Tell me about your neighborhood . . .

"Our neighborhood arose upon a vision.

 "Unlike most neighborhoods in New York that simply evolved willy-nilly, where a few immigrant families established a foothold and others of similar race, religion, or ethnicity followed -- only to yet again have the environment metamorphize when economic conditions shifted and another wave of different faces speaking different languages appeared -- our neighborhood was truly the first intentional com...munity in the five boroughs. The vision of the Amalgamated Housing Cooperative was simple and profound: create affordable housing that was cooperatively owned and democratically managed. . . .

 "Led by the Secretary-Treasurer of the ACWA's credit union, Abraham E. Kazan, and supported by Sidney Hillman, President of the ACWA -- as well as by people gathered around "Forverts" ("The Forward," a Yiddish-language daily newspaper) -- a sparsely populated region of the north Bronx became a living field of dreams. It seemed only fitting that the formation of the Amalgamated Housing Cooperative in 1927 (referred to simply as "The Amalgamated"), was inspired by the Rochdale Society of Equitable Pioneers in Rochdale, England, the birthplace of the modern cooperative movement in 1844. Rochdale was England's center for the burgeoning textile and weaving industry; therefore, what better models for the ACWA visionaries than these original "cooperators," these kinsman-by-trade. . . . It was as if simultaneous with the first groundbreaking, the seeds of a modern Rochdale were also sown, providing these earliest cooperative pioneers, now settling in the Bronx, with a root system that would blossom and guide them and this nascent community across the twentieth century. Both the tangibles and intangibles within their founding principles provided the cornerstone and the scaffolding for this project: voluntary and open membership; democratic governance; surpluses belonging to cooperative members; no social or political discrimination; education of members and the public in the cooperative movement; cooperation with other cooperatives; and care for the community. It was impossible to live in our neighborhood without both touching and being touched by this progressive and communal spirit that seemed to be everywhere." ("The Rail," Chapter 3, "The Neighborhood -- Oasis in Brick").

"The Rail" Heads to California

Hello One & All:

In less than two weeks -- the weekend of August 6-7 -- I will be in the San Francisco Bay Area to read and sign my book, The Rail: What Was Really Doin' in the 60's Bronx.

On Saturday, August 6, at 7:00 p.m., I will be at Copperfield's Books in Petaluma, CA (140 Kentucky Street).

On Sunday, August 7, at 1:00 p.m., I will be at Book Passage in Corte Madera, CA (51 Tamal Vista Blvd.). http://www.bookpassage.com/event/tommy-donovan-rail

Come one, come all! Spread the word! I can't wait to see you all!

Music to My Ears

"On that jaw-dropping night, even the usual stolid and conservative energy that normally permeated our living room whenever the television was on was no match for The Beatles. We all sat there stunned. My mother and grandmother, slowly shaking their heads in a silent disapproval of what they were beholding; my sister, simply happy to be there at all, bobbing her head to the music. Me? I was completely blown away, like Moses being handed the Ten Commandments by a transcendent... entity. . . . Each song that night shot through my veins with a jolt. First, I watched as "All My Loving" wrapped its words around the hearts of every girl in the audience and I wordlessly joined them in their screaming. Next, the lover's serenade, "Till There Was You," made romance suddenly palatable to by budding, confused teenage self. The final song in the first set was "She Love You," and that brought down the house. Even with a commercial break and the rest of Ed Sullivan's guests, I barely recovered by the time the second set commenced. When "I Saw Her Standing There," burst forth, I had to control myself from leaping to my feet and dancing up the walls and across the ceiling of my living room. When The Beatles signed off with "I Want to Hold Your Hand," I was smitten beyond belief.

 "As I looked around at the faces of my family members, I knew in that moment I wasn't really a part of them. I felt like my world had just been shattered open while their world had slammed shut as a result of their shock and rejection of what we had all witnessed. Beyond explanation and beyond my conscious awareness it felt like a path, vibrating with colorful paisley, had suddenly diverged from the drab and sepia road being offered by my family's values" ("The Rail," Chapter 13, 'Music to My Ears").

Bronx Interview About My New Book, "The Rail."

Here is the link for my first television interview about my book, The Rail: What was Really Doin' in the 60s Bronx. Please comment, if so moved.


http://bronxnet.org/tv/open/360-open-featured-interviews/7639-the-rail

The Long & Winding Road

Greetings, Everyone:

It's been a while since I last scribed this blog. Things are moving fast with The Rail. Last week I drove to Los Angeles to pick up 1,500 copies of the book. Now, this coming Monday, I will drive to my old neighborhood in The Bronx to do my first book reading and book signing. Wow! I can hardly believe it. Who would've thunk?

There is nothing like a road trip to allow the mind flights of freedom, unfettered imagination, retrospective clarity. Even more fantastic is a road trip back home. Despite Thomas Wolfe's novel, titled, You Can't Go Home Again, I intend to do just that. I intend to do it as an act of remembering, celebrating, and honoring my formative roots. 

Oddly, I have less nostalgia for the past this time around. Or, perhaps it's better described as nostalgia for the future. What I mean is that I've taken the lessons of my coming-of-age and have applied them to my life as I am living it. Mostly it has been the power of community, the durability of initiatory experiences, and the resiliency of friendships forged so long ago. 

