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Homegrown City Farms: Digging In
Published on May 20, 2012 - In: Activists|On the Edge & Outside of the Box|Uncategorized
Maryah Smith-Overman (left), Collier Reeves (right) of Homegrown City Farms. "I feel so rich when I have a garden bursting with food," says Reeves.
Article by Ruth Eckles, Photos by Mimi Schiffman
“There’s so much wasted land in a lawn,” laments Collier Reeves of Homegrown City Farms, an urban farm located in East Durham. Her words echo through my head as I drive to work, passing the broad expanse of lawns that surround office buildings, pedestrian malls, hotels, and highway medians.
“We live in an agriculturally rich area here in the Piedmont, but there is a lot of underused land, especially in urban areas,” says Maryah Smith-Overman, the other half of Homegrown City Farms.
Since moving from Asheville to Durham last year to launch the project, the two have steadily transformed a borrowed quarter-acre plot into a garden overflowing with sugar snap peas, chard, beets, radishes, spinach, arugula, carrots, and broccoli raab. On June 1st, they will begin distributing the vegetables through CSA shares.
Homegrown City Farms grew out of Reeves and Smith-Overmans’ mutual desire to promote community, food sovereignty, and sustainable land stewardship practices.
“Plus…I just like being dirty and working with plants,” laughs Reeves who earned a degree in Agriculture at Warren Wilson College, and worked on various farms around North Carolina and Virginia before moving to Durham.
Urban farming cuts down on fossil fuel, creates food security for the community, and empowers people to become a bigger part of their food system.
“There are parts of Durham that don’t have grocery stores for miles. Getting food here will become harder and harder because of gas costs. Making food available right here is crucial. Whether it’s from an urban farm or in your own backyard, that’s what’s going to keep people fed,” says Smith-Overman.
Tilling and building up the soil, even on a small plot, is hard physical work. Work parties with friends and the help of a Crop Mob (a group of community members, both seasoned farmers and laypersons, that come together to help with a labor-intensive farm project) were crucial. The rules: previous crop mob experience and lunch for the 30 to 50 mobbers. No money is exchanged, community bonds are forged, and a lot of work gets done in a short amount of time.
“We had 40 people come out to the farm and help us for 3 or 4 hours. So much got done it was unreal,” enthused Smith-Overman.
Reeves says working side by side is a great way to learn.
“There’s a cooperative spirit of working together and sharing the fruits of that labor,” she says.
“I think some of our closest friends have come out of our work parties,” adds Smith-Overman.
Homegrown City Farms are also available for garden installations: "You can pay a farmer for a consultation just as you can a landscape designer. Gardens are worth it," says Reeves.
Both artists and musicians, Reeves and Smith-Overman are attracted to Durham’s overlapping social justice, foodie, farm, music and art scenes.
“There are so many people in Durham who are kind of pulling it up by the bootstraps, really doing things from a grassroots level. There’s a lot of support for folks who want to join a movement,” says Reeves.
Maryah holds part-time jobs at The Scrap Exchange and Parlez-Vous Crepe truck while Collier works at Panciuto, Girl’s Rock Camp, and Bountiful Backyards; all locally owned businesses that are committed to supporting local agriculture, sustainability, the environment and the arts.
“It’s a lot of patch working stuff together. Ideally this grows and we have one job,” says Smith-Overman. “But it’s completely necessary to supplement what we’re passionate about.”
“We’re really grateful to be here,” says Reeves, “It feels like home.”
Win-Win: Friends offered the back part of their land for the project. In return, they are welcome to as much food as they can eat from the garden.
Melissa Smith: If You’ve Lost Something, She May Have Found It
Published on Feb 16, 2012 - In: Artists & Healers|Uncategorized
"Melissa is one of those rare artists who leads with her heart. Although the subject matter of her work is often intensely personal, her aesthetics meld with a wide range of cultural and conceptual influences, allowing anyone to approach her work and find a little bit of themselves in it." -- Catherine Howard (Photo Credit: J. Smith)
by Ruth Eckles, Photos by Kim Gray
“Feel free to touch,” Melissa Smith tells me as she shows me her collages; texture-rich images of fashion models spliced with torn pages of a DIY car repair manual. The Carburetor collection, a series exploring societal ideals of perfection and the tendency to strive towards the unattainable, evolved when Smith happened upon a chapter called ‘The Body’. It occurred to her that what mechanics do to the bodies of cars is remarkably similar to what women do to their bodies via plastic surgery, dieting or other measures. The series, which will open at the Carrack on February 17th at 7pm, explores our never-ending quest to fix others and ourselves. It’s a dilemma Smith finds fascinating:
“Our society puts a lot of emphasis on morphing ourselves into something we’re not. Why do people want to be something they’re not? Why do they want the person they’re in love with to be something they’re not? Or their children?” she asks.
A sensualist with a love of touch and texture, Smith first began experimenting with collage in her early 20’s:
“When I was young, I think I was basically collecting all these thoughts and ideas and feelings and colors. When I finally started making art, I put all those things that I’d been collecting in my head and my heart down on paper, or wood or cloth or canvas or glass—whatever I could get my hands on.”
Smith will also show her vast collection of shadow boxes at the Carrack exhibit. Three-dimensional structures allow an even fuller exploration of texture and depth. Layers of paint, paper, magazine clippings, found objects, fabric, glass and wood collaborate to tell tactile tales about the body, nature and emotional growth. Strategically placed metal wrenches, vintage buttons, toy cars, and other whimsy lend a playful quality to the work. Smith’s artist bio states: “If you’ve lost something, I may have found it”.
“Today I found a clasp that had fallen off a woman’s purse. I’m looking forward to putting that on something,” she laughs.
Smith uses the work to process her experiences; challenges many will resonate with: the struggle to love yourself and others, finding one’s place in the world, navigating the tricky seas of pain and pleasure, having adventures, and believing in your dreams.
“I’m putting images together to make a message for myself,” she says. “It’s a story about being yourself, and being true to that.”
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“Carburetor: The Show” opens at 7pm on February 17th at the Carrack on 111 West Parrish Street
Music by: Ellertronic, Curtis Eller, Beloved Binge and Wigg Report
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Stephen Coffman: Following his Own Rhythms
Published on Jan 27, 2012 - In: Artists & Healers|Uncategorized
- “He has an incredible knack of being able to pick up the vibe of a song from the get go, but then completely turning it around and making it a unique, one of a kind, piece of music. He can play any style of music and knows how to apply it in just the right places” –Duncan Webster (Hammer No More The Fingers)
Article by Ruth Eckles, Photos courtesy of Stephen Coffman
Somewhere in the triangle, at any given moment, Stephen Coffman is keeping the beat. Maybe he’s playing in Durham’s hip-hop influenced The Beast, or the improv jazz band Peter Lamb and the Wolves, or the North Carolina Jazz Repertory Orchestra. Perhaps he’s freelancing as a session drummer, teaching a drum lesson, or backing local singer-songwriters such as Shana Tucker and Greg Humphreys. Wherever he is—a smoky bar, a sound-proofed studio, a concert hall, a classroom—he is why you find yourself tapping your foot, and nodding your head, drawn into the pulse of the music.
