A Place Called Desire

the forgotten community

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The Christmas Fruitcake

The Christmas Fruitcake made its appearance at my childhood home every year. It was my Dad’s tradition, and he kept it going well into his senior years. Now that I think back, I can’t remember when the production stopped. All I remember is that it traveled from uptown New Orleans to downtown Desire. I do know one thing for sure, and I hated them. I can remember making Schwegmann’s runs with him to get his ingredients. It was all done from scratch, from flour and brown sugar to plastic containers that held the jellied and dried fruit and unshelled nuts. While I watched the steps he took (note nothing was written down), it encompassed hours. It was just a given that on this day, if you wanted to eat at the only table in the house, you should make plans before production started. The ingredients covered the whole table. There was a metal grinder (I wish I had held on to that) that he hooked to the edge of the table and would meticulously combine his ingredients. It all ended up in the roasting pan and mixed together, poured into disposable metal loaf pans, and baked. The aroma stayed around longer than the fruitcakes. They were handed out to welcome hands. It’s amazing how relatives from both sides of the family would show up, all leaving out with a loaf. I remember a few being shipped to California one year to one of his uptown New Orleans friends who had relocated. No dollars ever changed hands: just fruitcakes and warm holiday best wishes.

We take so much for granted in life, assuming it will be present forever. At this moment, on this day, during this Christmas season, I would give anything for a slice of fruitcake. Not just any fruitcake. It has to be Smitty’s.

Happy Holidays❤️

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Summer Fun: An Essay for “A Place Called Desire”

It is hard, as well as unfair, to stereotype, or form generalities, concerning the summers of  families in the Desire area. Because the Desire Housing Development was an unusually large housing complex, surrounded by many single family homes, it housed various family types. Consequently,  summers were as varied as the types of families occupying the area. My family, for example, was headed by a single mother which meant she had to work all summer.

the Anderson clan
Deborah Walter-Anderson Winnifred Walter-Anderson and Torea Walter-Anderson

Our summers were not determined by what she planned, exactly. They went according to the opportunities that were afforded us.  My grandmother’s house in south Baton Rouge was one of the opportunities Mama’s budget allowed for.  My grandmother was always willing to help my mother with her children. She had a small house, but a great big heart. She loved her grandchildren with all of her heart. We only stayed there for a couple of weeks. And sometimes she would come to New Orleans and babysit us. She baked the best tea cakes. We were always willing to share our tea cakes with our friends. But visiting Big Mama was way better than her visiting us. We were able to see our entire family when we vacationed in Baton Rouge. There was nothing better than hanging out with my cousins and visiting my aunts and uncles.

Visits from cousins was another preoccupation during the summer months. Whenever anyone or any family had cousins from out of town or from just uptown, it was an exciting time. A different face, walk, talk, or laugh was extremely fascinating. The teens in the neighborhood had a new summer crush. The new person represented someone to impress, fall in love with or envy. All emotions were heightened during the summer with the influx of new faces. My cousins did not disappoint. They were pretty. They were handsome. They were funny and quirky, or at least that’s how they appeared to my Desire friends. And they were just as eager to fall in love with my friends. Summers were indeed a blast because of their visits. This was also a time to show off our neighborhood games. These games were played all over the city but, of course, every neighborhood and in some cases, courtyards changed the rules of the games.  These games included such games as, Jacks, Chicago In, Fly In, Cool Can, Horse Shoes, Marbles, (Ice) Pick, Hop Scotch and Jump Rope, just to name a few. We spent hours playing these low budget games. They were all inclusive. There was no age, height or gender requirement, or limit. Specific skill sets were not required. Personal preferences were always a deciding factor in the formation of teams, but played a minimal role in the overall playing of the games.

There were some fortunate families in Desire who were able to travel out of town. It goes without saying that these families were fortunate enough to have two parent homes, their father worked, and they usually owned a car. Throughout the United States, especially in the South, Blacks were restricted in their travel by racist laws and practices. This impacted summer travel plans even for families who could afford to travel. Other children were able to attend camps sponsored by organizations such as boys and girls scout, and religious organizations. There were neighborhood sports teams that entertained the community several days a week. These included girls softball and sand lot sports. My sister, Deborah, was a dynamic softball player

Finally, the schools offered children some form of support during the long summer months. Summers were used for academic remediation and enrichment. Conscientious teachers thought it important to send home supplemental materials (usually discarded or outdated books.)  Many parents could not afford products that would assist their students in school or to insure that previously learned information and skills would not be lost. So many families were blessed by teachers who were forward thinkers. Summer was not just a time for playing but also for continued learning.

