Living in North Phoenix

I raised my family in Northern Phoenix,Arizona, which I learned a lot of things about being all grown up, black, divorced mother of 4 children, working downtown at a large bank office.

I had to move in a mostly all white neighborhood where at the time, was the only option that was available for me. A house that I could afford to live in with help from a housing program that provided a home with a lease of 99 years that was paid at a local bank…

The first time I went to the store, a large chain supermarket, the clerk ran up my groceries and then asked. “Are you the women who live on 36^th street and you have four kids right?

Now I wondered about that, how is it that I have only been in the neighborhood for only 3 days, never spoken to anyone, that this women knew where I lived not only that but how many children I had.…

I understood that times had not changed that much. I was the talk of the community, the only black family in the neighborhood.

It didn’t take long before the welcome committee came a week later….

My children called me about 4pm, that is when they arrived home from school. They informed me that there were big huge words across the street written in black paint, on the brick white fence that said. “Nigga:s go home” directly in front of my house…..

I took the bus to work in those days, in 1984, to go to work. I worked downtown so it was easy to commute and affordable, cheaper than gas….

I only had to walk 1 mile from my house to get there….

I calm my children down and told them to not go outside. Call me, if you see any people around the house…..

The ride home was, long. I looked around on the express bus, which was nice and clean, not like the regular city buses….

I liked it, everyone that saw me for the first time just looked and wondered, I could feel the eyes on me as I walked by I always found the empty seat….

Some would stare and others gave a glance up and look away, never no one spoke to me except the bus driver…..

It stayed that way for 6 years….

I saw all kinds of professional people, dress in their suits, so was I, but I was alone…..

When I arrived home, my children were scared I talked to them about life and where we fit in it at that time.

After speaking with my sisters informing them so as to be on alert, they advised me to protect myself we lived about 35 miles from each other…. I was prepared for the unexpected I had to be I was alone….

The next morning, I stayed home from work. About 7am in the morning, I saw people gather across the street….

My heart started racing…. Here it comes, I took a deep breathe….. Children prepare yourselves…. I woke them up…

Two white men approached my door and knocked…. I open window a little bit, just enough as to hear….…

The one man spoke he was tall, kind of chucky , a kind looking face and smiled. He went on to apologize for the remark posted on the wall….

He told me that everyone didn’t feel that way in the neighborhood and he and some other neighbors were there with paint to cover it…..

He welcomed me to the neighborhood….

I looked across the street and I saw people gathering men and women. I open the door and one waved and continued to work. They were painting over the words …..

As of today, I pass by on hwy 51 north, the brick wall is still there, you can still see where the paint that was not quite the right color shows where words of hate painted away…..

I remembered then what my mother would often tell me, all white people were not bad…..

Gwendolyn Davis