A Word About Historic Preservation

The other night the wife and I were watching one of the learning channels. The show was a telling of events that made 1968 a year of overturning change in our country. We were born in the late fifties and recall the time as kids.
I recall I could hop on the bus at the stop in front of our house and, for seven cents, be downtown in minutes. I remember, prior to 1968, riding the bus downtown with Grandmother, wearing her white gloves, and shopping. The sidewalks were full of all kinds of people and Main Street had an endless procession of cars and trucks. I remember a large Coca Cola sign painted on the side of a building. Coke came in returnable bottles and cost a nickel. "The Pause that Refreshes." I loved going into the Woolworth store with it's squeaky wood floor, the lunch counter and the smell of fresh popcorn. I loved going into the Blass department store. The toy department was on the third floor. It was glamorous. It was romantic.
Sometimes on summer mornings I would jump on the bus and run downtown. I would show up at my Mother's office in time to have lunch with her at some neat lunch spot. My favorite was the cafe in the Blass mezzanine. They had these little glass pitchers for coffee cream. Sometimes she would give me a dollar and on the way home I would get off the bus in the Heights and get myself a matchbox car at the Heights Variety store.
I did not know much about events then. The Mall opened in west Little Rock with that enormous parking lot and it seemed that overnight the life of Downtown died. Some of the stores hung on for a few years but the blight came as surely as the sunsets in the west.
I had my first taste of the Preservation movement when I moved into my first apartment in an old house downtown. What had once been a proud neighborhood was then a dark and dangerous place. One day my landlady asked me if I knew how to paint. Of course I said I could. I had no money. I found out that people in the district had organized to preserve significant properties. I saw that restoring an old Victorian house was an enormous and costly project. I moved on to seek my place in the world and now after long years I have come full circle.
My wife and I knew each other in High School. We met up again, by chance, about two years ago and fell in love. We have a blended family in this old house. Life has been hectic lately so she and I made our way back to the hole in the wall where we had our first date. Over a meal of fried oysters and beer we had opportunity to reminisce.
I have gotten a degree of mastery in my trade and I understand that Historic Preservation is not about bringing back a time when Father knew best to segregate. The work of restoration we do is to demolish the dark degradation that took over the old town. We tear out the rotten members and restore sound ones. Preservation is about preserving a decent society of all stripes and colors based on the Articles which incorporate us all. What decent person does not desire safe streets to walk? Who would not want to be treated with respect and recognized as a neighbor in the places where they live and abide?
Restoration means bringing light and pushing out the darkness of decay. Sometimes the work is hard and hazardous. We get our hands dirty. Sometimes it seems as though there is no way to proceed. There's not enough money or resources. People don't show for work. Someone gets hurt. The painter's drunk and on and on. Having that American Ideal firmly in mind and a heartfelt burning desire keeps us working and planning and moving forward. The work will never be done.