Historic Preservation: My Thoughts

I've been thinking a lot about the past recently.  Not just my personal past, but the past in general.  About time, history and a sense of place.  I've wanted to become more involved in historic preservation at the local level, but time constraints have kept me from doing much in this area.  Instead I've focused on national organizations--particularly the National Trust For Historic Preservation.  This is a great organization and I am happy to donate what I can to it.

Here in Fort Worth (the city in which I live) preservation was not actually a cool thing until recently.  And even now, historic structures can be razed without much consequence.  Back when all things "modern" stood for progress, whole sections of this city were destroyed to make way for nondescript buildings or parking lots or garages.  Thankfully, those days are now relegated to collective regret.  Back in the 1970s, Fort Worth lost some signature structures in the downtown core--most notably The Medical Arts Building.  It seems a little strange for someone who moved here in the 1980s to be talking mournfully about buildings that were lost in the 1970s, particularly when I didn't grow up here.  But with Fort Worth as my adopted home, I have developed a fondness for this city and an appreciation that perhaps many natives are blind to.  Mind you, I don't necessarily believe that living in a particular city or town makes a person insensitive to the necessity of historic preservation, but I can say with some degree of certainty that a different perspective is often helpful when addressing the aesthetics of a place in which one has not lived an entire life.  If I pass a particular building every day for 30 years on my way to work, it would certainly strike me if that building were to disappear, but I might actually welcome something new and shiny in its place just to break from the monotony.  I might even welcome a blank space rather than a filled space.  Regardless, I would definitely have a different perspective than someone who has a fresh view of the scene.

Many folks don't really concern themselves with historic preservation because they feel a type of disconnect from history.  Perhaps they don't appreciate history as some of us do or feel that there are more pressing concerns or matters that need to be attended to--not only in their daily lives but also in the larger political sphere.  I would really like to suggest that we are all vitally connected to our history, whether we grew up in a certain area or not.  I enjoy perusing photographs of historic Fort Worth and often feel that there are not enough available to get an accurate picture of what this city was once like.  One thing that I do know is that with each building we allow to fall, an inferior structure or no structure will usually take its place.  Craftsmanship that was commonplace at the turn of last century no longer exists.  When we lose these buildings, part of us is lost forever.  Locally, one only needs a drive down Hemphill or East Lancaster Avenues to imagine (from what few remaining structures exist) a different time...a time when people didn't even know what a "payday loan" or "cash advance" was.  There wasn't a convenience store on every corner, but there may have been a "corner store" in just about every neighborhood.  I know it sounds a little unrealistic or even romantic, and I'm keenly aware that the "good old days" were definitely not always that.  But there was a sense of community.  And much of that sense of community existed because we took pride in our architecture.

I applaud all of the efforts of our local historic preservationists.  But clearly, we have a long way to go.

(undated postcard of Medical Arts Building, Fort Worth, TX.  Wyatt C. Hedrick, architect.  Demolished 1973)

Newspaper Headlines

Yesterday, I brought some copies of newspapers from Kennedy's assassination to class so that my students could see some of the headlines and stories from this horrible event nearly fifty years ago.  The pages are yellowed and fragile...even preserved in the shrink-wrap and cardboard.  I wasn't yet on this earth.  Not yet a sparkle in my father's eye as they say, but it wouldn't be long as I was probably conceived sometime in March of 1964.  Of course, I was certainly not expected--but what could they do?  We were Catholic.  No birth control.  Definitely no abortion.  My parents generation remembers the assassination very clearly, as do my older siblings.  Kennedy was the first Catholic president of the United States.  I have only pictures and history to remind me of this.

All of my students were born when Bill Clinton was president.  They haven't known the assassination of a U.S. President in their lifetimes--and really, neither have I.  We've lived through the horror of 9/11, with my students being very young when that occurred.  I was 37 at the time.  I sometimes wonder if the impact of the Kennedy assassination was as heavy as that.  Judging from the newspaper headlines, I am guessing it was.  As I have observed some of the students looking at the newspapers from that time, I am struck by a couple things.  First, they aren't really that impressed.  In fact, newspapers are really a foreign thing to them.  The other day, I asked how many of them ever read a newspaper and only one responded to the question.  "I don't but my grammy does.  She old."  I've lamented the passing of the printed word in a previous blog so I won't go into that again here, but I will say this.  Back in 2001, when the September 11 events happened, I had a subscription to the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. At that time the newspapers still had some relevance.  It was the only time in my life that I can recall an "extra" edition of a newspaper being printed.  I saved those papers from that day of course.

As these historical events recede in my personal rearview mirror, I'm reminded of how short this life really is.  I am grateful for an appreciation of history.  I am hopeful that I can impart even a little of that to my students.

Mourning The Printed Word

I love books.  I love newspapers.  I love magazines.

I like to feel a book in my hands.  I like the smell of new books.  I sometimes like the smell of old books.  I like being able to turn pages, use a highlighter or underline stuff (in my own books, of course) and I like how books look arranged on bookshelves.

If you were to visit a Barnes & Noble today...right now...you would probably laugh at the prediction I'm about to pose: Books are on their way out and will not be printed in less than fifty years.  Those books that remain will be relics of a time past.  I welcome the progress wrought by technology but I think I'd miss my books more than anything.  I think magazines are on their way out even sooner than books and I think that we may see our last printed newspapers in five years or less. 

I guess there are other things to mourn with the onset of technological advances...most of them with an attitude of "good riddance," but I will always have a soft spot in my heart for books.

I remember my geeky childhood, sitting in the reference room at the Johnsonburg Public Library (then located in a wonderful early Twentieth Century building known as the Johnsonburg Community Building) on rainy days enjoying the simple pleasures of just getting something down off the shelf for the heck of it, and reading for sheer pleasure.  The pictures, vast amounts of information, world travel...they were all at my fingertips.  I could never have imagined the incredible resource we have today in the form of the internet, but that was how my mind wandered as a child.  Books were my friends.

I love my computer.  I'm glad I can use it for so many things.  But I still can't seem--even with the Nook and Kindle--to bring myself to even say the words.  It just doesn't sound right.  "It's a nice cold, wet day.  I think I'm going to go cuddle up in the corner with my Nook."  I think I'll still prefer "It's a good day to go cuddle up in the corner with a few books."

I Can See Clearly Now

My mom and I have a special connection. 

I don't think it's because I'm her baby (I am the youngest of five children) or that there is anything more special about me than any of my siblings, but I think we have an understanding of each other now that was never there in my teenage years.

My tumultuous teenage years--particularly the years between 13-16--were years of strain and yes, sometimes even hatred, for my mother.  Of course, looking back now, I realize that it was never really "hate" in the strictest sense, but a hatred for who she was and what she did, or didn't do.  I was seemingly always in conflict with her.  Mom was not very affectionate with me during that time.  And I can't say that I blame her.

I could go into details here about the things that widened the chasm between us or tell you many individual stories about the different events as I remember them, but that's not the purpose of this essay.  I've spent enough time in therapy and with my private journals which can be examined at a later date.

What I'd like to do is to write about what my relationship with my mother is like now.

We don't see eye-to-eye on many things.  And I'm sure that is the case with many mother/son, mother/daughter relationships.  But we seem to have a respect for one another that was never present in my life as I was growing up.  I don't always understand where she is coming from but I can see her point of view so much more clearly now.  I can also see how her worldview was shaped as she came through the experience of an entirely different generation.  I can see that her religious indoctrination played a huge part in who she became and I can see how her small town values were shaped as well.  Life was very different where and when my mother grew up.  I have grown to respect that and to respect and love her as well.