Whaddaya mean it's over?

I was drifting along in a happy summer haze when I became aware of some disconcerting things. The figs were ripening -- which they never do until the end of August. About ten days ago, I was waiting for the bus to go grocery shopping. What were all these cars doing on the road? It was almost as bad as when the students are around. But they don’t get back until the end of August. Oh my! Did your summer go by as swiftly as mine?
This is a college town. Over 13000 people work directly for the University and numerous restaurants, bars and stores have a large number of student customers. So, though the weather may stay warm for a month or so longer, summer is officially over when the students come back. Those with apartments in town start drifting in one or two weeks before classes start but the day both anticipated and dreaded is Move-in Day, this year on August 22nd.

During one frenzied 12 hour period over 7000 students, most accompanied by several members of their family, converge on the two or three streets where the dorms are located. Special police are detailed to organize traffic; buses are detoured to avoid Grounds (as the Campus is called); smiling volunteers in bright orange T shirts serve 4 hour shifts to help unload cars and orient confused new students and their families; the local television station comes to interview people; the pep band plays.

This year’s Move-in Day seemed a little more subdued than I remember from other years, perhaps because of the hot muggy weather and the lunch time rain. But gradually and inevitably, what needed to be done got done and ,by Tuesday, the University was humming once more. That same day, the yellow school buses began transporting the City children to their schools too. Swimming pools, tennis courts and parks were left to the happy few. Now the strange period begins – no longer summer, not quite fall.
My own life has become unsettled. I’m trying to enjoy my last days in Charlottesville, while realizing that there won’t be time to do all the things I planned. I’m also spending an increasing amount of time e-mailing my friends in France to arrange September activities and meetings. I need a brain for here and a brain for there; a brain to enjoy now and a brain to anticipate then. It’s an uncomfortable time but I’m holding the thought that, like the students, before I know it, I’ll be launched, with happy memories, into my new season.

Long Hot Summer

Leading a double life doesn’t just mean drifting back and forth between two countries. You acquire cultural bifocals over the years. Sometimes, you are surprised by the passion inspired in one of your worlds to a government proposal. “Where’s the problem?” you say to yourself. “It’s already working like that elsewhere.” If you are brave enough to say it aloud, the response comes back swiftly: “It may be all right for them but it isn’t acceptable here.” You sit back in wonder and, sometimes, in sadness, a stranger in a strange land.
I’ve been experiencing this all summer as I listen to the debate about Health Care Reform. How can a country (my country) with an international reputation for pragmatism and problem-solving, not be able to find a better and cheaper solution?
To resume the situation for my non-American readers: President Obama wants health care reform before the end of the year. Many Democrats support him on this but have different ideas of how it should be done -- from gently tweaking the present system to changing to one similar to those Canada and Western Europe have been happily living with for up to 60 years. There may be some Republicans who support reform but the majority vary in attitude from sceptical and nervous to completely panicked at any change that has been proposed.
Like other elected officials, Tom Perriello, the congressman for the district that includes Charlottesville has been having meetings in different towns for the entire month of August. Last week, it was Charlottesville’s turn. I decided to go.
People started arriving an hour before to support their point of view.




The local television was there to cover the event.


By 6 p.m. the High School Auditorium was packed. The majority, as is normal in Democratic Charlottesville, were there to support their newly elected Congressman and some kind of health care reform.


Those who wanted to ask a question were positioned on either side of the auditorium


They had all come prepared and passionate. At times I was reminded of the film “Sicko” as citizen after citizen told personal stories of being denied coverage for serious illness or declaring personal bankruptcy because of medical bills. The few speakers for the other side asked legalistic questions such as “Where in the Constitution does it say that the government should provide health care?” or “Is health care a right or a service?” One lady told of her elderly parents in Canada who had to come back to the United States for care, having been denied it there. (I have been amazed all summer at the number of Republicans who have close friends and family members in Canada, all of whom have been denied coverage by the Canadian government, unlike my Canadian friends. Just unlucky I guess.)
I’m still searching for the irrefutable argument that will rally everyone to the logic of my point of view. And, when I find it, I just know I’ll be able to convince the French how easy it is to reform their university system. Wish me luck.

