 |
Today Scott and I planted grass seed. He’s trying
to restore grass to his community. It’s a grass roots movement. Lots of
nice Puerto Rican kids helped us dig up the dirt between sidewalk and
street, wet it down, pick up endless broken glass, & throw
grass seeds. Lots of other people watched, enjoying the afternoon in doorways and on porches. One lady gave us a dollar. (Scott and Adam had paid $40.00 out of their own pockets for supplies). Another lady came over and told Adam & me that she had lived on the block 20-some years. Once, she said, the city laid sod and people stole it. |
 |
 There
were numerous street vendors selling amazing food.
Like a mango—seasoned with salt, hot pepper, and fresh lemon juice—peeled,
impaled on a stick, and carved into easily-bitten
chunks, for a dollar. (At the grocery store, a mango, without
labor, costs $1.70.) Or corn-on-a-stick. |
 |
The neighborhood has lots of trouble
with gangs. Scott sees himself as crusading against gangs, taking
back the neighborhood by making it look nice, and by working with the kids.
I was pretty excited about writing with Scott, but I am even more excited
by the thought of driving around the country planting grass. Working
with the kids, working with the kids. Scott’s rebuilding the infrastructure
of our crumbling cities, from the ground up. It’s a grass roots movement.
After we finished planting the grass, we passed out crayons, markers, and paper to the kids, and we all sat on Scott’s front steps drawing grass. Kitty was especially good at encouraging the kids to draw. I wonder what else we could do...
—William’s diary, 15 August 1998 |
|
||||||
|
||||||
|
