Chapter 10 Sonny's New Pop

Within three months of their meeting and after an intense courtship that lasted seemingly for an eternity, in a simple but touching civil ceremony, Sarah Williams, divorcee became Mrs Enas Broadway.

          And so, Sonny settled into a peaceful and happy family life with his mother and her new flame. He absolutely adored his stepfather who gave him the solid companionship and guidance he had lacked in his life so far. He was there for him on his first faltering ride on a tricycle, when he was scared of the dark and needed comfort, when he wanted a bedtime story – it was Enas who was there more than his mother. As the years wore on and Sonny moved from childhood to his turbulent teens, he found immense comfort in the secure and understanding relationship he shared with his stepfather. He would sit down at his side and listen in awe to the tales of heroism and unsung bravery that flowed effortlessly from his stepfather’s lips. World War II became very real for him as he listened to Enas’ stories about his combat days in Europe – the dangers and fears of being on the frontline, the many touching stories of comradeship among the soldiers that brought tears to his eyes. Sonny’s imagination was stimulated and his spirit was stirred by feelings of patriotism kindled by Enas Broadway and his eloquence. He was impatient to grow up and join the army himself, the years could not fly fast enough for him.  

            The greatest thing that Enas Broadway did to Sonny was to give him every child’s birthright of a good and peaceful home life. The tempestuous days marred by violence with his birth father became a distant nightmare and Sonny settled down to a fairly uneventful normal life. He made friends with neighbors and became one of the regular youngsters who reveled in a game of softball in the mild and softly blooming spring weather. As Sonny casts his thoughts back to those carefree days, he remembers how it was then, when he was studying at Samuel H. Armstrong High School in Washington DC where he proved himself in sports, especially basketball and football. Armstrong High School on P Street, NW, near 1st Street, was built in 1902 and it served as a high school until 1958. The school was named in memory of General Samuel Chapman Armstrong, a Civil War regimental commander and founder of the Hampton Normal Agricultural Institute in Virginia, chartered in 1870 as one of the first colleges for blacks.  It was a school that taught practical, manual skills, following the educational philosophy identified with Booker T. Washington.  One of several Veterans High School Centers was located in the school from 1946 to 1964 when it became an adult education center until it was closed in 1996. Sonny boasted that Duke Ellington, too chose to follow a course of commercial art at Armstrong Manual Training School before abandoning it for his musical career. 

Dunbar High School, which was named in honor of Paul Laurence Dunbar, an African American poet, became the first high school in the nation to accept African-American students. The new Dunbar school building was erected in 1974 and today, Dunbar High School holds the prestigious distinction of being a Blue Ribbon School.  Even at the time that Sonny remembers it was a school that rated very highly in the community and it was the well-off blacks in the neighborhood who got the opportunity to study at Dunbar. It was also the only black high school with a football field. Low-income kids like Sonny were sent to Armstrong where Sonny graduated in the middle of his class in January 1948.

  Sonny has good memories of sports during his teenage years. “There were a lot softball back then and there were negro leagues.  Mostly one project vs another project.  Barry Farms vs Gainesville or Condon Terrace and so on.  There was rivalry back then, but it was all competitive friendly, not like the gunning and fighting that you see today."  Being a six-footer of athletic build, he loved sports, especially football and basketball.  On lazy Saturday afternoons he was always out in the playground, donned in his sportswear and good sports shoes, practicing the finer points of the game with his friends.  He learnt to love the outdoors, the thrill of the game, the pride of being in a team, the joyful leap to victory, the dampening regret of losing – all of them helping in subtle ways to build Sonny’s character and personality. 

There was also a very domesticated side to Sonny, nurtured by the love he had for his mother. As he grew older, he helped her out by taking on numerous chores. He used to cut the grass and weed the flowerbeds on the weekend, taking care of all the colorful flowers his mother enjoyed planting. They had flowers all through spring and summer, one after the other, abundant, vibrant splashes of color that added nature’s joy to their own. As he watered and nurtured them, Sonny would now and then pick a choice bunch of freshly opened blooms and present the bouquet to his mother. With tears of joy, Sarah would kiss him and arrange the flowers in a crystal vase and place it in their living room. Saturday for Sarah was the day to cook for the two men in her life. She baked pies and made roasts and stews that she knew Enas and Sonny loved. As Sonny thinks back on those days, he remembers how he helped peel potatoes and carrots, cut onions with tears streaming down his cheeks and washed the pots and pans once his mother was done. On Sunday afternoons, Sarah would take out all her silverware and Sonny would take over polishing them. He enjoyed watching the brilliant shine spring from the silver candle stands, the silver dishes and cutlery as he polished off the Silvo on them with a soft polishing cloth. As his mother smiled in delight, he would, almost with reverence, replace the silverware in the beautiful glass cabinet and watch the mellow golden rays of the evening sun kiss the silver sheen into rainbow-hued loveliness.   

