COMMUNITY CENTERS, GRANDPARENTS, & CORNER STORES

BY TRACY SCHLAPP

On The Stairs
Alone
Alone
Alone
Consumed in my own thoughts
Contemplating on all that I've lost
Things I want to gain
— Dwayne McClinton

Last Friday we published work written by students enrolled in Portland State University’s Black Studies program. Monday, we attended a special reading at PSU that included family members of the incarcerated students, the program leaders, and even Kenny Hamilton, one of our PonyXpress contributors who now works for Project Rebound at PSU. Kenny and his colleagues read poems from the collection, Memory & Place in Black Portland.

Regular PonyXpress readers will recognize Stressla Lynn Johnson. As a PonyXpress editor, he draws us with detail, the sights, the sound, and the conditions of life inside the walls and how they resonate in his being. He once described a challenge he gave himself — look for kindness during an ordinary day in prison. Stressla found it and took note. In this narrative about fishing on Swan Island, Stressla’s sharp eye brings us a picture of his step-dad: “Clarence, affectionately called ‘Pops' by me and my brothers living at home, was a stout Black man with a wide smile that exposed a gold crowned tooth, he always smelled of Old Spice Cologne; clean shaven, with a square box haircut, he spoke with a slight Alabama inflection, with a laugh that put you at ease.” There is the softness that comes with looking back over thirty years ago to a time when he attended those beautiful celebrations in parks. This sense is sharpens knowing that gentrification and loss of family members have indelibly changed home.

There is no more penny candy spread out for the kids
to pick from ... I imagine a lot of things
are gone from the corner stores, especially the
people that loved the Black Community.”

We have had the great fortune of working with Theron Hall on a few projects. His collection  is filled with wonderful turns of phrase provides a multifaceted illustration of his heart. There is the determination of his grandmother climbing the thirteen stairs of her house, with a bad hip and feet tired from a day of nursing. We feel that love — and painful loss that changes everything for a boy who knows love and then, loses its security. There is strength and agility building at the Matt Dishman/Knott Street Boxing and then there’s staring into the doors of the Donald E Long building, with its punitive promise: “I don’t remember if I cried that day. I remember seeing the shadow of the school to prison pipeline. I don’t ever remember thinking, as I walked out the front doors of Donald E Long, that I would end up in prison for murder and sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.”

Like Theron, Darius Brown writes of Dishman, with its the chlorinated sting of its pool and the gathering of Black and Brown people under the its roof: “Single mothers trying to provide structure for their children in a safe place where their children can go, be comfortable and not be judged, like grandma’s house. A place where there is people who look like them but also introduces them to other minority culture.“ In his geo-poems, Darius moves his language in a tumble play with quick maneuvers: “Sneakers squeaking back and forth having a conversation / Sound means one of two things / It some hooping or some fighting going on.”

Current Uhuru Sasa Culture Club president Dwayne McClinton writes of his stairs. As I looked at the photo, it clicked. I know those stairs and the city view it rewards the climber. He writes of the solitude he has found in that spot. Until reading his piece, I have always thought of the concrete flight as transit. But now, I see how it was a hidden garden, a front stoop that revealed another vision:

I loved going to this spot because it was on the outskirts of the hood where I wouldn't see many police cars, gang bangers, dope fiends or hear & lot of noise. Looking at this photo I immediately felt connected back to The Stairs. I remembered some of the things I thought about, found solutions for and even cried about at this place. It was my place, my sanctuary, a place that gave me comfort.

Dwayne moves us from this spot to his larger, public arena of Woodlawn Park. He writes of the violence that he knew and how it continues today. From here, he imagines what this community needs to rise to its full height: ”Seeing our people mingling, shaking hands, giving hugs, and showing communalism will strengthen our culture. The only way for us to have a great positive impact on reducing gun violence in our community is through unity, education, job/ business opportunities, resources, and a lot of credible messengers from local gangs stamping the streets interacting with our youth.”

Grandparents. Community Centers. Parks and Playgrounds. Corner stores filled with real food (and penny candy, too). Here is the evidence — as if anyone really needed it — that people require these institutions to thrive. Consider the idea of huddling for cultural warmth. This project, the different culture clubs at OSP remind us how important it is to honor that space. | TDS