A Blessing After a Tough Day

I received a late-evening blessing yesterday after a tough month. Ironically, I also received some of the best thoughts on urban planning I’ve heard in ages, all from a self-made millionaire.

It happened this way.

After experiencing the lingering death of two family members, and two funerals within a week, I was deflated and exhausted, ready for a “Maker’s and Three Cubes,” and some meaningless TV. Then I received a call from a close relative in my hometown where the second funeral had occurred only hours before.

I groaned, but answered. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, but maybe he was needing a friendly voice. So, we talked. For a brief background, let’s just say that this individual rose from being homeless (no, not on the street but borrowing a spot on the floor of a friend’s college dormitory room) to working on his second, or third (I’m not sure) million, in two decades.

He made his first the hard way. He worked for it. An old man taught him to repair HVAC systems and he eventually started his own company. After years of hot August days in attics around town, he gained a reputation as being good at his craft, honest, and one who treats everyone he worked for, “the same.” That last descriptor is a positive one in my hometown.

See, my hometown is a bi-racial city. That means it deals with challenges that all-white communities don’t recognize, believing instead that their superior righteousness accounts for all their success. My hometown must deal with mistrust and prejudices that began shortly after companies in Europe started sending settlers to take over the New Land in the 1600s. It also must deal with the lingering effects of a people who, back in the day, no matter how righteous they were, and how hard they worked, were denied access to The Avenue of Success.

Now to this individual’s second million. He began investing, a few years back, in houses that had once served middle class white families. (If you are unfamiliar with that term, look it up in an economic history of the U.S.). These were sound houses that could be purchased at a discount in my hometown and rented for a positive, but not onerous, cash flow.

It has worked well for him and we drifted into a discussion about it. He explained the cash flow system and how he felt he was preserving a valuable housing stock in the city from ultimate deterioration.

“My concern,” I said, “would be getting reliable renters.” Friends know that my home town doesn’t share the same good reputation as “white-flight” or “sundown” cities. We mostly read about its problems.

Showing some impatience, he replied, “Let me tell you something. There is a strong population in this city of black families who work just like we do and want the same things we do: a good job, a decent place to live—to rent if they have to until they can afford to own—and are as reliable tenants as you can find. I have no problems. My renters want to work and to do well.”

“So why,” I said, “do we not hear accounts of this strong black middle class in the city? We just hear about the problems.”

“Beats me,” he said. “Ask your friends in the news business.”

I changed the subject. “Are there any new homes being built in the city?”

“A few,” he said. “There would be more if the city would clean up some junky spots and make land available in stable areas.” ("Junky spots." Urban planners don't use that term. Too bad.)

“And? Does it?”

“No, they want to plant trees on Main Street to solve our problems. And some college kids came down and solved things. Someone told them that if they would build a giant Ferris Wheel by the lake, folks would flock here to see it.”

Yes, I thought, there is a lingering belief among some in our state that urban planning is so simple college kids can do it. I changed the subject again. “And what effect will this proposed casino have on your middle-class population?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Probably not a good one.”

“So you are saying things would work out better if the city concentrated on improving the basics of life?”

“The people I rent to deserve a path to continue improving their lives,” he said.

Probably, I thought. If they have that, the future of the city will take care of itself.

I thought about all those fancy-assed urban design consultants that Arkansas cities bring in from New York. Then I thought about what this man was telling me. (Disclosure: He’s my nephew and I’m proud of him).

Maybe, just maybe, I can learn more from him about urban planning that I could from some arrogant jerk from “Back East.”

Further, maybe, just maybe, we fall into the trap, in my profession, of listening to the wrong people.

It's simple really.
Why make it hard?