Stinkin' Logic. Who Needs It?

Strange day yesterday as the remnants of Hurricane Laura rolled through the state. Our electricity was off for only a few minutes, but TV reception was sporadic. Outdoors it was nasty. I cuddled with the latest edition of The Politics of The Administrative Process by Donald Kettl. In the preface, he warns us. From the Flint water crisis to the BP oil spill to Hurricane Katrina, thoughtful people know that “Black Swans” are not only possible, but inevitable. (See: Covid-19.)

Thoughtful people think about those things.

Thoughtful people know we need to elect thoughtful, caring leaders who support thoughtful, accomplished public administrators. But we don’t. We elect people who think government is a joke at best and a mechanism for revenge at worst and who appoint cronies—who despise Americans who aren't like them—to run our agencies. “Why?” I was asking myself that when the TV returned with a newscaster energetically reporting on the “tropical storm.”

I assumed she needed at least a high-school education to be a weather reporter. But she warned us that, after an inch of rain, (despite a month-long dry spell) the ground was now “saturated” to the failing tree roots and we should seek cover. Then she breathlessly reported that her camera-person, who was from Little Rock, had just told her that the Arkansas river normally flowed toward the sea but that “the winds were now forcing it to flow in the opposite direction.” Yes, that Arkansas River. Look out Oklahoma.

The clouds outside remained, but the ones in my head rolled away. Things became clear. If we don’t start thinking, we’re gonna keep sinking.

Affordable Housing

 The answer to affordable housing for service workers may require much broader lateral thinking than we have attempted thus far. It may require cooperation from sources not engaged to date in our analysis, to wit:

The military: It must have hundreds of thousands of helicopters it doesn’t need due to the pressure from legislators representing areas where they make the darn things.

Government Archives: Surely there is some hidden corner of some warehouse where one can find the plans for the internment camps and homes where displaced Japanese families were interned in 1941.

Employment Agencies; They should be able to standardize the shift times of entities employing service workers.

Famers: They will make more money with far less effort by renting plots of farmland to the government.

Highway Construction Departments: A dollar saved by not building commuter lanes is a dollar that can be used for transportation.

President Trump: He will certainly throw his political weight behind a program that will help his make good on his promise to protect the real estate investments of wealthy homeowners.

 By now, the hyper-astute among you can see where this is headed,

Yes.

1. Obtain large segments of vacant land downwind but near major employment centers.
2. Use archived plans to rebuilt exact replicas of the internment camps of WWII.
3. Move service worker families into the camps.
4. Construct multiple helicopter pads adjacent to the camps.
5. Standardize shift schedules at plants, service outlets, retail outlets, etc.
6. Build helicopter pads located within walking distance of major employment centers.
7.  Confiscate, say, 50 percent of the largest helicopters the military has but doesn’t need.
8. Confiscate funds wasted on building commuter lanes.
9. Obtain a couple of presidential executive orders.
10. Tear down any existing low-rent housing near suburban enclaves.
11. Schedule pickup and delivery times.

 Problem solved.

I watched TV a lot yesterday and retired feeling better about things. A country that produced a man like John Lewis can change, and for the better.

 It reminded me of December 1968 when I returned from overseas. I was stranded in Dallas and my brother and Sainted Mother drove there to bring me home. On the way back, we stopped at a small café in southwest Arkansas for breakfast at a classic redneck “greasy spoon.” Burley men with ball caps on their heads and hardness in their eyes gave us a glance and continued eating. My blue Navy uniform with the four ribbons didn’t impress them at all.

 Just as the waitress served us, the door opened and a man in overhauls entered. Holy race riot! Had I survived a year in a war zone to be killed in a brawl in the American South? I searched for a place for us to dive, but the waitress turned and called the intruder by name. “Have a seat, I’ll be right with you. Your usual?” The man answered, “Yes,” nodded at the other men at the room, and took a seat.

 A relaxing warmth of relief and joy flowed through me. I had returned from the war to a different Arkansas. No breakfast has ever tasted as good, and I long to enjoy that feeling once more. Maybe, just maybe.

 Thank you, John Lewis.

Blessed are the poor

Please pardon the length but my heart is too burdened today for brevity. The profession I chose, and still dabble in, has suffered a horrible blow, perhaps a fatal one. Urban planners must deal with countless factors that determine how a city functions. Some challenges appear new and full blown. Solar panels please some and infuriate others. How does a city balance those feelings for the common good? Outside interests buy homes in a quiet neighborhood and covert them into mini-motels. What could possibly go wrong? Digitally active billboards appear that could, some believe, distract already anxiety-burdened motorists. Actually though, it turned out that nobody looked at the darn things. Problem solved.