Chapter 9 Enas Broadway

One evening, Sarah was on her way home after a particularly busy day at work. Her head was whirling with all the drama and excitement she had witnessed through the day. Oh, wow, the life of the wealthy!! Walking on the sidewalk in a preoccupied state of mind, she didn’t watch her step. She tripped on an uneven stone and went sprawling on the cement blocks of the sidewalk. She sat up, straightened her dress and looked at her grazed knee beginning to bleed and tried to pull down her skirt in embarrassment. Was anybody watching?  Oh, what disaster!! But no one seemed to even notice her amidst the hurrying and scurrying at the end of a busy day in the nation’s capital. Suddenly she felt a warm steadying hand grasp her shoulder. A kind-looking black man was kneeling by her looking at her with compassionate eyes.

“Are you OK, my dear?”

“ Oh, ….I guess so. I don’t know how I fell.”

“Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us.” His tone was comforting as was the hand he held out to her. In fact, his entire presence appeared so reassuring. A strikingly attractive man with a distinguished air and military bearing. It was as if his whole being was reaching out to her, seeking the depths of her being. He wouldn’t let go of her arm and boarded the bus along with her and took her home. He left her safely on her doorstep, looked deep in her eyes and said in a deep low voice that sent thrills up her spine, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And so he did. He was waiting outside the hotel as she stepped out the entrance and greeted her with a smile that made her heart leap with a sense of exhilaration. He gripped her hand with both his and she fairly jumped at the intensity of their chemistry. What was happening to her? She felt a tremor of fear at her vulnerability to this man but at the same time, their feelings for each other seemed so natural. She remembered how she watched the shy young rosebuds open in the warmth of the sunrays. She felt the same way.

Enas Broadway took Sarah home again, much to the curiosity of her sisters who wanted to know all about him. Sarah was proud to inform them of his service on the frontline as a soldier in World War II and with the arrival of VE Day how he was dispatched to Japan. He was already a hero in her eyes; there was no secret about that.

So Enas Broadway walked Sarah home every evening, rain or shine. Most days he would come in and spend some time chatting with her in the glow of eventide. They watched the vibrant hues of a Washington sunset slowly fade into an ever-deepening velvety purple. They held hands as they watched the cool evening breeze rustle the leaves of nearby trees, the emerald green turned blue-black in the twilight. As the summer stars twinkled like diamond droplets in the sky, Enas would draw Sarah into his arms tenderly and hold her for long moments in silence before passion overcame him and he would reach for her lips as his trembling fingers caressed her body. Sarah returned kiss for kiss, her own emotions inflamed and sexual desire stimulated as never before in her life. 

Chapter 8 Trailways to DC

Note to Reader: Please join be in Chapters 6 to 20 as we go back in time to read and study the life and story of Sonny Williams (The owner of the little Cape Cod style house on Lebaum Street).

Sarah could not remember exactly how she made it. She was stumbling along a main road, weighted down by her heavy bag with Sonny in her arms, shivering in the stinging cold rain. Would a Trailways bus come her way? She knew she didn’t have to go to a bus terminal like for a Greyhound bus.  Anyhow, the Greyhound was not permitted -- the more comfortable, convenient ride was only for whites. She was tired of being forced to give up her seat to white riders and stand by until seats became available at the back of the bus.

 The blacks had to make do with the Trailways which had no specific stops, halted wherever and whenever, picking up passengers near gas stations and by the wayside, jamming them packed, making each seat count 

Forty minutes later she sat at the end of a crowded Trailways bus, embracing Sonny. She couldn’t help the tears that tumbled down her cheeks. What now?  The question rolled like the forest and foothills over and over in her mind.  She thought of her two sisters Edna and Angie who had made their lives in Washington DC.  She had grown apart from them for long years. Would they accept her now? Would they take her in and offer her sisterly love? If she were in their place, she would do it, but would they? There was little else to do but to throw herself at their mercy. Not for too long though, just until she found her feet over there and would be ready to run.

