The front of the sign said Welcome to East Cooley Gardens.
Antonio only knew that from the flyer they had rubberbanded to his door.
The back of the sign faced his house, no words, just a pleasant forest green paint job with some gold leaf trim.
The sign reminded him.
No one could have known that, but it did.
They had a small band to celebrate the sign going in, and a clown for the kids.
His neighborhood had a name now.
East Cooley Gardens.
He wanted to point out to them that they were on the west side of the city, so East was a bit confusing, but the newcomers were good at talking and not so great at listening.
The tan, thin white woman knocked on his door shortly after the band stopped playing an instrumental version of Atomic Dog. It sure lost something without the vocals he was thinking... tap tap tap.
“We have vegan hot dogs and cake,” she said, smiling. “We’d like to involve everyone in the neighborhood activities.”
Antonio licked his lips. They really were dry, somehow the powdered ice tea mix did that, but he lingered on the lick, thinking about how to respond.
“I’ve been involved in things in this city since ‘fore you were born. He said it calmly, so slowly he could almost feel the words come out. “Thanks for the invitation…”
“What types of things were you involved with?” she asked, doing a damn good job of sounding really interested.
He stepped back. Wanted to invite the woman in and drop a bit of knowledge on her, but didn’t. Wanted to take a crap and watch baseball.
“ A variety of things,” he said. He didn’t want to elaborate. The woman’s eyes seemed to beg. “My mother was very active in getting crack houses torn down,” he offered. “This neighborhood doesn’t seem to have that problem. It’s a beautiful day. Go enjoy it.”
Antonio began to shut the door.
“If there’s anything you’d like to contribute to ECG, we’d love to include you. We’re offering classes if you have any life skills or creative talents you’d like to share with the kids and…”
Antonio looked over the woman’s shoulder to the sign. It just as easily could have said Future home of Mt. Ebenezer COGIC
Antonio shivered.
The woman noticed.
Antonio couldn’t remember her name. It was a plant. Holly? Iris? Whatever.
“I’ll tell you what. Let me grab a slice of cake and bring it over to you,” she said.
He started to say no thank you, but she was already off the porch.
His mother would like this woman.
He watched her walk toward the gathering, wanted to lock his door, let her leave the cake on the porch, or just walk away mad.
His mom would be a fire-spitting hornet if he did that to a young lady just trying to be nice.
His mom’s temper had gotten the houses torn down. City Council had gotten tired of her tirades at meetings. They got seven taken down around the city before they demolished the one closest to Antonio’s house.
The city sold the property to a well-connected pastor for a dollar.
After the crackhouse was gone, they dug the foundation for the church.
Future Home of Mt. Ebenezer COGIC.
The sign blocked the view of the property from the street.
Before they could lay one brick, Pastor Marius T. Wheatley got indicted for running a Ponzi scheme.
The corner of Sunderland and Puritan was a big rectangular ditch hiding behind a giant wood sign.
So Antonio and his pals opened the fire hydrant no longer visible from the street and turned the hole into a waterpark.
They took the mud they created and built a slide down into the water.
Sunderland Falls.
They were the good kids, the smart kids, the kids with a future, otherwise they might have spraypainted Welcome to Sunderland Falls on the disgraced pastor’s sign.
Antonio and Brock LaPage and Quinn Thompson were community heroes.
It was the best 72 hours of Antonio’s life.
The woman walked back with the cake, a clear plastic glass of some red shit, and what looked like a plate of veggies and dip.
Antonio realized he hadn’t left the doorway, just staring at the back of the sign, wandering back into a place in time.
“Veggies, vegan onion dip, cruelty-free cake,” the woman said in that cheery way that is almost too much for any occasion.
Antonio heard his mother’s voice.
Hush, she means well.
Him and Brock and Quinn meant well too.
Kids were laughing, having a blast.
The woman handed Antonio a card.
Rosemary Willingham, Community Engagement Coordinator, East Cooley Gardens.
“Any time you think I can do anything for you or you can do anything for me, please reach out.”
She smiled and stepped off the porch.
There was a thin pale strip of white riding up her back where a bikini top had been. Antonio wanted to tell her to quit tanning so she didn’t get cancer.
He shut the door behind Rosemary.
East Cooley Gardens.
Humph.
He wondered if they could have gotten the city to build a real pool where Sunderland Falls was.
Probably not. The city was big on crime prevention back then, not quality of life.
Antonio was working at Northland Mall when Sunderland Falls caved in.
He was selling fancy Canadian shoes… Let’s try that in a ten and a half… when his mom called the store.
He went to Sunderland Falls first, despite telling his mother he would come straight home.
The number of fire trucks told him how bad it was.
The mothers in hysterics just made it worse.
Darietta Mitchell’s dad beat up Quinn so bad that he was the last one from the Sunderland Falls disaster to be released from the hospital.
Pastor Wheatley was released from prison before Antonio was.
Antonio sat down in his breakfast nook
He put Rosemary’s card on the table because his mother would want him to keep it, set down the glass of punch and threw the cake in the trash.
***
I can picture the characters—you painted a vivid picture. I can sort of picture the neighborhood, too. Nice story. Evocative.
When they labeled a certain Eastside Detroit neighborhood, where my grandfather grew up, West Village, I wondered where they were talking about.