September 27, 2007 Issue
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Classified Chestnut Hill Local Don't Miss an Issue, Tell us what you see or Winner of Two |
Opinion
It’s a real world out there The half-page vertical spot featured a young woman sitting with a plate on her lap and a straw to her nose. The plate has several lines of cocaine, one of which has just been inhaled by with a straw. The text of the ad includes the sentence “Losing her in a grocery store when she was 5 is nothing compared to this.” The paper received a couple complaints about the ad, one of which was delivered in person by a businessman who shook my hand, demanded to know why I would include such an ad in a community paper that his six-year-old had access to (even though editors, including this one, do not select ads) and then, when I failed to show any signs of contrition, warned me to “be careful” on his way out the door. As a parent I can understand irrational behavior. Parental instinct is to protect our children from threats both real and perceived. We don’t look forward to discussing the stark realties of the real world when they inevitably come calling, whether it’s through the evening news, the newspaper, or a walk down a local street. But the reality is that the world we live in is one full of harsh realities that require confrontation. The ad, purchased by Caron, a drug treatment facility headquartered in Wernersville, was an attempt by those well acquainted with the reality of drug abuse, to get people to confront it. When I spoke to Missy Orlando, Caron’s Executive Vice President of Corporate Planning and Communication, Monday, she said she was pleased the ad was noticed and was not concerned about the complaints at all. The same ads were placed in the West Chester Daily Local, the Main Line Times and a TV spot based on the print ad is set to run three days a week during the midday television programs Ellen and Oprah. The Local was chosen because, Orlando said, although there is not higher drug use in affluent neighborhoods, a majority of Caron’s patients come from affluent neighborhoods like Chestnut Hill. “I’m happy the ad was noticed. We want people to confront the reality,” Orlando said. “One of the things we know is that it is not an easy decision for parents to decide to seek treatment. It takes a crisis, which is what the ad depicts. It’s not pretty, but that’s the reality.” Orlando said another thing driving the ad campaign is that 90 percent of the time, woman are the ones who make the decision to seek help for their children or family member. The Local, like many community newspapers is read predominantly by women. “We want women to know the problem exists and that there is help available,” Orlando said. I know parents out there are not eager to talk about drug use with their children, but if a child is old enough to ask a question, he or she is probably old enough to discuss it. According to the National Survey on Drug Use and Health, a government study conducted in 2002, 4.2 percent of children had tried illicit drugs by the time they were 13. By age 17, the percent that had used illicit drugs was 19.8 percent. Drug use is real and children are exposed to drugs, sometimes at an incredibly young age. Isn’t it better to talk about it now than when it’s too late?
Opinion: Job creation for the people of the 8th District There are four major opportunities to create jobs for the people of the 8th District. These include: *Growing our small business district *Creating Public Service/ Works Jobs Corps *Making the 8th District a tourist destination *Assisting the City of Philadelphia in becoming a world class city Growing our small business district: Germantown Avenue between Broad Street and Chestnut Hill College may be one of Philadelphia’s most unrealized assets. Germantown Avenue is the backbone of the district and can be a strong economic engine for our district and the City. With the right balance of incentives and a good land use plan, both local investors and investors from outside the district could accelerate small business development. Success on Germantown Avenue will create collateral opportunities on Chelten Avenue and support the growth of Ogontz Avenue. This creates more local jobs. Create a Public Service/Works Jobs Corps. We need jobs and job training, for young people, the chronically unemployed, ex-offenders returning to our streets, heads of households, and immigrants who don’t speak English. Fulfilling this need requires creation of a public service/public works Jobs Corps, to repair roads, bridges and homes, and to provide help in the wide range of social institutions where our very young, our very old, and our sick and disabled, need additional support. This is a citywide program that must provide a fair share of slots for 8th District residents Make the 8th District a tourist destination: The 8th district is a “historical mecca.” It is historically and culturally significant, not only to Philadelphia, but to all of America. But we have not fully shared with the world our “historical account.” For example, the role of Philadelphia and the greater Germantown area in the Revolutionary War, the Underground Railroad and the city’s architectural history. Furthermore, if we create a culture of security; upgrade our transportation system; add entertainment venues, bed and breakfasts, hostels, and small hotels; learn to greet our neighbors and guests with a word of welcome and peace, we can transform Germantown Avenue into a highly desirable visitor’s destination. And when you add the museums, arboretum, shops, book stores, libraries, colleges and universities, etc. that tourism can generate, repeats visits become quite possible. Assist the City of Philadelphia in becoming a world class city: Whatever plan we implement to build prosperity in our district must complement our goal of building Philadelphia into a world class city. A world class city brings living wage employment. A world class city brings new investments. A world class city brings new opportunities for the long term welfare of its citizens and the growth of its economy. Rev. Jesse Brown is an independent candidate for 8th District Councilperson.
