My Redacted Life: Chapter 33 (Cont._3)

Attending a lot of planning commission and city council meetings in those days, I began to notice a lack of young folks on the boards. In fact, some planning commission meetings resembled “war-story-time” at the old-folks home. Most commissioners were white men, although an obligatory African-American would show up occasionally in cities with a large minority population.

Women would show up later.

Young folks didn’t appear for years. It was like the old guys were hanging on and weren’t ready to pass the torch. Or maybe the young guys were busy getting started in life and didn’t have the time or energy. Whatever, one still sees the results of a lack of youthful vision in many cities.

More often than not, those in power didn't care much for policies or plans. Those things tended to lock them into specious decisions which they made anyway.

Then there was the night a commissioner had stayed a little too long at Happy Hour. He was ready to protect his city at all costs. A developer proposed to redevelop a large area of homes he held “under contract.” This was a common occurrence in cities wherein homes were sold to families who couldn’t have applied for a mortgage. They paid a monthly payment, absent a mortgage that might build equity. After paying for years, they might miss a payment and find themselves on the street while another family moved into their previous home under a new contract.

The men who operated these scams invariably posted a “man of the year” plaque in their offices. Often, they were deacons of their church or the equivalent.

This night, there was a little grumbling about destroying so many homes, mostly from minority spectators living in the subject neighborhood. Our intrepid planning commissioner came to the rescue, as he saw it, of his businessman friend.

“Look folks,” he began—so far so good. Now “everbiddy” knows that this area ain’t nothing but a collection of rundown [adjective deleted] shacks and the whole area would be a lot better off if they were all bulldozed down.”

A long silence filled the room. Faces dropped. The other planning commissioners suddenly found something fascinating among their papers. People in the audience fidgeted. I closed my eyes and silently began to count to a hundred. The commissioner making the remark simply stared ahead as if he had announced a recipe for world peace.

This was the small-town South where I began my career. There were times when, had it not been for meeting Brenda, I wished I had stayed in the Navy.

What? Oh yes. The commission approved the development.

What the ...?