Dead Ends Are for Cars, Not People: Growing Up in Public Housing
One of my favorite JayZ songs (Do U Wanna Ride") hosts a set of words that always reminds me of the years I lived on Main Avenue. You know why they call a project a project, because it’s a project An experiment, we’re in it, only as objects And the object for us to explore […]
One of my favorite JayZ songs (Do U Wanna Ride") hosts a set of words that always reminds me of the years I lived on Main Avenue.
You know why they call a project a project, because it’s a project
An experiment, we’re in it, only as objects
And the object for us to explore our prospects
Side-step cops on the way to the top (Yes!)
As kids we would day dream sitting on our steps
It was the late 1970s and the world was on fire, trying to assert a new identity that held hope and growth to escape the turmoil of the age. I always wondered about the street name — Main Avenue, not Main Street. It seemed an intentional slight to the people that populated the five rows of housing projects that creeped up the hill in the west end of town directly adjacent to the railroad tracks. The parallel streets at the top and bottom of that hill both displayed Dead End signs, visible from the sidewalks where children played. Those streets did dead end at the tracks. But there was so much more. Fresh out of a foster home where I developed a mysterious case of amnesia, our apartment was a godsend. The door locked, the windows opened and the bathroom was filled with a family of...
One of my favorite JayZ songs (Do U Wanna Ride") hosts a set of words that always reminds me of the years I lived on Main Avenue.
You know why they call a project a project, because it’s a project
An experiment, we’re in it, only as objects
And the object for us to explore our prospects
Side-step cops on the way to the top (Yes!)
As kids we would day dream sitting on our steps
It was the late 1970s and the world was on fire, trying to assert a new identity that held hope and growth to escape the turmoil of the age. I always wondered about the street name — Main Avenue, not Main Street. It seemed an intentional slight to the people that populated the five rows of housing projects that creeped up the hill in the west end of town directly adjacent to the railroad tracks. The parallel streets at the top and bottom of that hill both displayed Dead End signs, visible from the sidewalks where children played. Those streets did dead end at the tracks. But there was so much more. Fresh out of a foster home where I developed a mysterious case of amnesia, our apartment was a godsend. The door locked, the windows opened and the bathroom was filled with a family of...
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