For as long as he can remember, Stephen Coffman felt called to the drums. Born and raised in Durham, Coffman was exposed to percussion through his father, a guitarist in a R & B funk band. Only three years old at the time, he remembers tip-toeing down the basement stairs, feeling drawn to the band’s drum set. The attraction continued, as he went from pots and pans, to a child-sized drum set to an adult set. By the 4th grade, he and three of his friends, Duncan Webster, Joe Hall and Will Goble started a precocious Nirvana-esque Ska punk band called Slippery Chicken.
Slippery Chicken: Goble, Webster, Hall & Coffman.
”People would freak out because we were just these tiny kids playing these cool songs,” Coffman remembers.
Their first big gig was at the famed Cat’s Cradle in Chapel Hill, opening for Quintessential.
”I don’t think we really knew what the Cradle was back then, but once we were in high school we liked to brag about it,” he laughs.
All four members are now career musicians. Webster and Hall formed Hammer No More the Fingers, and Goble tours internationally as a professional bass player with jazz heavyweight Jason Marsalis.
Coffman began taking drumming more seriously when he enrolled in Durham’s School of the Arts, where he would study percussion, symphonies and wind ensembles for the next seven years. Prior to DSA, Coffman had been a natural drummer with a distinct disdain for practicing the rudiments. He’d even flunked out of drum lessons.
“I was a terrible student,” he says. “I didn’t want to study or accept direction. I just wanted to hit the drums.”
That all changed when he met jazz instructor Andrew Sioberg. Sioberg encouraged Coffman to think about music as a career, not just a hobby.
“He really nurtured my curiosity on the instrument,” remembers Coffman.
Sioberg would bring Coffman CD’s, encourage him to practice an hour a day with the metronome, give specific exercises to improve his drumming.
“I started to practice the stuff he taught me every day. I listened to the recordings he gave me, transcribed the solos. I’d almost be eager about it. Kind of like ‘Man, I can’t wait to learn this so I can show Mr. Sioberg’. There were definitely some light bulbs going off when I met Andy.”
When Coffman graduated from DSA, he headed for Florida State’s prestigious jazz program, on a full scholarship. At the last minute, he changed his mind and instead went to Carolina where he majored in Music with an emphasis in Jazz. Coffman forged friendships in UNC’s small, intimate music department that would influence his career for years to come.
Jim Ketch, the chair of UNC’s Music Department and the Director of Jazz Studies, was a fiery perfectionist with a passion for getting results. It was a quality Coffman admired, and for the next 4 years, under Ketch’s instruction, he grew to the next level as a professional jazz musician taking weekly jazz drum lessons, big band drumming, jazz combo, Charanga (a Cuban drumming style), marching drums, and general percussion.
“It was life-changing working with Ketch. He taught me from when I was just a baby. By the time I was a senior, he was hiring me for gigs outside of school,” says Coffman.
Coffman, Hirsh and Kimosh played together in UNC's Charanga Carolina
He also met Peter Kimosh (bassist) and Eric Hirsh (pianist), who to this day are his first calls for any gig. While still in school, the trio landed a steady gig at Maggiano’s at Southpoint Mall, playing twice a week, for three hours per session.
“We’d play jazz, bossa nova’s, Afro-Cuban grooves, ballads, maybe throw in a funk thing. The more I did that, the more confidence I gained,” says Coffman.
Almost as soon as he graduated from Carolina, Coffman was making enough money to cover his bills, and even save some. He toured all over the country with Who’s Bad: The Ultimate Michael Jackson Tribute Band, and The Hugh Swaso Project; all connections he’d made while at UNC. Yet initially, he didn’t think he’d settle locally for his musical career:
“I figured I’d play here for a little while then I’d go to grad school, or move to a big city and get a ‘real’ scene. But the more I’ve been here and started bands and networked with other musicians, I’ve realized the talent pool and music scene we have here is one of the best in the country. I thought about it, and I was like ‘Why would I pay 7 times more money in rent in New York, when it’s all here?’”
Eventually Coffman saved enough to buy a house on Huron St. in Durham, and Kimosh and Hirsh moved in as roommates. Practice in the basement became a regular event, and The Beast, the kinetic hip-hop jazz-influenced quartet, was born. The band is fronted by lyricist Pierce Freelon (son of jazz singer Nneena Freelon), also a UNC graduate. Coffman, Freelon, Hirsh and Kimosh all write the music together. The group also does musical outreach in schools, educating kids about the culture of jazz, hip-hop, and collaborates with other singer-songwriters.
The Beast: Coffman, Hirsh, Freelon, and Peter Kimosh
As a freelancer, Coffman works as his own CEO and booking agent. Making phone calls, negotiating rates, scheduling lessons, rushing to gigs and recording sessions are all part of the daily grind. Although the hustle of making a living as a musician can be challenging, Coffman loves the freedom it affords him.
“75% of being a professional musician is about business acumen and personality. Do people like you? Are you reliable? Are you going to show up on time, in the suit?” he asks. “The other 25% is being able to play well.”
Overall, drumming up business in Durham has been a non-issue for Coffman:
“I was born and raised here, so I know a lot of people. It’s the sort of thing where this friend’s brother started a bar, so I can get gigs there. I’ve started teaching at DSA, where I went to school. I play in the North Carolina Jazz Repertory Orchestra, where Jim Ketch is the Musical Director. It’s probably like that with any trade. If you search through your network of people, you’re going to find outlets and ways to make money. It’s all about relationships,” he says.
The Coalition to Unchain Dogs
Published on Dec 7, 2011 - In: Activists|Uncategorized
Article by Ruth Eckles, Photos by Sarah Cress, “Untethered” is a documentary film by Robert and Lori Hensley
October 23rd, 2011, Sunday morning, Raynor St., Durham NC–The sound of steel striking metal clangs against the Carolina blue sky. Posts are pounded into earth, fencing unrolled, measurements made, logistics discussed. Yellow leaves flutter in the Fall breeze and volunteers work together like partners in a well-rehearsed dance, punctuated by occasional laughter and good-natured gossip. In an hour or so, the fence will be complete and Sincere, an animated Pitbull, will be free from the 6-foot chain that once constrained her to a small area near her doghouse. Tony, her owner, feels his burden lift as well. “She’ll be able to run around now,” he says, smiling. This is how the Coalition to Unchain Dogs rolls: Swiftly and joyfully, building free fences for folks who can’t afford to, working to make chaining dogs a thing of the past.
(The photos below document the hour and a half long process from fence roll, to the retiring of the chain, to Sincere enjoying her freedom, Snoopy-style, on top of the doghouse):
Lori Hensley, Director, and Amanda Arrington, Executive Director/Founder
“My favorite part of the whole thing is meeting people like Tony. He’s a good person, and he loves his dogs. He just didn’t have the means to build a fence. I love working with people in my community that I never would have gotten the opportunity to meet. It’s gotten me so much more at ease with Durham as my town,” she says.
The Coalition often builds fences in some of the poorest, most underserved neighborhoods in Durham. In most cases, people chain their dogs because they can’t afford a fence, and they don’t realize tethering is harmful. There’s a strict no judgment policy when it comes to working with fence recipients and the focus stays on providing education and resources. When treated respectfully, and provided with other options, people are often responsive, and grateful.