As it happened, her fears were needless. When she was reunited with her sisters and cried peacefully in their arms, they hugged her warmly and promised to be be by her side. For the first time since she married Leo, Sarah felt pampered and cared for as her sisters bought her clothes and fed her and Sonny nourishing, home-cooked meals.

 Sarah took a few days to adjust to her new life and to get her bearings straight. She walked the streets of DC trying to understand her environs, to gauge what type of job would be available for some one like her, hardworking but inexperienced.  She went for several walk-in interviews for store-hands. Somehow none of them worked out. They never called back, didn't even show a faint of interest. Sarah would not be discouraged, however. Something would work out somewhere, she thought determinedly. 

 (Photo Courtesy of Shoppy.com)

One evening in the midst of chatting, her sister Edna told her about a job at Wardman Park Hotel located in the upscale Woodley Park neighborhood on Connecticut Avenue in North West DC. The position was for an elevator operator and the recruiting officer seemed taken up with the plight of this soft-spoken, elegant young woman. She was hired on the spot, and so Sarah began working in the plush, elegant environs of this boutique-style hotel built in 1916, complete with glossy parquet flooring and gleaming French antiques. It brought her in contact with a world she had never before even had a chance to look at from the outside. 

 

From Wikipedia: "Harry Wardman"

A large portion of rowhouses in DC were built by Harry Wardman, in neighborhoods including Columbia Heights, Bloomingdale, Eckington and Brightwood. Wardman’s first houses, designed by architect Nicholas Grimm, included those located at the 900 block of Longfellow Street, NW. To this day, his homes are renowned for their high-quality construction and materials. In 1907, he embarked on a project to build 750 rowhouses in Columbia Heights, which included new design elements, most notably the front porch. However, most real estate agents and homeowners incorrectly assume that their house is a Wardman house simply based on its design; dozens of other developers such as Lewis Brueninger, Harry Kite, Francis Blundon, and David Dunigan built massive rows of townhouses in the District.

Apartments

Northumberland Apartments

The Chastleton

Wardman quickly rose through the ranks and began building luxury apartments — most which were designed by architect Albert H. Beers. His numerous apartment buildings, located along 16th Street, NW, Connecticut Avenue, Columbia Heights, and elsewhere, include:

• The Chastleton - 1701 16th Street, NW
• The Wardman - 1916 17th Street, NW
• The Dresden - 2126 Connecticut Avenue, NW
• The Maxwell - 1419 Clifton Street, NW
• Northumberland Apartments - 2039 New Hampshire Avenue, NW
• Rutland Court - 1725 17th Street, NW
• South Cathedral Mansions - 2900 Connecticut Avenue, NW
• Wardman Court (formerly, Clifton Terrace) - 1312 Clifton Street, NW
• Wardman Row - 1416-1440 R Street, NW
• Copley Plaza - 1514 17th Street, NW
• Cavanaugh Court - 1526 17th Street, NW
• Apartment Building at 2225 N Street

Hotels:   In 1916, he built the 1200-room Wardman Park Hotel (now the site of the Marriott Wardman Park Hotel and Conference Center) along Connecticut Avenue in Woodley Park. The hotel was successful, meeting the strong demand due to an influx of government workers after World War I. In 1984, the Wardman Tower, an apartment building located on the hotel site, was added to the National Register of Historic Places.^[1] In 1928, Wardman built the Hay-Adams Hotel, designed by Turkish architect, Mihran Mesrobian, and located across from Lafayette Park. Other landmarks built include the British Embassy.
During his career, Wardman had accumulated a fortune of $30 million and was living extravagantly in Washington and abroad. His prosperity vanished with the 1929 stock market crash, though he managed to continue building middle-class homes. Wardman died in 1938 from cancer and is buried in Rock Creek Cemetery.
     

The romantic splendor of affluent females in glittering, shimmering expensive dresses with escorts in smartly tailored obviously expensive suits became a common sight. The easy sophistication of the celebrities who breezed in and out to attend functions at the hotel almost took her breath away. It was all so novel to her. She watched with wonderment as beautiful young women in shimmering white bridal attire gazed at their bridegrooms with love-misted eyes. A sudden pain would twist in her heart as she watched their lips meet with joyous passion. Very often she would watch young couples in love, oblivious to the world around them, lost in their own sweet world of youthful love. 

