Gone to Green (26 page)

After eating, Kevin and I cleaned up while Pearl and Marcus chatted. We returned to my kitchen table to come up with a list of possible tactics.

“We somehow have to weave this neighborhood into the overall life of Green,” Kevin said. “It stays separate now. There's such a high crime rate over there, compared to the rest of Green. Young thugs hang out on the corners and harass good people. Many of the residents are poor and uneducated. They do not even begin to know how to take care of their property.” Passion and pain were apparent in Kevin's voice as she spoke of the very neighborhood where she lived.

“And some of the folks are elderly,” Kevin's mother said. “They don’t have anyone to help them with their housework, much less their yards. And half of them are afraid to leave their houses because the neighborhood is so dangerous.”

I pulled out a notebook and listed possible resources. At the top of the list was
The News-Item.
“We can do news coverage and write editorials about the efforts. And we can contribute to a smoke-detector fund to get it going.”

We knew the fire department would help install the smoke detectors and educate residents about their importance. We hoped the police department might beef up patrols in the area to cut down on loitering and crime.

“Add the Lakeside Neighborhood Association. We’re ready to jump on this effort at a moment's notice,” Mr. Taylor said. “List the Green Forward group, too. For downtown to reach its fullest potential, nearby neighborhoods need to flourish.”

“And I’ll get the South Green Merchants Group involved. I don’t want to hear complaints again that we shut them out,” I said. “It's high time we pulled more areas together. We should be one community, not a bunch of factions.”

“You are absolutely correct, Miss Lois,” Marcus said. They stood to leave.

“Thank you for that delicious supper,” Pearl said. “I especially enjoy a meal I don’t have to cook.”

Just after the Taylors pulled out of the driveway, Chris pulled in to say hello. He stopped by regularly, even on evenings we did not go for a walk, staying for a few minutes after he finished up at his catfish ponds.

Dishing up leftovers for his late supper, I told him what we had been discussing. I enjoyed bouncing ideas off him and increasingly found myself wanting to pick up the phone to tell him something funny that had happened in town.

“This could be something good for Green, don’t you think?” I asked.

“This community needs more efforts like this,” he said. His quick agreement reassured me the idea was not off-base. “I can get the football team and other students to help with a spruce-up day in the neighborhood.”

The idea seemed to grow instantly in both our minds.

“Maybe Grace Community can paint a house for someone who is disabled. Maybe even challenge other churches to do likewise.”

Representatives of all the groups gathered downtown at the paper one evening with an enthusiastic buzz in the room.

“This can make an awesome Christmas present to the community,” Katy said.

Her friend Molly quickly jumped in. “Katy and I can organize the party for the children at the country club. Tammy will help us, won’t you?”

“I’d love to,” Tammy said. “We’ll give those kids a party like they’ve never seen—not to mention what the country club has seen.”

With all of this going on for the Lakeside Annex, we received notice that the state and federal highway departments were close to finalizing the much-awaited route for the new North-South Interstate Highway—a path that went squarely through my yard and through the land of several of my Route 2 neighbors.

“The preliminary drawings show the highway cuts right between the church and my house,” Pastor Jean said, when I called to ask if she had seen the letter. “Folks are already in an uproar out here. And not only out on Route 2, but also in town. I’ve had two dozen calls already.”

For a few days, I set the notice aside, thinking it would be years before the road could be built. However, it ate at me, thinking about what it might do to the area and wondering if the bureaucrats who put it together knew the havoc they wrought on the lives of ordinary, tax-paying citizens.

“People are panicking,” Iris Jo said during a newspaper planning meeting. “They think the government can come in, bulldoze their homes, and leave them with nothing.”

“Sounds like the same thing the tenants in Lakeside are worried about,” Molly said. I glanced at her, impressed with the observation.

“Let's write some editorials and pull together a community forum,” Tom said, quite serious about his commentary duties. “Why don’t you check with that woman preacher and see if we can have it out there?”

Pastor Jean agreed immediately when I called. “You can definitely have the meeting at the church. This is a neighborhood issue, and the church needs to take part. I would appreciate it if you moderated the discussion.”

I invited a representative from the Louisiana Department of Transportation and Development, our congressman, candidates for mayor, and the head of the Green Chamber of Commerce. We publicized the event in the paper, and Tom wrote nearly poetic editorials.

“People must make their opinions known and fight for the best route for our area,” he said. “It's high time that the highway department listened to real people, the tax-paying, bill-paying public.”

The night of the meeting the little church was packed, from choir loft to people squeezed into every pew to an overflow crowd in the foyer and out onto the front lawn. There was almost a carnival atmosphere, and I realized the energy that could be generated when people rallied together behind a cause. The audience was extremely diverse, made up of longtime farmers in the area, elderly widows who were scared to death, young couples who had built homes out in the country or who had remodeled family houses, people who sold produce out of the back of their pickups, and a few wealthy landowners who had lots of acreage with timber or some sort of cash crop.

“Good evening,” I said, leaning over the pulpit. The microphone squealed, and several people shouted, “We can’t hear you.”

I adjusted the mike and tried again. “Good evening. I’m your neighbor, Lois Barker, and we’re here tonight to talk about the proposed path of Interstate 69. As you know, the Green area is part of two choices for this interstate's corridor through North Louisiana. As a businesswoman and resident of Green, I do not want to block this project. It has the potential to help our area—our entire region—greatly.”