Volunteer Robert Hensley, Lori’s husband, also a lawyer, feels it’s a unique opportunity for those interested in issues of social justice:
“When we first started this work, Lori and I were not traditional animal folks at all. We had dogs, and we like dogs, but we were more into politics and social justice and those sorts of things. I think that’s something that a lot of our volunteers share—is not just a concern for the animals, but they come from a place of how can they serve their community.”
Recently, I was able to talk with Lori and Robert a little more about their experiences in their work with the Coalition building relationships within the more economically-challenged areas of Durham. What follows is a more detailed account of that process:
Lori and Robert Hensley, at the premier for their documentary film "Untethered"
Lori: Many of our outreach visits come from people contacting us because someone they know has received a Coalition fence and they’d like one as well. However, we realize there are many people who have not heard about us and many chained dogs no one is advocating for. So, when we are doing outreach we are always looking for chained dogs. When we see a chained dog we most often knock on the door of the home and talk with the owner. I’m often amazed at how well we are received. Honestly, if a stranger knocks on my door on a Saturday morning, I don’t answer it. Sometimes, they are initially skeptical that we are offering a fence for free. Because we have a non-judgmental approach and are not there to tell the owners what they are doing wrong, rather offer help for them and their dog, we rarely meet anyone who isn’t happy to receive a fence for their dogs. Occasionally, there is initial hesitation regarding the required spay/neuter and on a few occasions we meet people who refuse to spay/neuter their dogs. But for the most part, people are happy we provide the spay/neuter for free as well because they can’t afford to take their dogs to the vet and often don’t have the means to get them there.
Robert: The truth is it rarely happens that people get defensive. We always go into the poorest, most underserved communities, and those folks are really happy for our assistance. We go into the situation without judgment, without any preconceived notions of their care or concern for their dogs. We’re just there to serve them, and to help them, and that’s how it works. I think that this work is a little bit different from traditional animal rescue in that we’re not taking dogs from someplace, we’re trying to keep them where they are. We have a similar approach to social services, a kind of “keep the family together” attitude. And to do that we really have to work with the owners. Everything we do is with their permission. The relationship is built on trust and respect.
I love that there is a no judgment policy. Can you tell me more about that?
Lori: We’ve learned that judgment doesn’t work. It is not an effective way to get people to care differently for their dogs. What does work is building a trusting relationship with the owner and truly caring as much about them as their dogs. Creating this relationship allows us to help them make better decisions about caring for their dogs. We believe that most people chain their dogs either because they have no other means for keeping their dogs in the yard or it’s the only way they’ve ever known to keep a dog. In meeting the owners of chained dogs for over four years now, I can honestly say that most people love their dogs and are doing the best they know how to do and can do to care for them. The people we meet are often as broken and forgotten as their dogs. Many have rarely had experiences where they were not judged by outside people. The bond created by the relationship we form with them goes way beyond the fence build. They call us when their dog is sick or their fence needs repair and they tell their neighbors and friends to call us about getting a fence.
Robert: It may be more difficult for people with traditional animal rescue backgrounds to do this work at first. I have great respect for folks who work in shelters and who do rescue. But I think they can sometimes focus on the animal to the exclusion of the person. If you’re going to do this work, you have to see the whole picture and a lot of times it’s not just the animal that’s in a bad situation, it’s the people as well. And it’s not that they don’t care about the animal it’s just that they don’t have a floor in their kitchen, or anything covering their windows, or sometimes they may even be squatting in the house. These folks care about their dogs, they just have a lot of other problems. And a dog is sometimes not a very high priority when they’re just trying to make it day by day. When you keep that in mind, it’s a lot easier not to be judgmental.
What’s the biggest thing you’ve learned from having these conversations?
Lori: I’ve learned that there are people in my community I would have not otherwise had the opportunity to meet who are struggling, really struggling. They are broken and many aren’t able to keep their electricity on each month, and don’t have running water or enough food for their families. But they often have a stronger sense of community than I do. They sit on each other’s porches in the evenings and watch each other’s children and take care of each other. Their faces light up when they see my truck in the neighborhood and they welcome me into their homes. They are so proud of their fences and their dogs. And they are just like me — they know what it’s like to be scared and worried, they want to loved and accepted and they are just trying to make it through this world with as little pain as possible.
Volunteer Profile: Robin Cubbon
Robin Cubbon, a self-proclaimed homebody, was drawn to work with the Coalition through watching the group’s Facebook videos. “Every video had a happy ending, and that just drew me in,” she says. “I was also looking for something to get me out of the house.”
Robin Cubbon, Center
That was two years ago, and she’s still at it every weekend, enjoying benefits such as becoming skilled with hand tools (“As a homeowner, every young lady needs to learn how to hammer a nail,” she laughs), making good friends (“They walk their talk, and they’re fun. They play hard and they work hard.”), and the vicarious joy of seeing a dog run free (“When that dog gets released, their demeanor changes. It’s immediately visible. They’ve gone from tense to relaxed.”).
Yet it’s the quality of the people that has kept her motivated all this time:
“People actually do what they believe in. There’s a lot of really dedicated people here and meeting them has kind of taken away some of my jadedness.”
Another unexpected bonus; an attitude of gratitude in her own life:
“I see the rough circumstances a lot of folks have to live in and it makes me go home and feel rich and appreciative of what I have. I didn’t expect to get all that,” she smiles.
Environmental Artist: Bryant Holsenbeck
Published on Oct 12, 2011 - In: Activists|Artists & Healers|Leaders & Elders|On the Edge & Outside of the Box|Uncategorized
Bryant Holsenbeck on the beach with her crows. Photo by Anita Mcleod
“I am an environmental artist. I collect everyday objects that were used and thrown away (where is ‘away’, by the way?) and make them into art. These works are not only about our environment, but about our throw-away culture as well. My installations are both meditations and questions. Where does all this stuff come from? Where does it go? What do we do with it? Why is it here?” — from Blackbirds, Bottle Caps & Broken Records, a documentary produced by The Resource Center for Women & Ministry in the South
Article by Ruth Eckles, all artwork by Bryant Holsenbeck, photographed by C. Timothy Barclay
Outside my window, a crow is transfixed by a shiny bit of silver tinsel, loosely attached to the brown pine needles of a long-ago discarded Christmas tree. Another crow, near the compost pile, spots a white puff of dog hair blowing across the yard like a spaghetti western tumbleweed. It will make fine insulation for a winters nest. Like the crow, environmental artist Bryant Holsenback has been creating art out of stuff most of us throw away for over 30 years. Through a combination of Artist-in-Residencies, community outreach, and solitude, she explores artistic themes revolving around wildlife and human-made waste. Although beautiful to the eye, the message is clear: Humans are destructive to nature and the wildlife that inhabits it.
I first heard about Bryant at The Scrap Exchange, a creative reuse center in Durham, NC where I work as the office manager. A non-profit with a mission to raise environmental awareness through community and creative reuse, Holsenbeck is one of the original co-founders of the organization. She would often donate one of her animals (wild, organic looking, multi-layered things, formed with wire, stuffed with plastic grocery bags, and bound tightly with string and yarn) to our fundraisers. They perfectly illustrated our mission, and were always highly sought-after.