Opinion: Promoting business health Per square mile, Chestnut Hill undoubtedly boasts one of the greatest number of community-related organizations in the nation. CHCA, CHBA, CHPF, CHBID — it is difficult not to get lost in the acronyms. While each of these organizations has a different mission and focus, they share a common concern — the enhancement of the general welfare and environment of the Germantown Avenue commercial district. For example, the Chestnut Hill Business Association is the marketing arm of the retail community. The Chestnut Hill Business Improvement District, on the other hand, is concerned with caring for and improving the infrastructure of the Avenue. Together both organizations promote the over-all health of the commercial district. The Chestnut Hill Business Improvement District (BID) was formed by ordinance of Philadelphia City Council under authority granted by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania’s Community Economic Improvement Act. Like the Center City District, the BID is a quasi-municipal authority charged with supplementing services provided by the City. Unlike other Chestnut Hill organizations, membership in the BID is not voluntary (although its formation was authorized by a majority of property owners). If a landlord owns commercial property within the designated BID boundaries, that landlord is obligated to pay a “tax” based on the assessed value of his/her property. Tax monies, as well as funds raised through grants and BID-sponsored events, go towards addressing specific “bricks and mortar” needs of the commercial district. Since its inception in April 2005, the BID has been responsible for financing the following: the paving of three Chestnut Hill Parking Foundation lots, the installing of an automated gate for another Parking Foundation lot, the planting of 32 new trees on the Avenue, the pruning of existing trees, the hiring of extra security personnel during the holiday shopping season, the purchase and installation of five security cameras as suggested by the Philadelphia Police Department, and the daily cleaning and maintenance program for Germantown Avenue. Through its relationship with City and State officials, the BID has ensured that our cobblestone streets are repaired and our pedestrian crosswalks are clearly marked. With the help of other community organizations, the BID has decorated the Avenue with greens and lights for the winter and flower baskets and barrels for the summer. The development and implementation of a much-needed new signage program is well underway. The BID has raised more than $85,000 through grants and, thanks to AbZOOlutely Chestnut Hill, Germantown Avenue was alive with fanciful animals whose auctioning-off brought in an additional $78,000. (AbZOOlutely II is slated for Fall ’08.) To keep costs down, the BID shares staffing with the CHBA. Decisions are made by an elected board of representative landlords — large and small and from all sections of the Avenue. In addition, certain Chestnut Hill organizations have representation on the board. With this breadth of community representation, the BID can put forth a coordinated, planned approach to maintaining the physical well-being of the Avenue, which is certainly more effective than the ad hoc, hit-or-miss approach of each property owner acting (or not acting) on his or her own. History has shown that city, state and federal agencies generally are more responsive to such a cooperative effort, both in providing services and in awarding grant monies. With each goal we achieve we demonstrate that these monies are well-spent, and increase the likelihood that more will follow. The BID cannot single-handedly revitalize the Germantown Avenue commercial district. But the board of the BID strongly believes that a clean, attractive, tree-lined Avenue helps to attract new businesses and shoppers. Newly-paved, well designated parking lots, as well as secure pedestrian walkways, are additional plusses. With the BID concentrating on such “bricks and mortar” projects, other Chestnut Hill acronyms can concentrate on their special missions and, in a true spirit of cooperation, we can together enjoy a vibrant, economically healthy Germantown Avenue. Greenberg is the president of the Chestnut Hill BID.
