HARLEM ON THE BRAIN



If I had my way today would be a federal holiday.
It was the autobiography written about this man that started my wheels turning many many moons ago, that got me to thinking about the nature of things in this country, where we assume there to be a democracy. He was my first history lesson, discovered haphazardly after turning down the wrong aisle in the public library (cause you know a sister has had her own library card since she was old enough to sign her name in cursive, right?) Putting his religious affiliation aside, the man was onto something and as I walked down 125th Street in Harlem this weekend I thought of him. I thought of Langston and Eubie, Zora and Countee, Duke and the band, Cab, W.E.B. Dubois and all of my ancestors who walked those streets before me, who had something to say and said it; who were entertainment for no-one and would have rather died poor in their graves than serve as bafoon-sellout-negroes like these cats today. Alice Walker says she has a sign over her desk that reads "I Work For the Ancestors." It's a simple reminder to never worry about what her critics have to say, never to worry about how/why her work is so often misunderstood, but to always remember that is because of the ancestors that she is here today.

I can't help but wish I'd have been born back then. Times were tough but man, just think what it would have been like to be in Harlem back in those days. Think what it would have been like to sit in the parlor room of one of those big old brownstones, sipping a smooth one and talking shit with Jimmy Baldwin, Lorraine Hansberry, Zora Neale and Langston. Think what it would have been like to walk down Lenox Avenue, heading over to the Cotton Club for some good food and smooth jazz, wearing white gloves and top hats, back in the days when women kept their bodies covered till they got back home to the bedroom and men didn't dream of coming out of the house with clothes that weren't tailored, pressed into creases so sharp you could slice your hand in half and bleed to death. Men that smelled good and women that dripped with sensuality without showing it all off. Genteel brothers and sisters, you know what I'm saying?? Men that didn't ask you to spend your hard earned thirteen dollars and ninety nine cents for eight sorry ass tracks, sampled off of some other guy's record, that tell you all day long you ain't nothing but a bitch / ho / piece of ass. Women who knew how to sing. I'm talking Aretha Franklin type of singing. I'm talking Patti LaBelle, Rachelle Farrell type of singing, where the mouth gets all twisted up and ugly...but the words coming out are as beautiful as doves set free in the blue wash of morning.

Walking through Harlem, I couldn't help but feel blessed to be part of a heritage such as my own. But the sad thing about Harlem is the same sad thing about Brooklyn, Baltimore Maryland, Washington DC and parts of Boston, I suppose. The sad truth of gentrification. On Saturday, I parked the MotherShip in front of the most beautiful strip of newly renovated brownstones facing Marcus Garvey Park. For kicks, I wrote down the name and tel number of the developer just to get an idea of the pricing/availability. Right. So I calls them today, right, and the woman tells me the property has been "posted" since 1999, when the renovations first began. Pre-approval applications were submitted way back then. The organization has just about 30 units and over 5,000 applications. These beautiful brownstones have been chopped in half and half again and then in half again -- they aren't brownstones anymore, but condos within brownstone shells. 2-3 bedrooms ranging from $250,000 - the mid $300's. Now that may sound steep but anyone with the money looking to buy a condo on the island of Manhattan knows that that's a straight up steal. Though Harlem is still city, it's not like the congested midtown area nor the Greenwich Village area where the streets are so tight and narrow you better not even think of trying to park anything bigger than a Saturn.
Harlem is making a major comeback but in a majorly different way. Old Navy is up in there now. The Disney Store is up in there and so is Magic Johnson with his theatre.
When big businesses like those move in and price tags like the above go up, you know what's going down. And so what was dificult for me, walking through Harlem is the sad truth that many of the residents don't know the value of property ownership and don't understand that the money they're spending in that Old Navy could be pooled together and used for the betterment of their lives and the preservation of their heritage. But hey, maybe I'm being pessimistic. Maybe I'm the only one who sees something wrong with the removal of the original marquee at the Apollo, replaced by a red digital clock-looking structure. Maybe it just means we're moving on up in the world.
The downtown folks are ready to mingle with us .... on the Upper West Side (cause you know they don't tell folks they live in Harlem, they call it the Upper West Side.
Maybe they're thinking that it's time we just all live together as one .... fulfill Martin's dream....


Yea right.

Oh, and before I forget, we need to keep an eye on this and spread the word. Until all of us are free, none of us are free.

Be Well, Folks. Be Love(d).
A