Summer Fun

About half a mile from my house is a neat, newly-renovated, low-income apartment complex called Blue Ridge Commons. Americorps runs an after school program and a summer program for the neighboring children in their Resident Center. The year-round volunteers are “Mr Mondo”, originally from the Congo and Melissa M, newly arrived in town from Jordan where she worked for the Peace Corps. A friend of mine, another Melissa, was a volunteer there for four months this spring and summer
The summer program takes place from Monday to Thursday afternoon. There is a story hour


followed by a snack. Then the volunteers plan a themed activity for an hour – or as long they can keep the children’s attention. Afterwards, they play outside in the new playground or go to the computer room.
I went with Melissa one afternoon to play with the kids. That week, their theme was music. They had written songs on the computer and made musical instruments during the week. I was going to sing with them. Monica, one of the residents, came that day, too, with her harmonica.
When I arrived, I said hello to Mr Mondo and Monica while Melissa got the snacks ready. Soon with a thunder of feet, ten kids aged from 3 to 13 came pelting down the stairs in a giggling mass. “This is Queen, this is Kiyah, this is Noureldin and Patrick and Abdellatif and Latifa……..” They grinned.
“Why don’t you start singing,” said Melissa as I was waiting, politely, for the children to finish their snack. “This is the quietest they’ll be!” So, I sang “Old MacDonald” The bigger kids sang with me and we all laughed at the crazy animal noises. I sang “Inky Pinky Spider” and “The Rainbow Song” which delighted all who knew the names of the colors. Then it was their turn. A stirring rendition of “Jinglebells” from one of the boys was followed by a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” from all and, after much hesitation, one of the girls sang a song she had written the day before -- safely hidden from view on the staircase.
Monica played a couple of lively tunes and we all got up and danced.


Eventually, one or two danced to the door and raced outside to the playground. Others followed and the musical activity was declared over.
The two Melissas went upstairs to the computer room with Patrick and Magali


I went outside with Mondo who was delighted to have someone to speak French to.


He told me about the tough life many of the kids had. About 60% of the residents are refugees from Rwanda, the Sudan, several other African countries and Myanmar. The others are African Americans, often looked after by their grandmother while the parents work or, more sadly, serve a term in prison. It’s easy to forget, when you see these giggling children at play, that they’ve already had more to deal with than most of us will ever experience. But, that sunny summer day, we shared a happy time. I wish them many more such days.

Charlottesville, too

Most of the people I see on the bus have different accents than my friends and I. Many wear uniforms as they travel to and from their jobs at the hospitals, the supermarkets or one of the fast food restaurants. One of their jobs, I should say. I sometimes chat to those I see regularly and learn that they are working two or three jobs.
There is more to Charlottesville than tourists and newcomers see. Census statistics report that 23.6 % of the population lives below the poverty line. (These statistics include the portion of the 21 000 students who live in the City and earn little – another proof that statistics never tell the whole story). But, if you look around, you can’t comfort yourself that the student population explains everything.
A large percentage of the people on the bus are African American. This community has a rich history in Charlottesville. In 1830 the population of Albemarle County was slightly over 50% black. After the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863, many rural blacks moved to towns like Charlottesville to find work. They found work but not acceptance. By the 1920’s, some had created thriving stores and businesses serving both black and white customers. Others worked for the railroads, the City, the University and the hospitals. But, nearly two more generations grew up before legal segregation came to an end in Charlottesville, as in the rest of Virginia -- not without pain. People my age and older lived through the years of Massive Resistance, when all city schools were closed for 5 years to prevent integration. When that was finally over, a vast “urban renewal” project razed the downtown neighborhood called Vinegar Hill where the black community had been established for years.

The annual African-American Cultural Arts Festival
Summer fun at Booker T.Washington Park

As has been true for years, some of Charlottesville's African Americans are highly educated professionals. The man who will probably be Charlottesville's next sheriff in campaign mode

Others have few skills and struggle to earn a living. Many, however, still occupy jobs similar to those their parents and grandparents held, chain stores and shopping malls have largely put an end to independent black businesses. All this history is well known and documented but not often discussed. Except for a few from each community, lives continue to be lived in courteous parallel.
In contrast, the story of the white bus riders in uniforms, jeans and T shirts. is less well-known. The studies I have found deal more with the textile mills where they used to work than with the people themselves. The neighborhoods where they used to live, and some still do, are being gentrified. Some have moved to trailer parks in or near the City. Others have moved further into the county to find affordable housing. I suspect that among this population, as among the African American community, there are more “From Heres” than there are “Come Heres” like me. Finding out would be a summer research project. But summer’s nearly over. In the meantime, I see them; I smile at them; they come to my house to clean, to paint, and to fix leaky pipes and broken locks. But I don’t really know them.