Throughout recent history, however, the profession sought one goal that would surely have pleased the Galilean. Everyone should have a home—a decent, safe, and sanitary place to come home to after a day’s work. In recent history, a share of the population believes that the worker at a plant should deserve the same domestic solace, albeit not as opulent, as its corporate owner. Others believe that the poor, yes, the ones that Luke mentioned, can contaminated “decent” folks like some unmanageable virus. They advocate having the service workers, teachers, and tradesmen motor into their city, service the needs of the rich, and leave by sundown, to hell with the traffic it requires.

It forms a struggle based as much on religious strictures as fact-based ones. That’s why it weighs so heavy on my heart to read where the president of the United States of American told families in the suburbs that they would “no longer be bothered or financially hurt by having low-income housing in their neighborhood” if he remains in office. 

If that vow crushed my heart, think how the Galilean must feel.

The poor will find a place to live.

Wild Guesses

Someone asked me why the North seemed so out-generaled during the Civil War. That’s something that has confounded expert historians since April 1865. A lack of credentials never stopped me yet so here goes.

We must understand that, unlike the common wisdom states, the Civil War was unique in that the losers pretty much wrote the history, at least for a hundred years. Since Virginians largely led the effort, the southern generals were elevated into some mythical status normally reserved for near-gods or superhuman heroes. Lee’s mistakes faded into obscurity while competence on the other side faded into the same vast maw of neglected history.

George Mean decisively defeated Robert E. Lee at Gettysburg. For this affront, he never received credit, was largely despised, and is mainly remembered for failing to raising a battered army that had just participated, for three long days, in some of the most savage fighting of the war, and rolling over all the dead bodies to take after a still intact army under highly competent commanders. It didn't help that Meade was not a particularly likable person.

Overall, I think that the trend in Civil War campaigns favored the defensive side, especially when those battles took place on one side’s familiar ground. Meade enjoyed well displaced defensive and familiar positions at Gettysburg much as Lee had at Fredericksburg and the later Virginia campaigns.

We must also realize that generals are only as effective as the troops they lead are trained and ready. The south, it seems to me, was much more motivated throughout the war. We can see from modern examples how a people can be motivated when they think their social order is being threatened.

The commander of Union Forces before Grant was Henry Halleck, a remnant known as "Old Brains." He performed faithfully, but cautiously and festered at the success of subordinates, particularly U.S. Grant. 

There is no doubt that a great number of highly skilled and trained officers chose to fight for the South in April 1861. That included West Point graduates and veterans of the invasion of Mexico. That left the North with many political generals like Dan Sickles who almost cost Meade victory. Of course, the South suffered this to a degree. The left flank of the southern line in the assault on Cemetery Ridge ended up being a brigade commanded by Jefferson Davis’s nephew, a former attorney.

There are individual cases that could be studied. Some think there was ample evidence that George McClellan would have settled for two countries, as long as he could have presided over one of them. It is possible that this motivation caused his reluctance for battle. Some of Meade’s generals were supporters of Joseph Hooker, whom Meade replaced.

Internal political struggles may have hampered the armies of North more than the South. General Grant, for example, never trusted General George Thomas, a Virginian who stayed with the Union and who some believe was the best general on either side of the conflict. I’m sure there were many generals in the Army of the Potomac who never trusted Grant.

There is the matter of luck, but both sides seemed to fare equally in this respect.

There is also, I believe, the question of individual maniacy. We can go to the modern Middle East to see the effectiveness of armies composed of men bearing systemic hatred who join wars to avoid a harsh life with the belief that, upon a final sacrifice, they will ascend immediately into Paradise.

I’ll close with the question of collective manic obsession. Any observer should have known after July 3, 1863, that the South would never win that war, nor would they be recognized by England as a nation. Lee and Davis chose to sacrifice hundreds of thousands of Americans rather than admit that reality. That is a lesson we should take under consideration even unto this day.

In closing, as the combatant said in North Dallas Forty, “What could have happened did happen."                                                                                                                                                                                      

Old Days. Old Ways.

For some reason yesterday, I began thinking of my fifth-grade elementary school teacher. Her name was Edith Rupe and she enjoyed the reputation of being one of the most popular teachers at Lakeside Elementary in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, an all-white institution of learning at the time.