More of a do-er than a sit-around-and-muse type, Bryant has an invigorating whirlwind of energy about her. Always heading out the door, her wild head of strawberry blonde hair flying, on to the next thing, I knew pinning her down for an interview would be difficult. Indeed, our interview mostly consisted of us fluttering from room to room (like crows!) in her yellow bungalow on Sprunt Avenue while she showed me stuff: Disposable plastic she’d been collecting over the past year, her trademark animals (foxes, rabbits, birds) made out of wire, fabric, plastic bags and string. Clear glass bottles full of multi-colored pieces of plastic sit on window sills. On the floor, are bins full of metal bottle caps. She tells me she appeared recently on NBC’s “Extreme Home Makeover”, sought out as a “bottlecap expert”. On a table are piles of expired credit cards, used to make colorful and intricate birds. There’s another room full of various reused paper where she makes her hand-sewn books and journals.
Credit Card Cardinal: "There's a whole story about our monetary culture here," says Holsenbeck.
family of chipmunks
Black vinyl makes a perfect crows wing
Despite the depressing reality of our consumer-driven throw-away culture, the primary emotion that emanates from Holsenbeck’s work is a playful, joyful sense of inquisitiveness about the natural world. She relates this curiosity to her background in Sociology.
“I always wanted to figure out how the world worked. I’m always asking the question ‘Why?’” she says.
Blackbirds, Bottle Caps & Broken Records, a documentary made by Margaret Morales about Holsenbeck’s life, opens on the beach with the artist forming a crow out of wire and stuffing it with plastic bags.
“4.5 pounds of garbage per day, per person in the United States is thrown away. Why is that?” she asks, the ocean waves crashing in the background. “It’s so much bigger than any other country, anywhere, ever.”
Many of Holsenbeck’s creatures are filled with plastic bags. “I like the idea of having something to do with these plastic bags. They’re everywhere. They’re nasty. Do you know where plastic comes from? Plastic comes from petroleum. And it’s not biodegradable. Ever, ever, ever,” she emphasizes.
A large part of Holsenbeck’s work involves working with kids in schools and adults in communities, raising environmental awareness by making large-scale installations out of trash–bottlecaps, plastic bottles, drinking straws, bread tabs. All the things we throw away without a thought. “Where is ‘away’?” is a question she poses to groups again and again.
“We’re a very large country. We can hide our ‘away’,” she says.
In 1993, Holsenbeck became curious about how much garbage one person could accumulate in the span of a year, and began collecting every day objects she would normally throw away or recycle–bottle caps, plastic utensils, and her mail. “My mail alone filled 8 paper grocery bags and weighed 95 pounds,” she says.
She ended up using it all in a installation entitled “Collection” at the Durham Arts Council. Her mail was spread all over the floor, leaving paths for people to walk on.
“I wanted people to have to deal with it. Yes, you can step on it. Yes, it is slippery. Yes, there is a lot of it,” Holsenbeck says in an article written by Susanne Burg in the Duke Chronical.
Holsenbeck collected bottle caps for 10 years, finally reaching a maximum capacity of 100,000 caps. She now takes the collection with her to work with groups, making exquisite, ornate large-scale mandalas.
“I like to use quantities of things because it shows that when you throw stuff away, or even recycle things, it’s still out there, and it mounts up over time,” she said in a 2010 article written by Rebecca Gibian in the Guilfordian.
Recently, Holsenbeck experimented with going a year without single-use plastic (plastic you use once and throw away or recycle–plastic water bottles, utensils, yogurt containers, plastic bags) and documented her experience on her blog “The Last Straw: A Continued Quest for Life Without Disposable Plastic”. It was much more challenging than she thought it would be, leading to more questions: How would she eat yogurt? Where would she buy bread? Or cheese?
“I am beginning to see that bits and pieces of plastic are absolutely everywhere,” she writes.
I learned a lot by reading the blog. There was a link to a New York Times article by Lindsey Hoshaw about a giant island floating in the middle of the sea, twice the size of Texas, made entirely of tiny bits of plastic. There was a chart that outlined the various decomposition times of trash (aluminum,80 to 100 years, glass bottles, 1,000,000 years, milk cartons, 5 years, banana peels, 6 months, Styrofoam, never). There were tips about how to cut out single use plastic (carry cloth bags to the stores with you, a steel water bottle, and your own silverware). There were great quotes from great folks (the Dali Lama, Buckminster Fuller, Rumi). But ultimately, what I came away with in meeting Holsenbeck and studying her work was a changed consciousness. I’ll never be able to look at a bottle cap the same way again. I’ll never be able to look at plastic without thinking about that giant island in the sea. I’ll never be able to throw anything away without thinking about where ‘away’ is. That tickling sensation of awareness marks the first step towards change, and once that door has opened, it can’t really be shut again. Holsenbeck writes,
”Plastics are in our lives to stay. We love our computers and our shoes and our drainpipes and our swimsuits. Our tennis rackets and our cell phones and our plastic tubing. Fountain pens, lawn chairs and flyswatters. Many, many people are working on making all of this more sustainable all of the time. More and more plastics are becoming recyclable, yet many still are not. All of this paying attention can be hard work. It can also feel good. I mean, my compost pile is an amazing and very active place.” from The Last Straw: A Continued Quest for Life Without Disposable Plastic, by Bryant Holsenbeck
The sun is beginning to set. We are in Bryant’s backyard studio: tiny, white, with a tin roof, hardwood floors and lots of windows to look out and enjoy her muses–the birds, squirrels, chipmunks and rabbits. Bryant is showing me a woodchuck she just made. She’s concerned it doesn’t look enough like a woodchuck. She wonders outloud what the difference in physical appearance is between a woodchuck and a beaver. “I know about the big tail and webbed feet,” she says. But there’s some other detail, she’s sure of it. Already, she’s thumbing through a mammoth-sized Audubon book filled with gorgeous illustrations of every animal you can imagine. “Beaver, beaver, beaver…,” she mutters under her breath, searching hurriedly through the book for details. Our interview has come to a close, and it’s time to go home. On the drive home, I imagine Bryant, looking out her studio window, smiling at a yellow finch at the feeder, and feeling grateful.
“I feel very fortunate when I see birds soaring in the sky. Wild. Where do they live? As developers bulldoze and we stamp all over insects because they’re “in our way”, we are ruining our habitat as well. I’m lucky to live in neighborhood where I see rabbits and chipmunks. Yesterday, close to town, I saw a fawn running for the woods, white tail up. Our worlds are getting closer and closer. I hope we can live with wild animals. They do not have a voice.” interview excerpt from Everydaytrash.com
NCCU Links Social Work & Juvenile Justice: Dr. Terrence Allen
Published on Sep 22, 2011 - In: Activists|Leaders & Elders|Uncategorized
- Dr. Terrence Allen, professor at the School of Social Work at NCCU, teaches about Juvenile Justice from a Social Work perspective
By Ruth Eckles, Photos by Sarah Cress
Somewhere, walking along dimly lit urban streets, is a 10 year-old boy. A quarter past midnight, he squints in the oncoming headlights of a patrol car. An officer approaches him, asks a few questions, and gives him a ride home. Only there’s nobody home to greet the boy, and there hasn’t been for days.
