
Stare-downs, etc.
The only thing to
do at that point,
and I'd tried
everything, is
to lay low, face
down, walk fast,
and get right
back out - onto
the next platform
or whatever; or
act just as if it
all was nothing
to you, and you
were as tough
as they were, and
had that gun they
had too. It all all
bluster, fake, and
lie, but if you
presented it right,
it succeeded. That's
urban stuff, and only
- you don't even
need to do that sort
of thing in Columbia
Crossroads, PA,
where I lived too,
or even Elmira.
Those people are
just weak. Their
strength is in their
steadiness and lack
of inquisitiveness
about lots of things.
Mostly, those country
folk just can't be bothered.
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