I know little of her private life. I know she was unmarried and lived in a boarding house that I think was located on Sixth Street, at the edge of Downtown. The school was on 15^th Street so she walked or rode the bus to and fro. A bus ran within a block of the school.

I can’t determine what her salary would have been. Some records indicate teachers were paid an average of $3,000 per year but I can’t imagine that they were paid half that in my hometown. The African-American teachers probably received less than half that of white teachers.

At any rate, it was a lonely and minimal experience that she must have led as she trained young minds to face the future. Her only companion was a parakeet who died when I was in her class. She squashed our offer to take up collection for a replacement, choosing more loneliness over more heartbreak. Televisions wouldn’t become common for several years, so it is a bit comforting to know that she lived only a few blocks from the (white) city library.

Boarding houses, rooming houses, or resident hotels, as they were called, afforded a common source of housing for American workers who could not afford the $9,000 average cost of a new home or the $80 per month average rent of a full apartment. Rooms at a boarding house included meals. Patrons relied primarily on public transit or walking for access to jobs. Boarding houses existed well into the 1970s and began to fade from the urban landscape. Here is the last one I remember.

It stood in Little Rock a few blocks from our state’s Capitol and the building exists to this day. It has been recycled as a commercial use for decades.

What caused the demise of boarding houses? They once served as entry-level abodes for newcomers moving to the city for their first job. Safety made them popular with young females. Low price made them popular with students. Racial conditions made them segregated.

Some scholars blame local zoning and building codes for the passing of this type of dwelling. I’m sure that played its part, although most zoning ordinances in our state still list them as an allowable use in certain districts, as long as those districts are far away from the rich folks.

At the same time, building codes portray the audacity of requiring that buildings have adequate structural components, safe electrical systems, and meet the nebulous social designation of being “decent, safe, and sanitary.”

Also, most areas of our state lack public transit systems, and despite the urging of planners, walking to work in temperatures of 90-plus degrees and 100-percent humidity isn’t nearly as socially soothing as it might seem.

That brings up the matter of the automobile as the default system of conveyance. Even a modest requirement of one parking space per unit might require more space for the automobile than for the tenants.

Some murmuring is circulating that boarding houses might represent at least a partial solution to the present crisis in affordable housing and its tragic offspring: homelessness. As with many elements of the urban landscape, most people would consider that a fine idea, as long as the results didn’t end up anywhere near their own backyard.

And so it goes.

Modern Living

Lately, I’ve been reading and thinking about affordable housing. Everyone seems obsessed with it. Nobody seems to be doing anything about it. One of the problems is that the places needing it most urgently are the places where the market, and many times other forces, resist it most fervently. Some of those cities that I call “Modern Boom Towns,” try to encourage construction of housing for the working class. They find though, that, upon construction, the market pushes rents or selling prices far out of the reach of those most in need. They must find transportation from places where affordable housing exists. The distances they must travel grow greater with each year of local regional prosperity.

One type of housing upon which the poor depended in years gone by exists largely in photographs of yesteryear, for example: 

These once dotted the rural landscape of the agricultural South. They provided homes for farm laborers and sharecroppers. I’m told that my parents lived in one of these after their marriage while sharecropping near the Ladd community south of Pine Bluff, Arkansas.

 The homes consisted of three rooms in a row with a straight shot from the front door to the rear door, hence the name “shotgun houses,” as a weapon fired through the front door would go straight through the rear door.

 In certain areas, such homes consisted of an addition story or half-story. In cities they were lined side by side. As neighbors began to escape the bitterest of poverty, two of the homes might be connected to make one. This earned them the local moniker of “double-barreled shotgun houses.”

Photographer/writer Rian Dundon wrote in an essay in Timeline of the location of such home in urban areas: "The precise origins of the shotgun house are up for debate. Some scholars trace the style back to West Africa, where an early 19th century boom in New Orleans’ Afro-Haitian population introduced the distinctive structures. But the ubiquity of shotgun houses throughout the urban south can also be viewed as a variation on the typical one-room farm house—rotated 90 degrees for a better fit in the city’s narrow lots."

 In one of those cases of irony that tend to confuse us, the archetypal “shotgun house” has been adopted by a new and different breed of owner. The one below represents a head-turning case. The owner obtained it for free just before demolition, moved it, and “fixed it up” for $140,000 as a part time lodging place and part-time short-term rental ($350 per night). He then listed it for sale for just under a million dollars. No sharecroppers or service workers need apply.

Most examples in our state  have disappeared. One of the last stood for years just outside the Delta city of Marvell, Arkansas, a fixer-upper for certain had it been saved.

I