In another urban neighborhood, a child is hungry. Although she’s only 12 years old herself, she serves as a mother figure to her 5 year-old sister and 7 year-old brother. She’s never known a father, and her mother, who is addicted to crack, hasn’t been home for weeks. The cabinets are bare; the refrigerator empty. Stomach growling, she gets caught stealing a pack of bologna and a 6-pack of soda from the corner mini-mart.
Contrary to the disturbing images of violent young offenders portrayed on the evening news, it’s situations such as these that usually cause a child to come into contact with the juvenile justice system. Only 3 to 5% of crimes committed by juveniles are of a violent nature. The majority of kids are in situations of abuse or neglect. Unfortunately, this misperception leaves inner city kids demonized and professionals reluctant to work with them. With no resources, skills or education, survival is difficult. Resulting outcomes often involve prison, injury or death.
Determined to be part of the solution, North Carolina Central University launched a Masters in Social Work program with an emphasis in Juvenile Justice in 2008. It is the only program of its kind in the country. With a mixture of compassion, discipline, and urgency, students study the cultural context of urban neighborhoods, parallels between the Child Welfare System and the Juvenile Justice System, and programs and services designed to turn troubled lives around.
“We have a unique opportunity and responsibility to set the tone for training students to work in the juvenile justice system from a social workers perspective. I believe we can do some tremendous work here,” says Dr. Terrence Allen, who left his teaching post at Wayne State University in Detroit last year to coordinate the program.
“One of the reasons I came here is because I felt this community is the perfect place to do this work. Durham doesn’t have as many barriers as bigger cities. Racially, it’s about 50/50, so everybody has a vested interest in working it out. The police department, school systems, community organizations truly want to deal with these issues,” he says.
Tameka Jones & David Buchanan
Unlike the criminal justice system, the juvenile justice system is designed to rehabilitate, not punish. Social workers are tasked with providing struggling kids and families with support, resources, and skillful ways to handle problems and relationships.
“As social workers we believe delinquency is committed as a result of abuse or neglect. From our perspective, these kids didn’t just turn 14 or 15 and go out and do something wrong. We believe their behavior is influenced by their past. What happened to them at a young age is going to follow them,” says Dr. Allen.
A critical part of serving children involves educating parents. A common complaint is that parents aren’t willing to be involved in their kids’ lives. Allen gives an example of a child winning an award, and parents not showing up to the ceremony:
“You and I might say ‘Wow, my kid’s getting an award. I really want to be there to support him or her.’ But not all parents are like that. And it’s not because they love their children less. It’s that they don’t understand how important it is for them to be there–probably because no one was ever there for them. So they really need to be instructed on how to be involved in their children’s lives. It is a form of neglect. But it’s not purposeful.”
Chris McCormick & Jason Ocean, NCCU MSW Students
Social workers in the juvenile justice field operate within a narrow window of opportunity. A sense of urgency is a necessity. Once a child turns 18, he or she will be considered an adult and access to programs and services provided by the juvenile justice system will no longer be an option.
“Out of all the social workers, the ones working in the juvenile justice system have to be the very best. If nothing else works, this is the group that we have to depend on to finally get through,” says Allen.
Adding further pressure, the drop out rate increases at age 14—particularly among minority groups. 45 to 55% of African American and Latino males drop out in the 9th grade. “If they drop out at that point, what are they going to do?” asks Allen.
“They embrace a criminal lifestyle and completely turn their backs on trying to succeed in any sort of legitimate way. And that puts the whole community at risk. We have to somehow reverse that way of thinking so that these young men can experience some success and continue to dream at age 14 the same way they did when they were 5,6, and 7,” he says.
Yet working with troubled kids is not all doom and gloom. David Buchanan, who enrolled in the NCCU program last year, has been working with this population for nearly 12 years now:
“It’s a very rewarding career; seeing clients come in at a certain level, and then seeing their progress over the next 6 months to a year, after you’ve assisted them with treatment and goal setting,” he says.
David Buchanan, has been working with troubled kids for 12 years
Buchanan, currently the Director of Adolescent Alternatives, a residential mental health facility in Greensboro, has seen first hand how teaching behavior skills and goal setting can turn lives around:
“Years back, we had a client that had some very strong behavior issues with his family. He was placed in our care and stayed with us about 2 years. When he first came, he was a pretty tough cookie. We worked with him, got him involved in football. He did very, very well and ended up getting a scholarship to a 4 year college. We still hear from him from time to time. He’s definitely very appreciative of all the hard work we did together.”
In addition to gaining expertise in counseling and education, NCCU students study community dynamics in urban neighborhoods.
“You have professionals that try and come into the community to effect change, but they can’t do it because they don’t have the community behind them. What we’re trying to do at NCCU is to create a group of people who understand these dynamics.”
Growing up in the inner city of Cleveland, Ohio in a single mother home with three brothers and one sister, Dr. Allen is no stranger to urban communities. “I was the child who grew up around all this stuff,” he says. A promising athlete, Allen’s focus on sports kept him somewhat insulated.
“I never got into a lot of trouble, but I knew a lot of kids who did,” he says.
When a career in sports didn’t pan out, Allen focused on academics, earning a degree in History from UCLA in 1986. Moving on to pursue a Master’s in Social Science Administration from Case Western Reserve, one of the nation’s top universities, he took a job as a probation counselor and begin writing about family and delinquency issues.
While earning his PhD at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa, Allen focused on the relationship between juveniles, urban communities and police; it’s the sort of expertise NCCU was looking for to help solve gang problems in Durham. “It was a perfect match for me,” he says.
”I always knew I wanted to work with children and families. I started off studying the black family because I believe that everything comes from the family,” muses Allen who held jobs as a football coach, substitute teacher, case worker for emotionally disturbed children, home detention officer, and parole officer, among others before becoming a professor.
”I’ve worked with every kind of child you can work with. These kids were the neediest and the greatest threat–and nobody wanted to work with them. What it really boils down to is that I never accepted that it can’t be done. To me, it was just a matter of doing it.”
Dr. Allen, sharing a laugh with the class
Durham Street Piano Project
Published on Aug 1, 2011 - In: Uncategorized
About this project:
From the Kickstarter website, where folks can get financial support from community members to fund their project. Tom Merrigan says:
“I love playing the piano, singing, and playing the harmonica.
I also love Durham.
I am trying to marry these two loves by setting up shop in Durham’s plazas, parks, and sidewalks. I want to bring my boogie-woogie to the public!
Imagine walking through the American Tobacco Campus and hearing gritty blues piano. Or, dancing to ragtime at Five Points. Or, nodding your head to boogie-woogie at the Farmer’s Market.
Tired of booking shows at venues where only the people inside can hear it, I want to get out on the street and put the music where YOU can hear it. Kids can enjoy it. You can stop for a couple of tunes or just walk by on your way to your favorite local destination.