Winnifred A. Magee

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Memories of Desire – The Record Truck

record_truck

Summertime in Desire. The memories are many of the three months we were out of school and enjoying each day. We were fortunate to live in a home that was always filled with different genres of music. From my Dad’s love of Jazz (one of his favorites was Count Basie) to my Mom’s obsession with keeping up with the “Jet” Magazine’s Soul Brothers Top 20 List or the songs she heard on WBOK, my siblings and I were all up on the music of the times. One way Mom acquired her collection of top 45s was from the record trucks that rode through the streets of Desire.

Dad had to punch the clock before the sun rose, so Mom rode the public transportation bus to work each morning. Because she was not a quiet dresser, we would be involved in her preparation to leave the house. Checking to make sure her outfit was on point, waking one of us or all of us to get a second opinion, grabbing an umbrella if it looked like rain or for the heat if the bus was off schedule, making sure she had a bus token in hand and “NOOOO, please don’t turn off the fan!” Before central air conditioners in homes, gigantic Reed fans were most popular in the 50s and 60’s across the south. It blew comfortable, cool air at night and circulated hot air during the day. We counted our blessings that we had one to get us through the hot months of New Orleans’ summers, even if it was primarily used to get us through the steamy nights. When you heard the fan motor winding down, you knew it was time to start the date, or if you chose to lay in bed a little longer, it was understood that there was a chance of drowning in your sweat. Before she made it to the front door to exit, we were told what was expected of us that day. From hanging clothes on the clothesline, making sure that we checked the mailbox, then calling her at work to relay what had been delivered that day, to dropping shoes off at the Holmes’ Shoe Repair across the tracks, we were kept busy. One recurring chore on that list was “if the record truck passes before I make it home, check to see if he has…there’s money in the can.”

sons_of_desire

The waiting game began as the clock ticked, and finally, we could hear the sounds of Motown, Stax, Tamla, Atlanta, and Columbia, to name a few, in the distance. We would then make our way to the front porch to ensure we didn’t miss the purchase. Back in the day, Eddie 3 Way and Walt Boatner record trucks ruled the streets of Desire. Inching at a slow rate of speed (I can’t imagine today someone riding our pot-holed city streets in an open van sitting on a stool spinning 45s) with no skipped beats blaring from the speakers. 

“RECORD MAN!” “RECORD TRUCK!” “STOP!” Folks would line up, some with paper notes containing the 45s they wanted to purchase. Others were prepared to hum instrumentals. Then some would give a sampling of the vocals of a song they did not know the name of. Some that were unsure of themselves vocally would speak the lyrics. A sample was played, and the purchase was made. There was a sense of pride as you walked away with the coveted 45, and sometimes there was a bit of envy as that song could be heard from your home throughout the neighborhood. It was all fun because today was your day, and tomorrow would be someone else’s.  

top 45s

Later in the day, Mom would return from work, and when that 45 was handed over to her, we knew our evening would be filled with music. It was great when it was a 45 that was a 2-sided hit. Sides A & B would be alternated, as in the photo (Soul Brothers Top 20 List of January 29, 1970, courtesy of “JET Magazine”), “Going in Circles” by the Friends of Distinction was #1. The flip side was “Grazing in the Grass,” a hit that reminds me of my childhood summers and the record truck. 

Our home had an RCA High Fidelity Record Player with a record changer, so the new purchase was usually added to the stack of other recently purchased 45s with a few oldies but goodies added for good measure. Assignment completed. Mom was happy, and so were we. 

Leslie Smith Everage

#APLACECALLEDDESIRE

 

 

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The Ladies’ Tammany Social & Aid Club

Fourth Sunday of January

“Be it known, that on this sixth day of March, 1946…the name and title of said corporation shall be ‘THE LADIES’ TAMMANY SOCIAL AND AID CLUB.” From the Charter, Constitution and By-Laws as stated on page 1.

Momma’s Charter, Constitution, and By-Laws of The Ladies’ Tammany Social & Aid Club, Member’s Badge, and Memorial from the Times-Picayune April 1991.

Social Aid & Pleasure Clubs are an integral slice of African-American culture in New Orleans. These organizations were created for fellowship and for financial support to bury properly the free people of color and the deceased African slaves. Many currently know of the pleasure clubs “coming out” on any given Sunday from October to March. I “came out” with many elderly women, including Lettie “Momma” Jones Boseman, my grandmother, every fourth Sunday in January for over 30 years of my life. The Ladies’ of Tammany Social and Aid Club allowed me to enter into this culture each year through the anniversary service. Unlike the colorful outfits and umbrellas of the traditional second line members, the tools of trade for the Ladies’ of Tammany were bibles, their Sunday best attire, and hats, or crowns as I love to call them. Instead of celebrating in the streets of New Orleans, they praised God from the pews of churches throughout the city. Article XII-Section 2 states,” two years Baptist, third-year Methodist, and the same Church not under four years. Failing to attend each member shall be fine One Dollar ($1.00).” Our fourth Sunday in January took us all over the city to places of worship in our Community of Desire to far on the other side of town. As a youngster, I considered myself Catholic, Baptist, and Methodist because of these anniversary services and understood that God was the common denominator.