Gay laughter and warm endearments twisted the knife further with a deep heartache and twinges of envy. She passionately desired the good life she saw around her, but none of it even brushed her life. She yearned so deeply for a love of her own and a blissful family life. Right now there was only the chirpy endearing warmth of Sonny to fill her hungry heart. She loved Sonny with all her might but her heart yearned for a different sort of love. Oh, to feel the throbbing passion of a lover’s kiss, to enjoy the pleasures of love she never had the chance to in her miserable marriage. One day, she promised herself fervently, one day………I will find my true love………

'30-'32: A Son is Born

Chapter 7: A Son is Born

Note to Reader: Please join me in Chapters 7 to 20 as we go back in time to read and enjoy the lessons and life story of Alphonso "Sonny Williams" (The previous owner and seller of the little Cape Cod style house on Lebaum Street).

Alphonso “Sonny” Williams saw the light of this world in a small town on Staten Island, New York, on a blustery winter’s morn in 1930. His mother used to tease him how his infant’s squeal matched the howl of the raw Atlantic winter wind that swept across Staten Island that day, churning the icy, grey waters of the Hudson River. Thick mists had wreathed the Outerbridge Crossing and Goethals Bridge connecting Staten Island with the mainland since 1928. As a little boy, Sonny remembers the Hudson River under more benign weather conditions, a calm, blue-grey stretch of water under sunny New York summer skies. Hazy memories of childhood include watching the orange and blue boats of the Staten Island Ferry fleet skim the waters, carrying thousands of people to and from the mainland while the awe-inspiring Manhattan skyline filled him with a desire to reach beyond his own little world.

On some nice weekends when the raspy wind wasn't blowing harsh and rude across the faces and sunlight shone warm and radiant all over the body, Sonny's mother, Sarah, would feel the urge to board the five-mile journey across the Hudson, scrounging the nickel-ferry fare for the two of them, so that they could wander and explore all around the dense city metropolis of lower Manhattan.

On one extended, summer weekend, when the sun sweltered and stayed, Sarah and Sonny caught the subway to Coney Island. She had never seen bikini-clad girls and muscle men in shorts walking and talking along a busy broadwalk. She had never buried her feet on a sandy beach, one that seemed to go on long and forever and wrapped in the ubiquitous warmth of the New York sunlight.

But these excursions into the city and to the beaches were memorable and rare. Sarah had a passion for homemaking and was the quintessential mother and wife, for someone who would appreciate having and loving one.

Whenever appetizing food aromas waft towards Sonny, he is reminded of his mother’s delicious cooking. The mouthwatering bread and pies she used to bake, the meat stews and roasts that filled the air with great aromas and sent him scuttling to her side for a bite of something, the heartening smell of sizzling bacon, in the early morn. However, Sonny’s memories of his childhood are tainted by the disharmony and violence he witnessed at home. His father, Leo Williams, was from the Virgin Islands, a tall, bulky man with a surly expression seemingly fixed on his face all the time. His fits of violence could never be anticipated. If a chair was slightly out of place or if one of Sonny’s toys were in his way, he would raise his voice to the high heavens and yell, making Sonny shiver in his shoes. He would grab at whatever he could and would start throwing them at his mother. He remembers how his mother crouched behind furniture as his father ranted and raved at perceived neglect of him. His angry eyes would seek her out and despite the tears pouring from her beseeching, helpless eyes, he would shake her violently, pull her hair till she screamed and then bang her against rough edges of furniture and on the wall. Bumps on the head and forehead, bleeding noses, split lips, bruised face and arms were a daily occurrence. Even in the innocence of childhood, he hated this man who hurt his mother so much. Despite all she did for him, waiting on him hand and foot all the time he was at home, he never had a kind word or a loving expression for her. She would slave away at trying to make him comfortable and at the most unexpected moment he would turn on her like a mad man. When Sonny was old enough to understand, his mother would tell him that her first marriage was her punishment for an indiscretion committed as a young girl. She got herself pregnant in 1928 when she was yet unmarried. Living among nine siblings, she delivered the baby who was then taken away by her mother to bring up because she did not have the wherewithal to do so. Sonny had reached adulthood when he learned that the person he had played with as a cousin was really his brother.