Instead of some slick keyboard and speakers plugged into the odd electrical outlet, I want to buy an old upright piano, put wheels on it and tote it in a small trailer to various spots around town. Your contributions will go directly to helping me purchase an old upright piano, some wheels for it, and an open trailer to transport it. I plan to play randomly, but at least once a week when the weather permits. With your contribution, I can make this possible.
The funding goal I set up will assist me enough to allow me to get the bare minimum to make this possible. With a little extra help from you, I can get an enclosed trailer instead of an open one and the piano will be that much more protected from the weather.
And, like a food truck, I will tweet my location/time to let people know where I’ll be if they want to catch me. Look for Durham Piano Player on Twitter.
So keep Durham musical and kick me out onto its streets!” To fund this project, follow this link.
Durham Street Piano Project – Keep Durham Musical!
tom merrigan
Pelican’s SnoBalls: Miles and Elizabeth Kirst
Published on Jul 25, 2011 - In: Uncategorized
Miles and Elizabeth Kirst, owners of Pelicans SnoBalls.
By Ruth Eckles
All photos by Kim Gray
Durhamites have probably noticed there’s a new kid in town, nestled in front of a field of North Carolina kudzu, amidst the growl of Roxboro Road traffic. Pelican’s SnoBalls, with it’s bright blue and pink storefront and scattering of rainbow colored picnic tables, is hard to miss. Originally a gas station, the tiny 800 square-foot building has had several different incarnations: a donut shop, a hot dog joint and, most recently, a “Checks Cashed” business. In its current form, the business seems a particularly promising one.
Since its inception in mid-May, the bright retro bungalow has been buzzing with customers most times of the day. They line up in the North Carolina heat, waiting for relief in the shape of a New Orleans style snoball, known for it’s fine textured ice. The line serves a useful purpose; with a 100 different flavors to choose from, customers need time to make a decision. Will it be Cherry Cola? Coconut Mango? Tutti Frutti? Or a mix of several?
Customers discuss their choices amongst each other as they wait in line. When I ask the five year-old boy in front of me what kind he’s eating, he replies, mushy-mouthed and red-lipped, “Spider Man”. His seven year-old sister is sampling the more girly choice; a flavor called “Princess”. Mom, who is diabetic, is enjoying sugar-free Pink Lemonade. “It’s fun to enjoy a treat with them rather than to have to just watch them enjoy theirs,” she says.
Pelican’s is owned and operated by husband and wife team Miles and Elizabeth Kirst. A relatively young couple (Miles is 27 and Elizabeth is 26), Pelican’s is their first entrepreneurial venture, though they have been in the cold treat business for years. Before the Kirsts moved to the Triangle area less than a year ago, Miles managed several different Cold Stone Creamery’s in California. When they said goodbye to California last September, they had no idea where they were heading.
“We put everything in our truck and drove east”, says Elizabeth.
“How we ended up here,” begins Miles, “is totally random,” laughs Elizabeth, finishing his sentence.
Originally planning on opening a self-serve yogurt shop (“They are huge in California”, says Elizabeth) somewhere on the East coast–either New York, Florida or North Carolina–they settled in Cary, only to discover the Triangle was already full of them.
“I’d walk into these yogurt stores and they all looked the same. They all had this sort of contemporary chick feel when you walked in. We had a much different idea of what we wanted to do; something more vintage and grungy, like 50′s style war posters combined with old-school comic books,” muses Miles.
“Durham had just the right feel. It seems more culturally diverse than some of the surrounding areas. It had more of the community feel that we were looking for,” says Miles.
Elizabeth chimes in: “We like Cary a lot–it’s a very pretty place to live. But coming from California and New York, we were used to areas that are more culturally diverse. It makes things much more interesting, I think.”
Inevitably, the Kirst’s heard the typical low murmurs of the dangers of setting up shop in Durham. “People were like ‘You’re going to Durham?‘ and we were like ‘Well, yeah…why not?’,” laughs Miles.
Miles, not knowing the area very well, admitted to some initial apprehension. ”Roxboro Road looked okay to me, but we’d drive up and down the street and see that many of the businesses have bars on the windows,” he says.
Where else can you get dessert for $1?
100 flavors to choose from
A blue collar street, bustling with traffic most times of the day, Roxboro Road is the former home of Wal-mart, Church’s Chicken, used car dealerships, pawn shops, a half dozen Mexican taquerias, African Braids shops and various other ramshackle “mom and pop” storefronts. It might not the first place that comes to mind when you think of a nice, relaxing family hang out. Yet the miniature structure called to the couple. It had been sitting empty for three or four years and had never been vandalized. It looked odd as a Checks Cashed place, but perfect as a snoball stand.
”We were afraid that some people might be scared off somehow, or they’d be like ‘Oh, it’s in Durham so we’re not going to go.’ But the very first day we were open and I saw the diversity of all the customers, I knew that it would be alright,” says Miles.
So far, it’s been more than alright, it’s been hugely successful. “Our main goal was simply not to lose money this summer. We thought we’d be really slow as we first started the business, but from day one, we’ve been slammed,” says Miles, who intially planned on running the business by himself until it got up to speed, but instead, ended up having to hire several employees just to keep up with the pace.
Elizabeth adds, “We didn’t decide to do this until the end of March. We signed a lease on April 13th, and we opened on May 13th. Miles totally took apart the inside of the building and rebuilt it, painted it and set it up pretty much by himself in one month.”
Pelican’s franchise owner Adrian Johnson, whose wife is originally from New Orleans, taught the Kirsts the art of making snoballs, the flavored sugar water and creams.
According to Miles, there are many different styles of snoballs, and Pelican’s will customize them to suit everyone’s tastes.
“There’s the Maryland snoball. It’s more like a crunchy snoball. New Orleans style is the finest you can get it–powdery and fluffy. A New Orleans style snoball won’t be saturated with syrup; the white ice will just be patchy with syrup. Some people will ask for extra juice because they want to drink it when they get to the bottom. Some people want extra light syrup. Some people want their ice to be really packed. We’ll make it however they want,” says Miles.
The ice shaving machine is set up to make a nice soft ice, but getting it right is an art form.
“You can feel when the grains of ice hit your hand if they’re shaved correctly or not. I’ll try and shave it most of the time because it makes me nervous to have employees shave it until they’re really good at it,” says Miles.
Elizabeth laughs, “It was a long time before he’d even let me do it. He’d fuss at me if it wasn’t done right. Now I finally feel like I can do it, but it does take some time to learn how to get the ice right.”
A Pelican's employee learns the fine art of shaving ice for snoballs
The first few weeks upon opening, there were some steep learning curves.
“We didn’t know what we were doing at first,” admits Elizabeth.
Miles recalls the sting of getting an angry email from a customer who had to wait in line in the summer heat for 50 minutes.
“I totally agreed with him. That’s way too long a wait. Thankfully, we’ve worked out all those kinks and people get served very quickly now,” he says.
“We’re grateful that they stuck it through with us,” says Elizabeth.
Pelicans provided the Kirsts not only with a successful business venture, but a sorely missed sense of commmunity. Elizabeth says, “We just moved here. We don’t really know a single person. As people come more, we learn their names. If no one else is in line, we’ll chat with them, and learn a little bit about their lives.”