Trapped in a bookshop At the end of each day I’d flip the “Closed” sign and turn out all the lights except the one in the back room where I wrote. From outside, the shop looked uninhabited. One Friday night, after I finished writing, I turned off the back room light and realized night had come. I had to pause to let my eyes adjust to the darkness before walking out through the clutter. In that second’s pause, I saw that someone was on the doorstep, going through the FREE books outside. Looked like a man. I hesitated. I hated that scenario. Some poor guy or gal is going through the books in the dark, looking for something to read, or hoping to find the Rosebud book of their youth, and suddenly, and without warning, I’ve soundlessly crept up to the door and: Thrown The Lights On! Aha, caught you! Not the feeling I was trying to promote. In fact I was promoting nothing. I simply could not throw away a book and was lucky enough to have a doorstep and a handmade sign that said FREE. If I did snap on the lights, the night browsers looked up like wildlife at a midnight salt lick. That’s when my drab life got interesting, because I didn’t know what kind of eyes would blink back at me from the book pile. If I’d disturbed a mouse, then I’d feel as sorry as Robert Burns when he turned up a mouse nest with his plough: I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion Has broken Nature’s social union An’ justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, And fellow-mortal. But if it’s a wolf, I’ve just thrown the lights on myself. It is I who will feel like running away, “a panic in my breastie.” Tough call. Turn the lights on, I’ve either embarrassed some book lover, or I’ve exposed myself to one of the things that could bump me in the night. I decide to wait it out in the darkness of the shop. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Gutless. I don’t mind. What’s another few minutes if it’s linked to life extension? But, I was also tired, hungry, and anxious to get home and see my family and the person on my doorstep seemed bent on lingering. I walked through the shop and neared the door, where the light switch is, when I heard him talking. Something in the tone of his voice stopped me. He sounded angry. There was no other exit from the shop than the front door. I’d wait another minute for him to leave. I walked around to my desk near the window, figuring I could close out the credit card machine using the available light from the street lamp. Whoever was outside had propped a bike against the doorway and had a long, unkempt beard. The frame of the doorway kept me from seeing more, but it also blocked him from seeing me. He kept up a steady stream of conversation, not angry anymore. Oh, I thought, he’s on his cell phone, that’s why he was talking. He’ll finish browsing and talking and ride off in a minute. Sort of hiding in the dark, no longer in fear, but feeling I’d look strange prowling around my own shop in the dark, I hunched over the credit card machine. I hit the keys. Click, click, click, “Enter.” The printer kicked in, making what sounded under the circumstances like an enormous racket. “Who’s there?” the voice from the doorstep demanded. I froze. “Mumble, mumble, mumble, angry mumble.” I saw he didn’t have a cell phone. He’d been talking to himself. Not good. How I wish I had a back door. The streets were deserted. The man pressed his face against the glass of the door, trying to see in. “There’s a time to live and a time to die,” he roared. Oh oh. I eased to the back of the shop, taking advantage of the angled shadows, and stood in the backroom’s doorway, partly shielded by a chin-high bookcase. I could see him, but he couldn’t see me. He began walking back and forth across the front of the store, like a zoo animal, never taking his eyes off the interior. He was angry. Something threatening him lurked inside this place. Something was watching him. He was now hunting for what he felt had been stalking him. I never felt so much in my life like a small animal, down in a hole, listening to heavy snuffling above, waiting to feel the earth above me getting pawed away. He put his face against the glass (glass! — an eighth of an inch!), his hands cupping his eyes so he could see better. “There’s a time to live and a time to die,” he crowed again, laughing at the wonderful, hideous truth of his declaration. Whose time though? His, because he was willing to risk attacking his enemy? Or mine, because I’d put out milk for the kittie-cat and managed to attract a golem? I felt my cell phone in my pocket. Two questions: How much time do