As a guileless three-year old, Sonny grew up quiet and timid, afraid to say and do things that would start his father yelling. Instinctively he knew the time his father came home. Before the wooden steps creaked and grumbled under Leo’s weight as he staggered up to the entrance, Sonny would clear up all his toys so his mother would not get a black eye. As young as Sonny was, he knew he had two different lives – the carefree, laughing child he was with his mother and the fearful, nervous one when his father was home.

Sonny remembers one terrible night when his father acted more violently than he had ever before. He tore the clothes off his mother’s back and pushed her out the back door into the icy blowing of a freezing winter’s night. Later, when he was old enough to understand his mother filled in the blanks in his memory. As she shivered in the dark night for hours before Leo finally allowed her in, Sarah made up her mind. No more of this, she thought fiercely, as she suppressed her sobs, trying valiantly to cover her nakedness with a rag she had in her hand. She was up even before dawn on that grim December day in 1933. As she lay awake during the long night, she had made her plans. Her head ached and her body had chilled in the freezing wind. Her limbs were sore with beatings. She could not tolerate another night under the same roof with her abusive husband. As she dragged herself to the kitchen to get breakfast going, she marveled at the way Leo could so conveniently forget all the devilish things he did. This morning, it was as if nothing had happened last night. Oh, how could he? As his raucous laughter jangled her nerves, she could hardly wait for him to be on his way to work. Finally, he was ready to leave. As he stomped down the wooden steps and got into his rattling jalopy, Sarah watched from the kitchen window, hardly daring to breathe. Would he have to come back in for anything? Would he decide to take a day off? The driver’s side door creaked shut, the engine spluttered and started up painfully, a squeal of tires, and then, he was gone. Her heart jumped with joyful relief and she sent a silent prayer up to heaven. Please, please, let him not come back till late evening. No time to squander, at any rate. She wiped her hands and got up on a chair to raid her scanty food supply. Some crackers and cheese for Sonny and some canned fish for lunch. She packed her can opener into a grocery bag with the food. She hurriedly got her small overnight bag from under her bed. She pulled her clothes out from her closet and urgently chose a few warm sweaters, two thick pants and some straggly underwear. She took a handful of Sonny’s winter clothes and thrust them all in her case, along with her meager toiletries and their toothbrushes. The next half-hour she spent getting herself and Sonny dressed while making anxious trips to the window for signs of her returning husband.

At nine o’clock in the midst of a freezing rain, Sarah decided it was safe to assume Leo was out of the house for the day. She hurriedly wrapped Sonny up in a thick quilt and slinging her overnight back on her shoulder, she stole out the back door, into their back yard, then out the gate in furtive, swift steps. Even as her heart tripped in relief at this unexpected end to a miserable existence, she was gripped with a sudden fear of the unknown. What would happen to her and her son now? She was like a ferry that had broken loose of its moorings. She was drifting along, being carried by the swirling current of fate to who knows where? As she lay sleepless last night, she had planned what to do. She would get to the bus terminal and buy a one-way ticket to Washington DC. She had enough money with her to buy her freedom in this form. A one-way ticket out of hell. A one-way ticket at the gateway to a new life for her son and herself.

Chapter 6 The Offer

In the safety and sterility of my truck as I rattled off down the road away from Anacostia and its troubles, my mind was buzzing with all the experiences of the past hours. The hodge-podge of events began to gradually settle themselves in a logical way in my thoughts. Somewhere halfway home, I clapped my hands on the steering wheel in fierce determination. Okay, my mind was made up. I knew what I had to do. No sooner than I returned home, I called my realtor and related the entire strange drama to him and my even stranger involvement in the future of this lost community. I sought his professional maneuvering to make an offer for the house, $5,000 below asking price. In other words, I would purchase it “as is” for $100,000.

As I spoke with my realtor from the cool of the balcony of my high-rise apartment, my eyes feasted on the Washington Monument in the background, with weekend crowds milling around restaurants and shops in Pentagon City. Two communities so close, yet so far. Was I going to be a catalyst for change? A harbinger of events to come?