One thing seems sure, this humble, happy little snoball stand has been a bright spot, literally and figuratively, on Roxboro Road. Blacks, whites, elderly, teens, toddlers, middle-aged, middle class, rich and poor all line up for their favorite treat. Perhaps they’ll strike up a conversation, laugh about a flavor, wrinkle their noses at the thought of a Dill Pickle flavored snoball, and discover we aren’t as different as we might sometimes believe we are.
Miles, Elizabeth, and Bella, their Australian shepherd
"Durham needed a place like this. And the price is right"
Folks lined up for snoballs is a familiar sight for New Orleans natives, who have a stand on every street corner.
The average snoball calorie count is 100 calories. Mom says, "It's nice to have a treat where you don't have to think about working out as soon as you look at it."
The Cookery: Nick Hawthorne-Johnson and Rochelle Johnson
Published on Jul 13, 2011 - In: Uncategorized
Photo courtesy of D.L. Anderson, www.dlanderson.com
Walking into The Cookery, Durham’s first kitchen incubator, is a little like walking into a stainless steel mecca. From ceiling-to-floor, all surfaces gleam in this bright 1,100-square-foot food production facility. Metal prep tables and silver pots shine in natural light that filters through a skylight.
“It took a lot of hard work to get it to this point,” says Nick Hawthorne-Johnson , a licensed contractor, and owner of The Cookery along with wife Rochelle. “The space was in shambles when we first bought it,” he says of the historic building on Chapel Hill Street that once housed the Durham Food Co-op.
While remodeling the new space and navigating the endless red tape of the FDA and state health department regulations wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, the rewards for local food talent have been substantial. The timing was ripe for Durham’s bustling food scene entrepreneurs who, for the first time, have a place where they can prepare their wares without having to invest in the prohibitive costs of buying their own commercial kitchen or deciphering health department regulations.
Commercial kitchens for rent, called “kitchen incubators,” are used by start-ups in their early stages, home-based businesses that need to legalize and grow their operation, or established businesses that need a stable, reliable kitchen that is in compliance with FDA regulations. Typical clients are caterers, personal chefs, bakers, street vendors, and producers of specialty retail and wholesale food.
For Mike Hacker and Becky Cascio, their popular pizza truck, Pie Pushers, would not have been possible without a production facility like The Cookery. “Working in this space has been a total eye opener. Prior to this, we were working in a diner scenario, renting space during the hours when they were closed. It’s a totally different ball game working in a kitchen built for mass production, where everything you need is right at your fingertips”, says Hacker.
Mike Hacker of Pie Pushers preparing food at The Cookery, photo by Sarah Cress
Hacker, taking advantage of the spacious convection oven. Photo by Sarah Cress
”This concept is relatively new to North Carolina”, says Marc Meyer, who has been a health inspector with the Durham County Health Department for 17 years, and worked with Hawthorne-Johnson to get The Cookery up to spec. “It’s very much uncharted territory at this point. So to have someone like Nick, who is so organized and detail oriented at the helm is really confidence building for us.” says Meyer.
Hawthorne-Johnson, demonstrating equipment for potential members
The Cookery meets all safety and health inspection requirements, and is equipped with everything a seasoned culinarian needs: a full professional catering kitchen, a baker’s kitchen, four full-size commercial convection ovens, a main stove top with six burners and a large griddle, a 30-quart floor mixer, secure storage space in the 12-foot-by-15-foot walk-in cooler and reach-in freezers, work tables, food truck cleaning and stocking terminals, personal lockers and a variety of other cooking and baking utensils and equipment.
Mike Hacker, Pie Pushers, and Tim Fletcher, Farmhand Foods Sausage Wagon, slinging hash.
Open 7 days a week, around the clock, anyone can use the space–from culinary professionals to baking enthusiasts wanting to make bulk batches of Christmas cookies. Rental pricing ranges from $20 to $30 an hour, the price getting lower with increased hours.
Yet The Cookery is more than just a facility for rent, it’s also a place where aspiring food entrepreneurs can learn how to bring their business vision to fruition. In Fall of 2011, offerings will include small business planning and training. Successful industry professionals will lead with an aim to help start-ups launch their businesses. “We like to think of ourselves as a stepping stone that helps people gain the skills to kick-start their business,” says Hawthorne-Johnson.
Tim Fletcher, from Farmhand Foods Sausage Wagon, preparing Fennel Chow-Chow. Photo S.C.
Rochelle Johnson, who has her own design business Row Design Studios , will offer package deals on marketing services, branding, design and public relations to Cookery members.
“A lot of people are afraid to start their own businesses because of all the complicating factors involved. I really want people to learn that it isn’t as complicated as they might think to start their own business, and help make all that information more accessible. We’ve had businesses up and running in a week,” she says, adding:
“It is rewarding to see people set goals for themselves and then work hard to make it happen. Most successful ideas begin with a a casual conversation, and just about everyone has to start at the beginning. I love being a part of the beginning, because it makes me appreciate that business even more as they expand, and there is so much to learn from someone who is determined.”
Hawthorne-Johnson came up with the idea for The Cookery while listening to a friend’s frustration at the lack of commercial kitchen space available for his culinary venture. Prone to having many irons in the fire, Nick also owns Bull City Restoration , which specializes in transforming dilapidated historic homes in downtown Durham into attractive rentals. A licensed acupuncturist, he bought the former Durham Food Co-op structure a few years earlier and envisioned it as a holistic health center. But that dream hadn’t panned out, and the space was languishing. Between his construction skills, years of experience slogging away in kitchens, and many friends in the restaurant business, using the building for a commercial kitchen space seemed a natural fit. Particularly given Rochelle’s business, marketing and advertising skills, starting Durham’s first incubator kitchen almost seemed a no-brainer.
A Durham native, Nick met Rochelle in 2006 when she was a student at UNC’s School of Journalism working towards a degree in Advertising and pursuing a marketing internship at 3 Cups, a high-end coffee, tea and wine merchant in Chapel Hill where Nick was working at the time. Not long after meeting her, he knew he had to ask her out on a date.
Five years later, they are not only husband and wife, but business partners. Rochelle describes herself as being “risk averse” and cautious when it comes to business ventures, while Nick is a fearless risk taker, preferring to jump full force into a project with lightening speed. Four months after the initial idea of The Cookery first percolated, the space was open for business.
“When Nick has an idea, it usually happens,” laughs Rochelle. “I admire Nick’s willingness to think big. He is definitely a dreamer, but then puts those dreams into reality, which I think makes him a distinctive dreamer.”
Between the two of them, things get done, and their mutual respect and adoration is palpable.
“The biggest reward for me in all this is being able to share this venture with Rochelle,” says Johnson, smiling at his wife.
“Aww…,” says Rochelle, reaching for his hand.