I give this drama before I seek help? Who do I call? The time element? Well, if he doesn’t try to break in, I’ll wait him out. He hasn’t seen me, I’m guessing, because he hasn’t said anything like, “I see you.” Or,“Come outta there, you varmint.” He merely suspects I’m here. I’m counting on his being the kind of guy who suspects lots of things that aren’t there. And even though he is, technically, right this time, I’m hoping he says, “Silly me,” and gives up. But if I’m wrong, if the siege goes on “too long,” or he tries to break in, I’ll call 911. But what do I say? I start working on the wording of my cry for help. These 911 tapes get played on the news. As a bookman, I have a certain obligation to provide a coherent, perhaps even eloquent, sound bite for TV. And then … I’m not sure, but I think I haven’t heard him for a … second? minute? I lean out beyond the bookcase, looking at the front door. I don’t see him. He may be laying a trap. I wait a little longer and then walk stealthily forward. I don’t see the bike in the doorway. Still in the dark, I open the door, bracing my foot against the bottom in case he rushes me. Nothing. I step partly out and look up the block. Deserted. Far up the street, passing OMC Church, a man walks a bicycle, away from me. I lock the door and cross the street to my car. As I pull away, I am feeling like Wally Shawn at the end of My Dinner With Andre: I’m grateful to be going home to my square life in a warm, well-lit house, to my loving wife and son. I’ll eat dinner and have a drink. Maybe we’ll watch the DVD I rented. Then we’ll read for a while. I like the book I’m reading now. Tomorrow I’ll open the shop again and hope to sell some books. And after work I’ll write again, but be careful about the time and leave before dark. Only, Wally Shawn, riding a cab home, looking out at the streets of New York at night, was really looking forward to telling his girlfriend, Debbie, all about the time he spent with Andre. I don’t think I can tell my story tonight in an amused way. I’m still shook, so I’ll hold off for a while. In the meanwhile, I feel in my heart a version of The Merchant’s Prayer: “Thank You Dear Lord for not sending anyone to rob, shoot, or stab me because I run a public business in the city.” Amen. But Wait — THE SEQUEL … Seldom is a man so blessed: The next day, I opened the door at one point and stepped outside for some air just as a tall, bearded guy dressed as “a street person” walked up and said, “Hi, any new ones today?” Same beard shape and body build. No bike. “Yeah, some new ones today,” I said. “Man, I couldn’t believe my luck last night,” he said, “actually finding a Wallace Stevens book. With the complete poems. Amazing, man.” He was missing a few display teeth and his drawn-back eyelids showed the fervor he lived with. I said, “I was hoping someone who appreciated him would find that book.” “Appreciate him?” he said, starting the wind up for a long speech. I felt like asking for a forensic voice sample on the line, “There’s a time to live and a time to die,” but I knew without asking. “Appreciate Wallace Stevens?” he said, “Why he grew up on Fifth Street, North Fifth Street, in Reading. I used to deliver the paper to that house. He wasn’t there any more, he lived in Connecticut by then, but still it was an honor. His house is still there. That was the first famous person I ever crossed paths with, so to speak, but not the last. Then there was …” “He was from Reading?” I said, dubious. “Yeah, Reading. Went to Reading High School. Yeah, he was from Reading.” Well, live and learn, huh? I listened for a while. I had to come off the doorstep because he was upwind and smelled like a subway tunnel. As he talked, I was thinking, Where’d you come from, buddy? Everybody is some mother’s child. How did your mother’s baby boy come to gather books from my doorstep by day and return to look for demons through my windows at night? He sure seemed like a motherless child right now, hungry to be listened to. I felt sorry for him. After a while, I said, “I’ve got to get back to work. Take it easy.” “Okay, thanks for the books, “ he said, “And, uh, I’m Marty* by the way.” He offered his hand. We shook. He left, carrying today’s FREE book — Will Durant’s The Story of Philosophy, Volume four. Sequel to the sequel: Yes, I googled Wallace Stevens: 323 North Fifth Street, Reading Pennsylvania, 1879. Reading Public High School. *Obviously not his real name. Hugh can be reached at gilmorebooks@yahoo.com. A version of this story appeared on www.chnotebook.blogspot.com.
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