The long and winding road beckons from one chapter of life, back to another, and then back again. I am deeply grateful, humbled, and excited.     

The Soil that Grows a Neighborhood

[Greetings One & All. I trust your Memorial Day weekend was restorative. I've been feeling the pull of the old neighborhood as my date with Vladeck Hall draws closer. Below is an excerpt from my memoir, The Rail: What was Really Doin' in the 60's Bronx. I hope it inspires memories from your own neighborhood experiences, wherever you grew up Enjoy. Tommy]

 

 

Our neighborhood arose upon a vision.

Unlike most neighborhoods in New York that simply evolved willy-nilly, where a few immigrant families established a foothold and others of similar race, religion, or ethnicity followed – only to yet again have the environment metamorphize when economic conditions shifted and another wave of different faces speaking different languages appeared – our neighborhood was truly the first intentional community in the five boroughs. The vision of the Amalgamated Housing Cooperative was simple and profound: create affordable housing that was cooperatively owned and democratically managed.

The post-World War I period was marked by droves of returning veterans and thousands fleeing war-ravaged Europe. These conditions impacted all of New York City, especially in the poorer neighborhoods, spawning a severe housing shortage that initiated, and was in turn fueled by, rapacious speculation. The nightmare slums of the Lower East Side, the capriciousness of avaricious landlords, and the grim impossibility of ever being able to afford the exorbitant costs of moving to a nicer neighborhood (much less buying a home of one’s own), drove the mostly Jewish members of the Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America (ACWA) clustered in this area to demand a different world; they looked to their labor associations for its realization. As a result, the housing issue was a central topic at the ACWA’s 1924 convention.

   Led by the Secretary-Treasurer of the ACWA’s credit union, Abraham E. Kazan, and supported by Sidney Hillman, President of the ACWA – as well as by people gathered around Forverts (The Forward, a Yiddish-language daily newspaper) – a sparsely populated region of the north Bronx became a living field of dreams. It seemed only fitting that the formation of the Amalgamated Housing Cooperative in 1927 (referred to simply as “The Amalgamated”), was inspired by The Rochdale Society of Equitable Pioneers in Rochdale, England, the birthplace of the modern cooperative movement in 1844. Rochdale was England’s center for the burgeoning textile and weaving industry; therefore, what better models for the ACWA visionaries than these original “cooperators,” these kinsmen-by-trade. Further, the spirit of the founding Rochdale Principles permeated the imaginations of these modern men, especially the visionary Abraham Kazan who led the cooperative housing revolution in New York – transforming these Bronx hinterlands into the nation’s first cooperative project. It was as if simultaneous with the first groundbreaking, the seeds of a modern Rochdale were also sown, providing these earliest cooperative pioneers, now settling the Bronx, with a root system that would blossom and guide them and this nascent community across the twentieth century. Both the tangibles and intangibles within their founding principles provided the cornerstone and the scaffolding for this project: voluntary and open membership; democratic governance; surpluses belonging to cooperative members; no social or political discrimination; education of members and the public in the cooperative movement; cooperation with other cooperatives; and care for the community. It was impossible to live in our neighborhood without both touching and being touched by this progressive and communal spirit that seemed to be everywhere.

The Complexty of Community

Greetings One & All:

As you can imagine, the writing of my memoir sent me into long reveries about the nature of community. What I tried to convey in my story is encapsulated in a quote I used by M. Scott Peck:

"When I am with a group of human beings committed to hanging in there through both the agony and joy of community, I have a dim sense that I am participating in a phenomenon for which there is only one word . . . glory."

I am struck by the words "agony" and "joy" paired in this quote. For I know deeply that this truly defines the roiling alchemy that is the communal vessel. It most certainly describes the way I grew up in the Bronx. The truth of the matter is that while many blossomed in the soil of our  neighborhood, others felt alienated, bullied, un-seen and un-heard; when it came time to organize a neighborhood reunion in 2003, it was these folks whose absence was felt acutely.

And yet, is this not what community means? Is it not a place, where especially as children, we seek -- mainly by way of social Braille -- places of safety and adventure? Is growing up not a process of groping our way into discovery and revelation of what draws us close and what repels us? Could this process be any other way than a combination of agony and joy? Would we want it any other way?

When I was growing up, we swarmed with feral innocence across our environment and amongst each other. Like stones in an onrushing stream, tumbling and bumping and spinning over and into each other, we stone-washed our bodies, minds, and spirits in ways that seem all but lost in these over-protected times. There was hardly an adult in sight, only neighbors who periodically intervened to help us draw a boundary. And this was how resiliency was birthed. Even those who found more agony than joy in our neighborhood experience, I am willing to bet, fashioned their own resiliency with which to navigate the world they grew into beyond the neighborhood.

In scribing my memoir, I have looked at the gem of my neighborhood, my community. I have turned it to and fro, examining it's many facets. Amidst the agony and the joy -- nay, as a direct result of this complexity -- I tapped into an enormous well-spring of gratitude for the people and the place that honed me into the person I am today. 

There is much to remember. There is much to learn. And, there is much to cherish.