I just discovered that the 3rd segment of my 4-part series on the Adams/Jackson Street Freeway was not posted to the Memories in Wilmington site. Like the unruly child which I once was, it went astray. I realize that this segment is now redundant, the series has already been read and has disappeared into cyberspace, but in the interest of leaving even this type of ephemeral record somewhere, I am reposting it now. If you feel were all said and done with I-95 and what its construction wrought on our city, please dont read any further. Theres nothing here which has not already been said. This is the 3rd in a 4-part series on I-95: And so the destruction of that huge swath of Wilmington which was bounded by Adams and Jackson Streets, those many homes with their tiny back yards where here and there a rose bush was cared for by one of the mothers who presided over the many households in that area; block after block of sidewalks which once displayed the chalk drawing of a hop-scotch game and where children played the other games we remember here on this Memories of Wilmington web site; those city sidewalks which once echoed with childrens voices and the sounds of roller skates and where the footsteps of working men hastening home to their families after a long day at work, all of that vanished - in what seemed only an instant - from the neighborhood along with the neighborhood itself. Those many kitchens where uncountable meals were prepared: bowls of hot soup on cold winter days set out on kitchen tables which remained warm where the bowl had sat; pancakes which were cooked on Sundays along with the smell of sizzling bacon and buttered toast which filled the air; innumerable bedrooms where children fell asleep with the feeling of deep peace known by children who feel that they are safe in their parents home. I could go on-and-on in the same vein as I have with my other posts for the past year or so, but Im quite certain that everyone who is reading this knows what was lost: it is the entire litany of what so many of the posts on this web page lament. When the freeway came through my grandparents old neighborhood, the combined hopes and dreams which had been made real in the form of that vast swath of homes with their tiny back yards along with some mothers rose bush which, it is likely, was left behind; all of that and whats more, the very fabric of the community, what had once been a real neighborhood was demolished, too; wiped off the face of the earth and carted away in broken pieces.
Posted on: Sun, 04 Jan 2015 03:20:35 +0000
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