FLINT, Mich. — Author Thomas Wolfe wrote, “You can’t go home again.” Or was it Tiger Woods’ wife Elin? Wait! Maybe it was Roman Polanski’s attorney. Anyway, Mr. Wolfe made the poignant statement to warn us that people, places and things we knew in our past have changed and will not be the same if we return to our roots and try to recapture what was once important.
I disagree, in part. I have been in my hometown for the past two months. It is not the same place I left in 1970, or grew up in decades before. Seeing the city today was not a shock because I had returned at least once a year to visit and help family members. I knew what to expect and I still love it here.
Flint’s decline was gradual. Downtown went from a bustling metropolis to a near-ghost town with boarded-up buildings, save for a couple of banks and a restaurant. The University of Michigan-Flint helped revitalize much of the downtown area in the 1980s. Downtown is improving, albeit slowly.
My old neighborhood is a sad place now. A perpetual wreath and flower arrangement hangs from a utility pole near my former house where a bullet ended someone’s life. St. Agnes, the school I graduated from and the church where I was married, is boarded up with a huge “For Sale” sign dominating the landscape. I knew I should have invested in Flint’s plywood market.
I visited the school’s football field. It used to be one of the finest in the city with perfectly manicured grass. The bleachers on both sides of the field are gone; dismantled and sold or possibly scrapped.
The concrete slabs on which the bleachers stood are barren. The stately press box is also demolished and hauled away. Only the goal posts and electronic scoreboard remain. I stayed at the field quite a while thinking about football.
I learned some hard lessons on that field, and I enjoyed a measure of modest success. I also learned about teamwork. The events on the game field, and the adjacent practice field, whether in victory or defeat, made me a better person and taught me never to give up. I learned to respect my opponent whether we won or lost.
If any of us deigned to celebrate after a touchdown like the pro clowns do today, our coach would have dealt with us immediately. He didn’t care about our so-called “self esteem.” Our parents would have backed whatever the coach did. After all, if you score a touchdown, you are supposed to. If you sack the opposing quarterback, that is your job. We learned how to win and how to lose.
Last summer, I attended an event in the parish hall where we held school dances. We knew St. Agnes would soon be history. I leaned against the beam where I always stood during the dances, trying to look cool, watching more talented people dance. It brought back good memories, and other thoughts of an insecure adolescence that almost everyone experiences. The not-so-good memories were part of the entire package of growing up.
The police station where I was hired in 1969 is the same, ready to fall apart as it was in 1970 when I left. There are fewer cops than the 340 who formerly manned the streets. Now there are roughly 200 sworn officers, with 60 other laid-off cops waiting to be called back to work.
I learned a lot in the police building too. I met some good people, and some who were not so good, on both sides of the jail bars. The police station was a place where my life changed for the better.
I must share one thing I cringe at almost every day here in Flint.
Because of migrant farm workers in the past, this area of mid-Michigan has a substantial Hispanic population who now reside here permanently.
There is a community about 30 miles from Flint called Buena Vista. It is on the news occasionally. All of the local broadcasters pronounce it “Bee-you-nah Vista,” instead of the proper pronunciation.
I continually holler at the television, but it doesn’t help. It’s kind of like when I yell at the Democrats. Nothing happens.
In spite of the Hispanic population, there isn’t a good Mexican restaurant around either. El Patio and Casa Don Diego,
I’ll be back soon.
It’s been great being back here seeing friends and places that made me what I am today, for better or worse.
I take issue with Mr. Wolfe. I can go home again.