These little pots of mine, I'm gonna let them shine. Photo by Sarah Cress
- Gary Kueber, author of Endangered Durham, Photo by Sarah Cress
“Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone? They paved paradise and put up a parking lot”–Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi
June 23rd, 1957, Durham NC–It’s a hot day, nearly 90 degrees, but Reverand Douglas Moore is too focused on the task at hand to complain about it. He needs to be strong for the small group of young adults who surround him. Anxious, maybe a little bit excited, but firm in resolve, they are about to drive to The Royal Ice Cream Company for what will become one of the country’s earliest sit-ins. Mary Elizabeth Clyburn, Claude Glynn, Jesse Gray, Vivian Jones, Melvin Willis and Virginia Lee Williams must have experienced great trepidation as they approached the two entrances; one marked “Whites Only”, the other marked “Blacks Only”. Jaws set, eyes straight ahead, they stepped over the “Whites Only” threshold and began taking up booths. Not long after, they were taken into custody by police and found guilty of trespassing. So much for after-church ice cream on a summer day.
The Royal Ice Cream Parlor in 1962. The shop continued to be a site for civil rights demonstrations. Photo courtesy of the Herald-Sun via Endangered Durham
- Out of sight, out of mind? The Royal Ice Cream Parlor was demolished in 2006. Photo courtesy of Gary Kueber via Endangered Durham
For Gary Kueber, author of Endangered Durham, the blog that has become the people’s choice for conversation about the city’s historical buildings and houses (and their demolition), this is a real problem. Kueber is concerned that once a historical structure is gone, the memories it holds aren’t far behind: Out of sight, out of mind as the old adage goes.
”I feel really strongly that these structures are places that collect memories–good, bad whatever it was. It’s much easier to get a sense of that and convey that if it’s tangible. People can see for themselves: ‘This was a bank building, this was a restaurant…I can picture people dining there or depositing their checks at the end of the week’. But if you’re just sort of pointing to a vacant lot or a car dealership, it sort of seems like a story,” Kueber says.
The Union Independent School, where the Royal Ice Cream Parlor once stood. Photo courtesy of Gary Kueber via Endangered Durham
.A New Orleans native, Kueber experienced this first-hand growing up in the deep South. In a 2008 blog post, he writes:
“I will never forget drinking from a water fountain in Charity Hospital in New Orleans as a 24 year-old medical student; the walls were marble, the fountain one of those old porcelain fountains with chrome fixtures mounted straight to the wall. I’d drunk from this fountain perhaps a dozen times before. For some reason, on this occasion, I lifted my eyes while stooped over the fountain, and saw the wall directly in front of me. There, on the marble, so faint that you couldn’t see it from a distance, was the outline of the word “Colored”, once painted on the wall, but then long removed. I’ll never forget the feeling that I had upon seeing that–akin to ‘Oh my God, this really happened–here’. Of course I knew that it happened; I learned it in school. But seeing it was a different thing altogether. It happened in a world that I inhabit–and by implication, could happen again.”
Kueber suspects the choice to completely demolish the civil rights site and put a modern structure in its place was a choice (conscious or unconscious) to look towards the future and forget about the past. It’s no secret he feels it was a poor choice. When critics implore of him “What do you have against education anyway?” his ready response is:
“Can you imagine these students going to a history class in this building? I mean what happened here is amazing. You can’t recreate that. Imagine kids sitting in this same spot and thinking about these young people who sat here and withstood this abuse. This is what the kids in this school could have seen and felt–and interpreted for themselves.”
Durham’s apparent indifference towards its own history, reflected in the buildings it continues to demolish, disturbs Kueber. On January 2008, the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s death, he wrote a post outlining the six different locations that Dr. King visited over a period of 8 years in Durham, complete with stunning photographs, and asks his readers the question:
“What common thread links 4 out of the 6 locations I’ve mentioned? With the exception of Duke’s Page Auditorium and St. Marks AME Church, they’ve all been demolished.”
In the same post, he admonishes citizens:
“Do we really find all this so unimportant? This history doesn’t exist in the abstract–it happened here. Would it not be of value to someone growing up in Durham to know that he/she is standing in the same spot that Dr. King stood? Are parking lots and apartments and vacant lots and highways really that much more valuable?”
- Feb. 16–1960–Rev. Douglas Moore, Ralph Abernathy, Martin Luther King walking on West Main St. in Durham NC. Photo courtesy of the Herald-Sun via Endangered Durham
Endangered Durham, a blog/archive that profiles over 1400 of Durham’s historical buildings and houses, was created with the impetus to provide community members with a sense of pride in place, along with the urgent hope that people will begin to care about these buildings and actively participate in preventing their demolition.
“The context when I first started it was very much this sense of ‘We’re losing all these buildings. I have to show people what we’re losing,‘” says Kueber.
It soon became apparent that many people didn’t understand exactly how dire the situation was.
“People would occasionally say to me ‘Well Durham has such an abundance of historic architecture’, the implication being that we can afford to lose a few. I wanted to reset that framing to “No, this is the last 20%. This building is the last of its kind. We used to have 50 of these buildings, but now we only have one,’” he says.
In 2008, Kueber was nominated (and won) an Indy Citizen Award for his blog and preservation work. Independent contributor Matt Saldana writes:
“Kueber estimates that nearly 90% of historical Durham–large swaths of entire neighborhoods, including Hayti–have been destroyed, making the remaining 10% even more vital. ‘You’re looking at a very small subset of what was once here’,” Kueber says.
Born in New Orleans, a place rich in history and architecture, Kueber grew up with a solid sense of place. Many New Orleans natives share this trait. They learned the good old-fashioned way: Through grandma.
“I don’t know that I would have felt the impetus to start an Endangered New Orleans simply because it was so palpable,” Kueber says. “Whereas in Durham, partly because so many of us are not natives, we don’t have the grandma that tells us the story of this or that place that we might have rolled our eyes at. There’s that passing down, that direct linkage to history. New Orleans may be one of the most historically grounded places simply because so many of the people that live there are people who stay there.”
Endangered Durham serves as a sort of surrogate grandmother for Durhamites, providing readers with a snapshot of what Durham once was, and a chance to offer up their own stories and memories.
“The comments are probably my favorite thing about the blog,” says Kueber, “Most of the time they’re more interesting than what I write”.
Readers swap stories, creating a lively narrative thread. Comments range from the ‘I remember when my grandpa took me to that store for a soda’ variety, while others spark heated debate. Like the time a dilapidated graveyard was bulldozed to make room for a high-end house in the Trinity Park neighborhood. Every possible angle was covered–from outraged folks in the neighborhood, to city officials, to businessmen who owned the construction company, to those who thought it was no big deal.
Cemetary on Watts St., pushed aside for a high-end house. Photo courtesy of GK via ED
“This was post World-War II. How did it come into being? How was the restaurant perceived?” he wondered.
When Rogers told him he used to walk home every night with two cartons of their 75 cent lo mein, Kueber was delighted.
“Just that little snippet makes it like a real place. When this person I’m talking to actually went in and out of there and ate the food,” he says.
The Oriental, on 100 block of Parrish St. in the 1960's, photo courtesy of the Herald-Sun via Endangered Durham
“I never expected people would read it daily. It still baffles me, in a very nice way,” he says.
Readership ranges from 10 year-old kids doing school projects on Durham to professors and professionals who use it as a resource to older conservative folks, to fire inspectors, to left leaning liberals, to grass roots organizers. Kueber finds the commonality between these disparate groups highly rewarding.
“They may not agree on national politics, but they are all invested in Durham. They all want to see the corner store alive again,” he says.