Brick City

The sun had barely risen but already the heat was being absorbed into the molded clay bricks repeatedly baking them like when they were formed. If the sun hit the buildings a certain way the hue turned crimson. Like the red earth formed from volcanic eruptions over millions of years on the Hawaiian island do Kauai. The building stood like the iron enriched earth that formed the majestic soil of the land also known as the Garden Island. The bricks combined to shape the architecture that arranged the combination of buildings that represented public housing may have been distant ancestors to the red clay of Georgia or the iron enriched soil of the Garden Island. The day solemnly promised to be a hot one. This particular Housing Project displaced five square blocks of slum tenements, several bars, a few neighborhood grocery stores and a couple churches. The places that the Projects dislodged did not go quietly in the night. Change is difficult for the most people. People can become comfortable in most situations as later the projects proved. But before the old buildings were torn down there were those who called them home. The slumlords were making a sizable profit but after a time the buildings became more trouble than they were worth. The tenants had the audacity to want repairs done to the properties. So eventually, the money that was offered to the slumlords started looking better and better. As the old saying goes, “You can’t fight city hall”, was especially true when the projects went up because it was a losing battle. City hall was run by an Italian-American mayor who eventually landed in jail many years after the kickback money was spent.

It was a quiet morning in the summer of 1962. The morning dew had filtered the pollution from the air. The smell of flowers was still evident in the air as in early summer. Life began to stir inside the complex of buildings. A few early birds headed sleepily to the bus stops to begin their journey to work. For some it took two or three buses to get to the areas where jobs were to be found. Some were faithful employees at factories or domestics in suburban neighborhoods a world away from where they started their daily sojourn.

It was a wonderful time to be alive. Young Bobby Wilson felt the joy of just being sentient. He lived in the carefree world of a twelve year old boy. School was out and laid out in front of him was his schedule for a summer of enjoyment. Boy, did he have plans! There was always something to do around the projects even if it all wasn’t safe or, for that matter, legal. Sometimes he wished that he could go away to camp for a week or two like some of the fellas did. But the thought never came up from either him or his parents. And by the time Bobby really got serious about wanting to go to camp, the summer was nearly over. Now, though, he was content to just hang around “the bricks” with his boys.

Bobby’s nickname was Diesel. Everybody had a nickname where he was from, everybody cool that is. He was sprawled out like a pet cat on the worn sofa watching the Road Runner cartoon on the floor model black and white television. His three sisters, Donna, Shelia and Cheryl, were in the “front room” watching cartoons also. Donna was sitting, not too lady like, in a tired looking but comfortable chair that matched the sofa.

“How many times have you all seen this cartoon?” Donna asked Sheila and Cheryl who were stretched out on the floor way too close to the TV.

They turned around in unison and eyed Donna.

“I don’t remember this one,” Sheila said. She turns to Cheryl. “Cheryl, you don’t remember this one, do you?”

“I don’t remember this one,” Cheryl agreed. If her sister would have said the sun was purple Cheryl would agree. The two sisters were always mistaken for twins but they were a year apart. Sheila would be nine years old in two months and Cheryl just turned eight. Their mother dressed them in matching outfits for as long as they remembered. The two rarely heard their names separately, mainly because they were very seldom apart. Even when their mom called them indoors they were called together. Shelia and Cheryl shrugged and turned back to face the television.

“You two sound like a couple of parrots,” Donna said. At fourteen she is the oldest of the siblings. She was very pretty with smooth chocolate colored skin. She was well developed for her age and often attracted the attention of older men. Her mother noticed the attention Donna would receive and taught her daughter well how to fend off those advances. Her mother made sure she stayed close to her “girls” due mainly to the fact that she had lived through what they will experience.

“More like a couple of dodo birds.” Diesel shouts, “Sheila, would you move your big head?”

Sheila ignored him.

“Do you want me to move your head for you?” Diesel threatened.

Carolyn Wilson appeared at the living room threshold with her hands on her curvaceous hips. In spite of giving birth to the brood occupying the living room, Carolyn Wilson kept her model-like figure. She was what men would call “fine.” She was cute enough to snag the most handsome if not the most promising prospect from her high school.

Her husband, Joe, was Newark All-City guard and even had offers for college scholarships. One could say the publicity and local fame went to Joe’s head. One bad decision led to another the summer before college. He could be seen at parties all around the city. That’s when he got a taste for alcohol. The booze led to fights, he was good with his hands, and he accidentally put a kid in the hospital. So instead of checking into a college dormitory Joe was processed into the county jail. He received a reduced sentence of two years due to his popularity but his basketball career was over. In jail Joe did put down the drinking habit but he picked up gambling. He got his higher education while in jail in the numbers racket. Carolyn stayed by his side the year he was locked up and not long after his release from jail he had knocked her up. Joe made some friends while incarcerated who hooked him up in the numbers game. Carolyn and Joe were still crazy about each other so she never saw, heard or spoke any evil where his business was concerned.

Approaching her mid-thirties, Carolyn was strikingly good looking. Her form had gotten even better since the children. She always thought she was too skinny until the babies came then she added pounds “where it counted” others would say. When she took Diesel to the barbershop the barbers would be fighting over who would cut his hair and then it was always on the house. She would never tell Joe this and Diesel would never tell her, but his mother has been the reason for him getting into so many fights over the years. Kids would come out the side of their necks with lewd remarks about getting with his mom and that would set him off. The frequency of his fights honed his boxing skills in a neighborhood where fisticuffs were king. One day when he was about twelve years old Diesel thought he saw his dad watching his fight but when the kid had enough his dad was not around. That was when Joe Wilson decided to introduce his son to Coach Smith who ran the boxing gym. Coach Smith knew Joe from his basketball days.

“Bobby, don’t talk that way to your little sister. You’re supposed to protect her not push her around.” Carolyn said.

“But, Ma, I can’t see…,”

“How come when there’s school, I can’t get your little asses out of bed? Now all your asses are up with the damn milkman,”

“Cartoons, Ma!” Sheila and Cheryl chime in with their eyes glued to the TV set.

“I got your cartoons,” Carolyn said. “All I hear is ‘Beep Beep, Beep Beep.” She walks up to the TV and turns the volume way down.

“Aw, Ma, I can barely hear it,” Diesel yelled.