winging it
It's been so long since I've been in the hang of writing, which makes me immensely sad since I always kind of fashioned myself a writer but now I'm too out of practice to piece any thoughts together. That's the rub. However I always come here and read what YOU write and it makes me happy to peer into your lives and I figure maybe if I read enough and peer enough I will either a. be inspired to write or b. get so involved in your writing that I forget I could even craft my own. Tonight's an a. night. I owe it all to you, Bellee!
Life is pretty good and bucolic in these parts, unless you count all the shootings. Oh, Memphis. We try so hard to have normal lives: go to the Farmer's market, volunteer a little, sit on our porches at the first signs of spring and swing into the dusk...and then somebody walking his dog at night offers some directions to a passing car and gets shot three times. Or somebody walks home from a gig and is killed by gunshot.
We are all asking ourselves 'what the fuck?' and have been for some time, but the crime here is like the family member who we hate to admit we're related to...we sweep it under the rug, shrug at its reality but continue to walk home at night from the bar because we don't want to be scared. We don't want to be chased out by the violence. So many people are, and that's what makes us different, because we believe in our sweet little neighborhood, we love it for its potential as much as for what it is.
Tonight there was a crime walk, rumors of which circulated throughout the day and by evening time there was a healthy crowd. We walked through midtown and stopped at each of the corners where the people were so senselessly shot. City officials spoke, and their missives were not watered-down mumbo-jumbo but rather a battle cry. One said he knew it was a peaceful occasion, but the idea is to be outraged. And we should be.
A man named Stevie Moore showed up at the tail-end of the affair, when we'd made it to Peabody park and were listening to live music and enjoying fruit and cheese afforded us by various neighborhood associations. Mr. Moore is the founder of "F.F.U.N.," 'fun,' which stands for 'Freedom from Unnecessary Negatives.'
F.F.U.N.'s purpose is to turn would-be gunmen around, before they get their hands on a weapon and head down the wrong path. Moore made a good point about crime needing to be the number one priority of the government. "If my daughter gets a good education and goes to college so she can get a great job making a lot of money by the hour and has excellent health care," he said, "what good is it going to do her if she steps outside her door and gets a bullet in her chest?"
He said we spend too much time playing the blame game: we blame the President, or the mayor, or the white people or the poverty, but we never really get up off our asses and do anything. And he's right. I guarantee you more people have commented on a newspaper article about Willie Herenton (aka 'Taterhead,' our fearless, monarch/mayor) than have ever helped at a soup kitchen, or a literacy council, or an after-school program. And that's just shameful.
Stevie Moore spent eight years in jail. He got out, and then watched as his son was shot at his own front door with an AK-47. Since then he has dedicated his life to helping young people stay on the right track, preventing crime, and helping ex-convicts through rehabilitation programs.
Tonight I spoke with Mr. Moore and thanked him for this grand task he's undertaken. I came home with his yard sign which starkly states "Stop the Killing." It's a gross contrast to my neighbor's sign: "Cooper-Young, a good place to live." I wonder how long it will take before we're entirely sincere about that statement, when we don't have to silence that nagging 'but?'
Life is pretty good and bucolic in these parts, unless you count all the shootings. Oh, Memphis. We try so hard to have normal lives: go to the Farmer's market, volunteer a little, sit on our porches at the first signs of spring and swing into the dusk...and then somebody walking his dog at night offers some directions to a passing car and gets shot three times. Or somebody walks home from a gig and is killed by gunshot.
We are all asking ourselves 'what the fuck?' and have been for some time, but the crime here is like the family member who we hate to admit we're related to...we sweep it under the rug, shrug at its reality but continue to walk home at night from the bar because we don't want to be scared. We don't want to be chased out by the violence. So many people are, and that's what makes us different, because we believe in our sweet little neighborhood, we love it for its potential as much as for what it is.
Tonight there was a crime walk, rumors of which circulated throughout the day and by evening time there was a healthy crowd. We walked through midtown and stopped at each of the corners where the people were so senselessly shot. City officials spoke, and their missives were not watered-down mumbo-jumbo but rather a battle cry. One said he knew it was a peaceful occasion, but the idea is to be outraged. And we should be.
A man named Stevie Moore showed up at the tail-end of the affair, when we'd made it to Peabody park and were listening to live music and enjoying fruit and cheese afforded us by various neighborhood associations. Mr. Moore is the founder of "F.F.U.N.," 'fun,' which stands for 'Freedom from Unnecessary Negatives.'
F.F.U.N.'s purpose is to turn would-be gunmen around, before they get their hands on a weapon and head down the wrong path. Moore made a good point about crime needing to be the number one priority of the government. "If my daughter gets a good education and goes to college so she can get a great job making a lot of money by the hour and has excellent health care," he said, "what good is it going to do her if she steps outside her door and gets a bullet in her chest?"
He said we spend too much time playing the blame game: we blame the President, or the mayor, or the white people or the poverty, but we never really get up off our asses and do anything. And he's right. I guarantee you more people have commented on a newspaper article about Willie Herenton (aka 'Taterhead,' our fearless, monarch/mayor) than have ever helped at a soup kitchen, or a literacy council, or an after-school program. And that's just shameful.
Stevie Moore spent eight years in jail. He got out, and then watched as his son was shot at his own front door with an AK-47. Since then he has dedicated his life to helping young people stay on the right track, preventing crime, and helping ex-convicts through rehabilitation programs.
Tonight I spoke with Mr. Moore and thanked him for this grand task he's undertaken. I came home with his yard sign which starkly states "Stop the Killing." It's a gross contrast to my neighbor's sign: "Cooper-Young, a good place to live." I wonder how long it will take before we're entirely sincere about that statement, when we don't have to silence that nagging 'but?'