My realtor delved into the history of Williams’ house and called me back. The house was actually in foreclosure, with Williams not having paid his mortgage for over seven months. The bank had already set in motion the process to repossess the house. What was more, the payoff was just a little below $100,000. For some strange reason, Williams had refinanced the loan a couple months back. It seemed such an unfair twist of fate, a bitter shame that they were losing the house. After forty years of struggle, after forty years of sweat and blood and reams of dreams, you would think that they would have something to show for it.

The next day came, Monday, and soon after my work day I met with Billy at the house. He had beside him a youthful, pleasantly plump-looking woman with, honey-brown eyes and thick hair captured in a tight braid. There seemed to be a substantial age gap between the two. I thought she looked closer to my age. She wore a police uniform and I could tell right away that she worked as a dispatcher for the DC Police. Billy laid his hand on her shoulder as I joined them. “Chito, I want you to meet Tina. Tina has the power of attorney. You deal with her from now on as the seller and for the settlement. Just deal with me for the repairs and renovation.”

“Nice to meet you, Tina.” Tina’s glowing eyes penetrated my gaze and held eyes contact for a long moment. She was trying to tell me something, I felt. Behind the casual friendliness I could see an urgency, a desperation, a plea for help, to get them out of the mess they were in. I felt a strange invitation being silently extended to me, to join as an ad hoc member of the house and to become part of their family. There was no racial division. It didn’t matter that I was Asian. As she held my gaze she knew she could trust me. She knew I would end up being their saviour in preserving their father’s house.

It was all gone in a moment, though. Tina grasped my hand and said, “Very nice to meet you. Where are you from?”

“I live in Virginia. Arlington to be exact.”

Tina’s five year old son, Daryl gripping his mother’s skirt, looked me up and down in silent, intense absorption.

Tina was suddenly all business-like. “So how much are you willing to offer for my father’s house?”

There were several offers on their house, I knew that by now - a couple of them over the asking price. Yet it seemed that she was more interested in the prospect of my involvement in their house. She seemed to be making a close assessment of me as a person.

“Not much over the asking price,” I replied. “But pretty close to it.”

I was trying to be cordial but I had to maintain a professional demeanor for the sake of the peculiar business transaction that seemed to be taking place. She gave me a hard look. Then her face broke into a warm grin and she gripped my hand in a firm, tenacious clasp. “You are in, that’s for sure.”

I thought I was dreaming. I had not really given a strong offer but it was obvious they had welcomed me into the family with open arms. This was really incredible. Almost against my will, I had got dragged into this family situation, and as much as I wanted to keep my distance, I knew I couldn’t. I was in it with them whether I liked it or not, the rapport and affinity I had felt from the start subtly changing to compassion and a compelling passion to save this house for this family.

As I reflected momentarily on what I was taking on, I felt a surge of panic arise in my throat. I had never tackled anything of this scope. I wasn’t even handy. But deep down in the core of my being, I knew I had to take on this challenge. Unswerving determination gripped me. I would learn construction. I would hire Billy’s team and together we would demo the basement, layout the floor plan and build the rooms to specs. A formidable task may be, but it was my calling both on a personal level and in recognition of Alphonso Williams for all his hard work and commitment.

Chapter 5 Discovering Lil' House on Lebaum

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Immersed in my musings, I suddenly realized where I was and decided it was about time I made myself scarce. I had barely turned on my heels when a lanky man, probably on the good side of his fifties, with a deeply creased face that reflected the trials and tribulations of this community over the years, walked out the door, and dumped yet another box on the yard. As I looked at him with undisguised interest, I could see that the box was not filled with clothes like the rest, but with some old books and photographs. I felt like an interloper, an intruder, even an opportunist - driving in from out of state in the safety of broad daylight, to exploit the depressed socio-economic conditions of this once stately area, but not having to live with it at night. Is that how I would be perceived?

I wanted to dispel such thoughts at the outset. I went towards him with hand extended, and I was touched when he responded warmly.

Hello, I am Billy,” he said, beaming at me as if he had always known me.

Welcome,” he added simply.

As I introduced myself, I found myself asking if his house was for sale. As soon as the words were out of my lips, I felt a little ridiculous. After all, there wasn’t even a “For Sale” sign there, but the whole day had seemed barely one step away from the ridiculous. I had better watch my step, I thought.

