My wife and I live in Homewood Heights, once a predominately African American neighborhood, comprised of Sol Wilson, Pandora, Oak Grove, Crest, and Ridgeway streets and nestled between East 11th and East 12th streets.
Just a mile west of our neighborhood is the original hub of Austin where practically everything that was needed or wanted was either on or near 11th or 12th streets. Once a thriving, close-knit ethnic enclave in the 1960's, east Austin commerce declined, crime increased, schools worsened, and marginalization ensued all around. In the wake of integration in Austin, the beneficiary was overall progress, but the loser was East Austin.
Today the pressure of gentrification is bearing down on the old community like never before. During a recent dog walk around Homewood Heights, (A place I know even 10 years ago, I would not have been able to walk freely) I met Big Mike. I have seen him around, usually landscaping the houses in the neighborhood, we never talked.
I complimented him on his home. "Thanks, this is my momma's house.” “Have you lived in this neighborhood for a long time,” I asked. "I was born here, I'm O.G, one of the original seven who still live in Homewood Heights. I will be 51 on Friday, I've lived here my whole life.” “You must have seen a lot of changes,” I said. “Let me show you something, see that house over there, she's original, that one over there, original, the lady in the big house over there, she's original and then there's Rick on Crest Ave, he's original and Charlie on Pandora, original. There are seven of us remaining. Recently a real estate guy left a pamphlet in my mailbox, he made a big mistake by putting his phone number on it. I called him and asked if he saw a for sale sign on my lawn? No, my house is not for sale. This is my home, this was my momma's house, it is not for sale and neither are any of the others. What is he gonna give me? $175,000? Then what will I do, I won't have a home, and sure won't be able to buy one. You live in Mr. Miller's house don't you?” I replied affirmatively. “He was OG, Mr. Miller built that house, you have a basement, don't you?” Yes. Basements are not common in Austin.
I asked Mike if he wanted to tell his story, to introduce me to the other original six. “Oh yeah, they have stories, we all have stories. There is a lot of pride and history here.”
I can relate to Big Mike and the other originals. I grew up third generation in the North End, a neighborhood in Boston, Massachusetts. According to Wikipedia, it has the distinction of being the city's oldest residential community, where people have lived continuously since it was settled in the 1630s. Though small (a third of a square mile), the neighborhood has approximately 100 eating establishments, and a variety of tourist attractions (Old North Church and Paul Revere's House). It is known as the city's Little Italy for its Italian-American population. Growing up in the North End, was as Jane Jacobs described it in The Death and Life of Great American Cities, the North End's "streets were alive with children playing, people shopping, people strolling, people talking. The general street atmosphere of buoyancy, friendliness, and good health was so infectious that I began asking directions of people just for the fun of getting in on some talk." At least thirty members of my family lived within blocks of me. We never locked our doors, our intercom systems were our voices, screaming to one another from sidewalk to windows. I could have walked down any street and tell you who lived in each of the apartment buildings. We were all family.
Starting in the late 1980's it all changed, rent control was abolished and gentrification started taking over. One by one my family members moved out of the neighborhood, some by choice most by force. The building I lived in for the first 21 years of my life was sold and turned into million-dollar condominiums, and my grandmother who lived in the apartment upstairs from us, was forced to move in with my Aunt who lived in the suburbs. Today, approximately one-third of the North End's residents are Italian or Italian Americans. The remainder is composed of young professionals, college students, empty-nesters, business owners, and other families. I slowly saw the characters of my neighborhood disappear.
This is why I am drawn to documenting communities undergoing gentrification, and my own neighborhood in Austin.
My purpose is to capture the stories in both stills and video of the seven original remaining Homewood Heights neighborhood residents and to look at how ordinary people survive in their circumstances. These photographs do not pose solutions but serve as a reminder of enduring spirit through challenging adversity and change.