The City of Charlottesville

When people first meet you here, you are often asked « Do you live in the City or the County? » I used to smile. “Paris is a city.” I thought. “New York is a city.” How could a tree-filled community of 44,000 inhabitants and few buildings higher than three storeys be a city? And why was Albemarle County, which completely surrounds Charlottesville, always called simply The County? Inter-culturalists know that when something seems strange to you but is obviously important to others, it is something significant. I listened and learned.
In colonial times, settled land was divided into counties. Each county had a town with a courthouse an easy day’s ride from its farms and estates. (Note that in France, towns and villages grew up around chateaux and churches. In colonial America, towns grew up around courthouses. I leave you to draw the cultural conclusion.) As areas were settled, new counties were created. Thus, in 1744 Albemarle County came into existence with Scott’s Landing as its county seat.
By 1762, the population had settled west and south of Scott’s Landing. Getting there took too long. So, Charlottesville was founded with a new courthouse -- still in use today after several renovations and extensions



Scott’s Landing (now Scottsville) still exists, a village of 550 people -- how the mighty have fallen.
Communities in Virginia can choose to be chartered, independent entities. No matter what its size, if a community is chartered or “incorporated”, it is a city. Charlottesville was incorporated in 1888. It is still the county seat of Albemarle County but it is no longer IN Albemarle County. Got that? It took me years to figure it out.
History also explains why, for such a relatively small community, there is so much traffic. From its inception, Charlottesville was a service community. People came here from their homes in The County to shop, to have fun, to visit their doctor or their lawyers. Residents of The City were mostly merchants, inn-keepers and medical and legal advisors.

Watchmaker's shop and residence from early 1800's

After Mr Jefferson’s University opened in 1825, there were also professors. Today, Albemarle County and other, further away counties, have their own communities, subdivisions and shopping malls as well as farms and estates. But the County people still come to Charlottesville to shop, to have fun and to visit their doctors and lawyers. And to work. If Thomas Jefferson came back to Charlottesville today, he would not be surprised to see his thriving University, and all the doctor’s offices, courthouses, shops, restaurants, theatres and hotels within The City. But he might be startled to know that a number of their owners and employees came in every day from The County, thus enjoying serene country life as well as the stimulation of The City.

Going home to The County

Charlottesville Roots

Some of you know Charlottesville better than I do, some only vaguely and some not at all. So, I decided to do a post telling you what I’ve discovered during the time I've spent here. Upon reflection, I’ll need to do several posts. I’ve been mulling these things over for 25 years and even with stringent editing, there’s too much to say for just one.
A local friend told me recently “When Northerners come to Charlottesville they think they are in the South. When Southerners come, they think they are in the North.” A light bulb went off in my head. I'd finally found the answer to something I’d been vaguely puzzled by for years. Is Charlottesville really a southern town?
It is certainly proud of its southern history:
•of Jack Jouett, the Paul Revere of the South, who rode to warn Thomas Jefferson and the Virginia Legislature that the British were coming on June 3, 1781.
•of Mr Jefferson. His name and influence are everywhere though he never lived in Charlottesville itself.
•of James Madison and James Monroe, Mr Jefferson’s friends and fellow Virginia- born Presidents. They are remembered fondly, too, though not with the reverence given their elder.

City Hall

The Civil War is acknowledged here, although not trumpeted. The Daughters of the Confederacy had a prominent monument erected about a hundred years ago

and Lee Park, where black and white residents now eat their lunch on sunny days, was not named after Bruce.

Robert E. Lee surveys his park.

But where are the gentlefolk sipping iced tea on their front porches and reminiscing about what things were like “in granddaddy’s day”?
My circle of friends here includes people from, England, California, Minnesota, Ohio, New York, New Jersey, Illinois, Texas, Oregon, Iowa, Maryland and North Carolina. – at least the last two are in the South!
The Mayor moved to Charlottesville only 15 years ago. He was born in Virginia but northern Virginia (which is not Virginia at all to some). And, he graduated from High School in Germany and got his B.A. in Massachusetts before coming here.
One of the City Council members is a Sikh from India. A great guy but hardly a “Virginia gentleman”.
Many of my friends ( as well as the Mayor and City Councilman) have this in common – they arrived in Charlottesville as young adults. They raised families here -- and almost all of their kids moved away when they grew up, leaving their transplanted parents as proud Charlottesvillians. Charlottesvillians but not Virginians. People with the roots they had given themselves. Like me.