RUDIMENTS, pt. 756
(somehow down for the count)
There's the roundhouse, like
a telling punch; the guy goes
down and never gets up. In
Elmira, there was a boxing
gym, maybe two, where you'd
see boxing guys sparring.
Mostly they were black; one
or two whites, but it wasn't
really a white thing. I think
the black kids saw it as a way
out. If they could break through,
come up with a deal, get a
small contract, they'd be gone.
It was a dream; in the 1970's
of Elmira, that's how black
kids dreamed. Face it - and
I'm not being racist or anything -
the sections of town where the
blacks lived were all a wreck;
neglected, but by who, I never
knew. Probably white landlords
and property owners who stopped
caring and just waited for their
federal subsidy money for housing
what otherwise would be tramps.
They kind of had their own
high school (Ernie Davis High
School) on their end of town.
It was named for some Heisman
Trophy winner football guy.
Something they were to aspire
to, I guess. The white part of
town had 'Elmira Free Academy.'
There was lots of funny stuff
with that story. Davis was black,
from Cleveland, and a big football
star at Syracuse University. He
won the trophy and all that, but
ended up never playing a pro
game because he was dead at
age 23 of leukemia. At age 12,
he'd been moved to Elmira to
live with his mother and stepfather,
and (oddly enough) HE did attend
Elmira Free Academy, where he
was a multi-sort, standout athlete.
That little twist of fate always
caught me short. He went there,
but now the black kids went to
Ernie Davis HS, and NOT there.
Weird stuff, I always thought.
Right near there too was a pretty
fine amusement park - rides and
pools and fields and attractions.
It was called Eldridge Park. I
always referred to it as Eldridge
Cleaver Park. My Black Power
joke.
-
You can't really run a town
like Elmira, small city, or
like Scranton or Binghamton,
Erie or Cleveland either for that
matter, without facing off the
old race issue. The problem
is, and always becomes, how
do you face it off? The same
goes for east coast cities like
Newark and NYC too, but
it's a little different. Because
of size, though the desperation
as it ends up is about the same.
All these black people, in
Elmira (which is where I'll
keep this topic), were brought
here, flocked here, for the
old manufacturing and mill
jobs that once existed. It was
all gone by 1980, there was
nothing left. Floods and fires.
The decrepitude of the old
factories, falling in and then
crumbling on themselves in their
vacancies, left these people
stranded. They had nothing
and nowhere else to turn.
They stayed in their old
housing stock, making
more kids, seeking welfare
and relief and taking
whatever the dole would
give them. The were stuck
on their Oak Streets and
Elm Streets. There were
no, believe me, black farmers.
That was all white stuff. The
Elmira city whites, most of
them, still had it pretty good.
Jobs and clerical stuff to keep
busy with. A couple of large
fire-equipment factories,
some big machine shop
companies, and even
Corning Glass Co, about
15 miles away. There were
connections around, to be
made, but you sort of had to
be white. It was a shame to
see. Of course, I never talked
it up any, and it was different
time and place. Upon returning
there now, all that old and
rambling stuff is gone; most
of it 'proudly' replaced with
Elmira Housing Authority
crap. The same way as,
around here, they do that
too with projects. These have
actual guards and security and
guardhouses at the entrance.
I'm betting to keep people in,
more than let them out. There's
also some hospital-opoid abuse
clinic spot there too, also of
the highest security. Filled with
zombies, just moping around
or hanging out at the front.
I was up to Elmira one day, just
me, staying for a few days to
check the old place out, and
I actually parked, and went in,
for purposes of peeing, and I
really did get to the rest-room,
and plied through the mob,
without anyone asking a
question or blinking an eye.
Just more of the same old
oddball stuff - they invest
millions in places like these
everywhere - right around here
too in Avenel, Amboy, and the
rest, and as it turns out no one
gives a good god-damn about
them anyway. As long as the
people - poor, black, and,
evidently shitty white (me)
too - are kept controlled,
whether by drugs or stupidity.
I could have been a mass
murderer, done my deed,
and still been back to my
motel room on the other
side of town by 6pm.
-
The usual things always go on.
Local politics, the shenanigans
of deals and payoffs. With all
this welfare development and
project and hospital crap, they
just tear everything down. This
part of town used to have some
royal blood to its look. Gigantic
old trees, stooped and twisted
enough to be eerie, or straight
and tall too, to be proud. Some
dirt lanes, gigantic old homes,
the kind you never see now.
There's not a tree left, and these
poor northern blacks get left
with frying-pan hot-surface
bare landscapes and lots, with
cinder-block sheds and not-even-
pretty-in-any-way cookie cutter
projects they're PROJECTED to
be happy to live in. It's no wonder
riots break out and crime festers.
Anything cool there is long gone.
If a girl there reaches 15 without
already being busted into by the
meaningless thugs who hang
around and control the place,
she's a really lucky doll. It all
sure made me nothing but sad.
-
There are things I can do,
or not do, by choice. Things
like - going to Mt. Everest,
riding a train across the USA.
Or walking to Philadelphia.
There are other things I
MUST do, the basics, like
brushing teeth, washing up.
Those are physical things,
the world made manifest,
in its way. Internally, on the
other hand, there are also
things I 'must' do, internal
things which complete my
personal make-up. Maturity
comes with knowing what
they are - to be a 'whole'
and a complete person
these must be taken care
of - (in my case) art and
writing and the rest. The
harmony of living comes
with finding all that out,
and doing those things
which 'you' must do. It's
an easy path to follow, once
you become aware of it;
but poverty - the real, deadly
and grinding-down kind -
prevents that awareness from
happening, and just keeps you
set and mean and miserable.
That's the real problem with
poverty; and then the neglect
by others sets in and just makes
it all worse. Ten times worse.
Like that roundhouse punch,
the one I mentioned in the
very first line.
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