“Yes, this house is for sale. You seem destined to buy it.”
Meantime, Billy was trying his best to play the gracious host. “Please come inside,” he invited in a friendly, easy style, “If you don’t mind the mess.”

I felt a little uneasy at this unadulterated friendliness. Could there be strings attached? Was it exactly what it seemed to be? After all, I was just a moment away from stepping into an unoccupied house with a total stranger. Varying degrees of ominous thoughts assailed me. Was he genuine? Or was he trying to lure me inside – to do God knows what. To shoot me? Stab me? I felt panic rise up to my throat.

I paused for a long second. My belief in human nature won over my fears. I followed him warily, almost reluctantly inside. Standing at the threshold, Billy turned to me, his face awash with pride. “This is my father’s house. This is Alphonso Williams’ house --he owned and maintained it for 40 years.”

As my eyes took in the dim interior of the house, I could see that it looked as old as he claimed. It appeared to be nothing but a mound of haphazardly dumped junk, as if intruders had barged in and raided the house, overturning everything he owned.

If there was a description of perfect chaos, this would be it. The hardwood floor was ugly and bare, the loose boards creaking with every step. The floral wallpaper in the living room and foyer which would have once lent grace and beauty to quiet living, looked sad and forlorn, stained an ugly brown from the smoke and grease of decades. The shabby, threadbare sofa, the broken down bookcase, the chipped dining table and dirty wobbly chairs were pathetically thrown here and there, as if they had outstayed their welcome long ago. A monstrous Sylvania black and white TV almost as big as a bed, sat dejectedly in the living room. It had obviously outlived its usefulness and now merely served as extra area to store more junk. Amidst the thick coat of dust on the TV top was a dusty old RCA record player and an equally dusty collection of old records: Duke Ellington, Elvis Presley. It was a peculiar feeling of having got stuck in a groove in the past, being an uninvited guest witnessing the historic remorseless decline of Anacostia, the whirlwind transformation from genteel, upscale living to this pathetic “down and out” community.

I was bemused, filled with a certain wonderment as I absorbed the dirty, neglected surroundings. The dark drapes jealously kept the sun’s golden rays away, allowing mere flickers of light to heighten the feeling of age and degradation. I breathed in the musty odor of stale air and dusty junk. The bedrooms were simply crying out for attention and long-forgotten memories were flung over the dresser in the form of scattered old photographs, a few hanging on the wall by frail nails ready to give way at any time. It was a dismally decrepit house, to be sure. But what character it revealed! If the walls could talk, what poignant tales of unsung heroism they would relate.

The remnants of bygone energy of Alphonso Williams penetrated my consciousness in the most peculiar way. An honest-to-God hard-working family man who had tried to do his best for his wife and kids and for his community. A few of his local civic awards, dirty and tinged with age were carelessly scattered with the mess of clothes on the floor – trash like the rest of it - irrelevant and forgotten.

Billy followed my gaze as it rested on his father’s bygone achievements. He looked a little guilty, a shadow of regret flitting across his face. “This is all Pop’s,” he muttered. “Back when he was still active, he was a civic man and very popular and considered to be the Mayor of the Block.” I felt a pensive flash of regret sweep through me as my eyes fell on a youthful photograph of Williams in his 20s, fresh and energetic in army fatigues, looking upon the world with winning eyes. His energy was still around, as if he was brooding over why he had lost everything and reliving the idealism of latent dreams.

I never knew Williams, had never met him, but felt a certain affinity with the man who had had so many dreams for a glorious future for his family, for his community – a man who believed in compassion and humanity. I felt a surge of strange desire to know more about him.

“How is your father doing?” I asked gingerly, almost afraid to put my thoughts into words.

Billy shook his head. “Pop is in the hospital now, not doing too good.” I had been afraid of that.

“Will he return to his house?” Billy shook his head again more vigorously. “I’m afraid he lost his mind. He’s in the VA and he’s in good hands. My sister Tracy just wants to put the house on the market.”

I couldn’t understand why I was getting drawn into a family situation which really had nothing to do with me. “Why don’t you just keep this house? You and your sister can live here. I’m sure you can fix it up.”

Billy shrugged his shoulders. “Tina says there are too many memories. We live up the road at the foot of Lebaum Street. We’re fine there and we can always keep an eye on Pop’s house. Besides we’re behind in our payment and need to payoff the mortgage.”