I relished that I got to spend the entire Sunday with Momma alone. Alone, that is, with a hundred or so other elderly ladies in their church finery. I inherited this date with Momma from my older cousin Iris after she became high school age. Before Iris, my youngest aunt Louvenia (Beanie) would be Momma’s companion. I was conveniently located around the corner, so I was summoned into duty. My oldest male cousin, Kenneth, began as our driver, and in later years, Devance III would take on the chauffeur job. It’s funny to think back at how Momma would give a time to pick us up because there was no guarantee the church office would be accessible to make a telephone call for a pickup. It’s incredible how she could calculate how long she believed the service would last by the minister that would be presiding. As I aged, married, and began driving, Momma would open her purse, which was always filled with peppermints for the service. She would hand me $2.00 to gas up the Chevette to get us to and from church. She, of course, insisted that I take it. I always assured her I would stop on my way home to purchase the gas. Back then, it was still ridiculous to ask for $2.00 worth of gas to fill up a car, even a compact Chevrolet Chevette. She was unaware of it, but I would just put the $2.00 in the collection when the “sisters” passed the basket around.

I was always so proud of Momma because she was such a cool servant of God during service. The preacher preached, the choir singing, and as the other members were falling out in the pews, somehow Momma never did. If she “got the spirit,” she was great knowing how to hold on to it. If you did not get anything out of the service spiritually to warm your soul, the snacks in the church’s kitchen surely warmed your stomach. I would sit in church wondering what goodies the old ladies of the refreshment committee were preparing. I would feel guilty as my thoughts left the minister’s preaching and landed in the kitchen. The aroma usually would find its way into the church, and it was challenging to stay focused. The pound cakes were always fantastic, and Momma always managed to sneak a piece into her pocketbook for later. It amazed me how fast she could wrap a piece of cake and slip it into her purse without anyone noticing.

Debra Smith and Tiffany Smith Williams visit Momma after attending church service at St. Philip the Apostle. On our way to the Ladies’ of Tammany Anniversary Service. Fourth Sunday of January 1981.

At the end of each fourth Sunday of January, Momma would always thank me and would speak of the following year’s anniversary service. I guess it was her way of informing me not to make any plans for that day. “If I am still around” was her favorite line. The first year she became ill, maybe two years before her death at the beautiful age of 87, was the first time we had missed Tammany. I am sure her membership spanned over 50 years, maybe more. The first, fourth Sunday of January, after she went on to glory, reality hit, and of course, that was the hardest one. This Sunday and quality time with my beloved grandmother had become routine for me for so many years. Lettie “Momma” Jones Boseman was a loyal and faithful member until her death. Momma and The Ladies” Auxiliary of Tammany and the fourth Sunday of January will live in my memory and heart forever.

#APLACECALLEDDESIRE

THE LADIES’ TAMMANY SOCIAL AND AID CLUB

 

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DESIRE PROUD – DESIRE STRONG

st philip the apostle catholic churchSome people may see a brick in this photo. I see many years of dedication, hope, dreams, love and determination. I often wonder what part did this brick play in the history of 3304 Metropolitan Street in the Desire Community. How many baptisms, confirmations, graduations, weddings and funerals have crossed its path? Was it near the cornerstone that held the beginning history of the church? Maybe it was a foundation brick that held up many other bricks, just like the many founding members of the parish. Which member of the parish actually prepared this brick to be layed? If its location was the rear of the structure, it saw many years of children growing, playing and learning together because it would have been in close proximity to St. Philip the Apostle Catholic School. This structure’s faith was met far before the demolition and death of the parish church.

St. Philip the Apostle’s Church

Originally, St. Philip the Apostle’s Church was not on the manifest to be demolished. I was telephoned by my eldest son whom was visiting the neighborhood to photograph it for history. Although we were New Orleans East residents, 3033 Metropolitan was a 2nd home to he and his brother. Every Sunday they could be found with other young members of the parish,  worshipping God or performing altar server duties. When he informed me that the church was being bulldozed as he spoke, I could hear the sorrow and disbelief in his voice. I immediately hung up the phone and called the Archdiocese’s main office. I was told that I had to be mistaken. St. Philip the Apostle had not been placed on the list for demolition. I was then put on a brief hold. When the office worker returned, she offered her condolences. The beautiful stained glass, the church’s cornerstone, and I’m certain items that were left inside the church, had all met its death that unfaithful day.

Upon relaying the information to my husband, he rushed over and confiscated several bricks for me and other members of our family. Although this object holds many memories for my family and I, I’ve learned over the years that the love and strength did not live in the brick and mortar of the church, but in the memories and hearts of all, both parishioners and non-parishoners, that were blessed to have crossed its threshold.

~Leslie Everage