As I said that, several people grumbled, and one man yelled out, “I do. I want to block it. We don’t need that kind of progress.”

A handful of people clapped, while a few others said, “Shhh! Let her talk.”

“However,” I plowed on, wondering what I was doing up here, “I do not want to see the highway ruin my neighborhood, hurt my neighbors, and take away the charm of our community. So, we must let our voices be heard and suggest the government choose an alternate, less disruptive route, which will require flexibility in Green. I sincerely hope this does not sound like I’m trying to push the interstate off on others, make it their burden.”

“Why not?” someone in the audience yelled, and a few people laughed.

Many people applauded, and there was a hum in the room as people talked to those around them. Trying to keep people quiet, I introduced the guest speakers and moderated the question-and-answer period. I was impressed at how many people I could call by name as they raised their hands.

When I had arrived in Green eleven months ago, I had thought it a fairly dull place without much going on. Now it seemed that every time I turned around I had something else to deal with. As I looked out at the crowd that night, I realized how even in small communities there was always some sort of drama playing out, the daily exchanges between friends and neighbors and the efforts of trying to change what might need changing and keep what was worth keeping.

I took advantage of the gathering to invite people to participate in our Lakeside Annex cleanup and party day. “As most of you know, we’ve scheduled an event for the first Saturday in December—‘Green's Gift to Green.’ I hope you will come and help us make this a better place to live.”

In the next week, groups kept calling, offering to do all sorts of useful things. I also had an unexpected visit from Kevin, who was so busy at her clinic that she seldom stopped by my office during the week. “I had some business I needed to take care of downtown and wondered if you might want to get some lunch,” she said.

A weird déjà vu feeling hit me, as I remembered a similar conversation with Ed just over a year ago. “Sure,” I said, “What's up?”

Just as Ed had done, Kevin put me off until we were seated at the catfish restaurant on the south side of town, a sure sign she wanted to talk more privately. “I’ve decided to buy some of the houses in the Lakeside Annex, and I need your help,” she said. “I’ve talked to your banker friend Duke, and he's good to go, but I need you to vouch for me with the bank's loan committee.”

“No problem,” I said, thinking there was something wrong when the committee needed me, a newcomer, to vouch for someone who had grown up here, whose parents were community leaders and who probably made five times more money than I did.

I looked up from the menu and smiled. “That's great. How many houses are you buying?”

“Twenty-five.”

I had expected her to say two or three. “Twenty-five? Excuse me, but did you say twenty-five?”

“Yes, I said twenty-five, and, good Lord willing, that's only going to be the starting place.”

I shook my head again. “Kevin, did you just tell me you’re buying twenty-five houses in the Lakeside Annex?”

“Yes, Lois, I did. Now listen! I don’t have all day here. God has blessed me with a great upbringing and a wonderful medical practice. I make a good living, and I want to use it to help others. They’re not very expensive in the shape they’re in, and I’ve been in touch with one of the out-of-town owners. He's happy to unload them. I can get all of those for the price of one big fancy house on the lake.”

“That's fantastic,” I said. “What an idea!”

“This is an investment for me, too, and Daddy says he can help me manage them. These houses are bound to go up in value as the highway comes through and the lake continues to develop and as we fix up that area.”

“Can I buy one?”

“Sure, you can buy a half dozen if you want. I figure there are sixty houses in that neighborhood, and I intend for all of them to be owned by the current tenants or by me within the next ten years. Except for the ones you buy, of course.”

“And I thought I was a goal-setter,” I said, picking at a hush puppy.

“There's more. I’m working out a plan at the bank to help some of the tenants buy their houses on the lake, the ones by my folks’ house. Duke thinks we might be able to work this out as part of the mediation with Major Wilson's case. He says it's a certainty the Cypress Point development is dead and that Major needs to look for a way to buy some goodwill with the Feds and with some of his constituents. To top it off, apparently I’m not the only person of color who tried to buy a house in Mossy Bend and was turned down for no apparent reason. His whole real estate business could crumble if he can’t work this out.”

“Not to mention he can still be prosecuted for violating the Civil Rights Act,” I said. Several times I had tried to talk Kevin into telling her story for the newspaper, but she had declined, getting firmer with each mention of it. I had even wanted her to look at houses in white neighborhoods and report on the reactions when she asked about buying something.

“Not interested,” she had said. “I need to put my time and energy into something more productive.”

Apparently she had.

I walked around the table and gave her a hug, something I seemed to be doing everywhere these days. “You are one amazing woman,” I said, “and I am proud to have you as my friend.”

“Right back at you,” she said, and we walked out grinning.

God smiled on us on “Gift” day, and by now I was willing to admit it was God's doing.

The weather was clear and cool, but not too cold to paint. The sky was as blue as I had ever seen it. Nearly a thousand people picked up litter, cleaned out yards for disabled and elderly people, and painted houses. About two hundred smoke detectors were installed and tested, with Tom keeping a careful list so we could follow up. The South Green Merchants Group happily agreed to participate, cooking hamburgers and hot dogs for volunteers and residents. During the middle of the afternoon, church buses and the nursing home van pulled up and took eighty-five children to the country club for their party.