I couldn’t really grasp the logic of this reasoning. But then who was I to judge? There was no way I could put myself in their shoes because I had not experienced the hardship and depravity that shook this community and tore this family apart.

If I had been shocked earlier, what I saw down in the basement absolutely horrified me. The miserable environment above had in no way prepared me for the hellhole down below. The basement was in impenetrable darkness, smelled dank and musty, with dirty, stagnant water creeping relentlessly up my ankles. The mold and the mildew told their own story and electricity in this household was very much a thing of the past. Pepco had turned the electricity off months ago.

Billy obviously didn’t realize the traumatic effect his house was having on me. He continued nonchalantly, matter-of-fact. “This is the recreation room where the tenants hung out. There was a kitchen, a bathroom and a living room down here. We had four tenants here at one time and this is where they watched TV and ate. There’s a heck of a lot of space.”

I shrivelled my nose in disgust. This was the last straw. The entire specter was nauseating. I couldn’t take anymore. How on earth was I to even envision six people in this house. Insane guests too!! The eeriness of the atmosphere was getting to me pretty badly. I felt chilly goose bumps as my eyes played tricks on me – shadowy images in the darkness...... Had anyone ever been raped or murdered here? Were there revengeful spirits lurking around to pounce on the unsuspecting? Ugghh....... I had to escape this prison and breathe in some God’s own fresh air.

As we stepped outside from the rear basement entrance, I filled my lungs with the cool air, trying to shrug off the dark moments of a while ago. The beautiful St Elizabeths red brick building with its boarded windows arose from beyond, symbolic and apologetic to this economically deprived community. In its heyday, this teeming campus had housed thousands of mental patients.

Billy looked at me quizzically. “Well, what did you think?”

What was I really supposed to say? I didn’t want to hurt his feelings so I tried to be diplomatic. “It was interesting.” Even as the words left my lips, I knew that all I wanted to do was jump into my car and drive off without a backward glance and leave Anacostia behind forever like a hideous nightmare never to haunt me again.

So much for my intentions. Billy appeared to have taken my words in their very literal sense. He was suddenly infused with energy and latent excitement. “Great. If you trust me, I can round up a bunch of guys and we can do all the renovation inside as well as outside for a grand total of $15,000.”

I have lived long enough in this world to recognize an untruth when I see one. And I knew that Billy was lying through his teeth. Did he really think this dump could be repaired for $15,000? That money wouldn’t pay to move all the junk out of the house. But then, on second thoughts, some of this junk might be worth something and we might be able to barter it. What was more, I wanted to believe this man. I desperately wanted to believe him. I needed to reassure myself of the genuine humanity of people living in the depths of degradation. God knows how skimpy my budget is. Probably $15,000 was all I could afford to spend without hurting my delicate financial balance. So I deliberately ignored the nasty nagging doubts that assailed my saner self. I had to make a gigantic effort to sound enthusiastic.

“Super, sign me up. You have good people?”

Billy appeared to be leaps ahead of me. “Well, I could do the drywall and refinish the floor. I could even do some of the exterior work: siding and replace some of the shingles on the roof. My good friend is an electrician, a former Sailor—you’ll like him. We don’t need new wiring just replace some receptacles and of course a new circuit in the basement, depending on what you want to do down there. We will also need a good carpenter to build the framing and to hang the doors. There’s a lot to do but all very manageable.”

As I listened to Billy’s plans, a strange surge of compassion and goodwill coursed through my veins. It was not for my benefit that I felt this intense motivation. It was for the sake of a man I had never even seen in the flesh. It was a deep compelling wish to complete the renovation for Mr. Williams’ sake. Alphonse Williams may be hospitalized and on a respirator and may never see the light of day. But something in me felt that if was a debt of gratitude society owed this man for his hard work for a better life for his community. I felt someone had to recognize the sacrifice this man had made for the sake of posterity, maintaining this house in stellar condition through lean and mean times, rejecting a more comfortable life for himself so others could bear the fruits if his efforts. Some one should be large-hearted enough to restore it to its original standard or better. Was that person going to be me?

The whole situation was beginning to overwhelm me – I had to get away from here to clear my thoughts. I needed a neutral environment to make a decision, one way or the other. I turned to Billy to ward off any more attempts to influence me. “Billy, don’t say any more. Let me think about this and come back to you in the next day or two.”