Published by Michael in The neighborhood on May 13, 2009 at 9:21 am
After a full year in my work neighbor of Over the Rhine, I have slowly become attuned to the music of the neighborhood. Most days, there is a cacophony of overlapping musical sounds coming from sources throughout the neighborhood. It took me a while to unravel the musical rope into individual threads.
On the weekends, I can fix my location on the Market area by triangulating the relative volume of the music. I know the older gentleman wearing a bowler and tie sings and plays the blues on his old guitar and portable amplifier at the east end of the Market House. There is the dreadlocked drummer playing his bongo on the north side of the Market near the center. With great frequency, there is a teenage saxophonist or violin player raising money for a trip or college tuition.
Daily, the little store on the south side of Elder Street plays R&B and 60′s Motown on a bookshelf stereo sitting in its doorway. I often walk past, then find myself singing or whistling the song that was playing. The owners occasionally fool me and play a selection of rap or hip-hop music, something I don’t recognize.
Young men walk along the streets, reciting rap lyrics from memory. Often, friends join in for an impromptu duo or trio.
Passing cars announce their presence with the rattle of license plates and sheet metal. The drivers play urban music at ear splitting volumes, the trunk mounted subwoofers shaking the cars apart. In moderate weather, open windows pour the booming bass and harsh lyrics over the streets at traffic lights.
I can divine Joe Tucker’s mood the second I push open the door at Tucker’s. Most days, the restaurant stereo is tuned to the classical music station. On days when he needs to pick up the pace at his grill, classic rock music fills the small space.
Early this morning I heard for the first time musical sounds that were new to me. As I walked around the corner onto Race Street, I perked my ears to soft sounds of classical music. I looked around for a car with open windows, but at that hour, there were no cars on the street. As I walked south on Race, the sounds became louder, eventually coalescing into Beethoven. At the corner of Green Street, the music was loud, very, very loud. I looked around for the source and saw only closed windows, then walked up and down the street, my eyes turned upward. Eventually, I identified an apartment above the little market and check cashing store as the source. When I walked past 40 or so minutes later, the resident was playing a Bach trumpet piece at a somewhat more moderate volume.
Had I missed hearing something that has been there all along, in this place a dozen or so feet from last week’s drive-by? Is there a new resident in this building?
Published by Michael in The neighborhood on January 14, 2009 at 10:15 am
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Although I have been around Over the Rhine as a guest, visitor and shopper for many years, I have been operating Just Cured from the neighborhood for just under a year now.† As a result, I am still becoming attuned to the changes in sights, sounds and smells of the area as the seasons change.† Regular readers of my musings on this blog will also understand my affinity for the neighborhood when all is quiet.
This morning, I walked the streets around Findlay Market shortly after daybreak and in a light drizzle.† The low overcast provided a diffused light, and the rain put the landscape into soft focus.† The rain evidently encouraged people to sleep in a bit this morning.† But for the cars parked along the streets, I could envision the neighborhood as it was 60, or 100, or 150 years ago.
The quiet, the rain, the soft morning light all conspired to place my attention on the signs of early spring.† Some of the flowering trees are in full bloom, or even a bit past their peak.† Others exhibit full buds, days from bursting forth.† Many of the mature, non-flowering trees are yet to show any sign of life, while others sport tips flecked with green.
Daffodils bloom in small garden plots and perennials are in various stages of sprouting around the early blooms.† It is too early in the season for building owners to have planted their window boxes; the risk of a late frost is still too great.
At Liberty and Vine, a parishioner opened the front doors of St. Francis Seraph church.† The air along the sidewalk was infused with the powerful, sweet scent of the Easter Lilies surrounding the church’s sanctuary.
By the end of my walk, the 21st century had returned to Over the Rhine.† The rain had stopped, and the clouds lifted a bit.† Images snapped into sharp focus.† Auto traffic picked up.† A few men, young and old, congregated along the sidewalks.† Mothers and grandmothers were walking youngsters to school and daycare.
I am smiling — both at the memories of my walk through the neighborhood and at the messages and images I received by email during the few minutes I composed this post.† Others are obviously thinking and seeing the same things I saw this morning:
The banner photo in today’s issue of Soapbox Cincinnati features Over the Rhine from a different Spring perspective.
In this week’s Cincy Chic, Julie Niesen extolls her favorites at Findlay Market.† Click the links for a few Spring images of the Market.
Published by Michael in The neighborhood on January 4, 2009 at 10:49 am
I have read this tired phrase in innumerable thriller novels.† As I have little experience with firearms, I have always considered the phrase to be a writer’s crutch.† Yesterday, I learned firsthand the report of a gun is very similar to the ring of a bell, each with an ascending start, a definite sustained center, and a decay to the ambient sounds.
Late yesterday morning, I left my production facility for a short walk and placed a call to a friend and colleague.† Wind noise interfered with our conversation, so I ducked into the narrow confines of Republic Street just north of Green.† As we continued our conversation, I heard first one loud bang, followed immediately by several more loud reports.† It took me just a beat or so to realize that I was hearing gun fire.† My brain told me I heard four shots in rapid succession; the newspaper this morning told me there were six.
The shots were fired on Race Street just south of Green, perhaps 50 yards from my location.† I was quite surprised I could discern that the shots came from south of me around the corner rather than north.† I waited in my protected alcove for half a minute or so to determine if the shooter was heading my way.† I saw no one leaving the scene heading my direction, so I walked around the corner onto Vine Street as I completed my conversation.
As I replaced my phone and turned, I saw a young man I know fairly well holding a towel over his face and being helped into a borrowed car.† Marcus had been shot in the face for the offense of waiting for the bus in the wrong place at the wrong time — on the day after he ran the Flying Pig marathon.
A few minutes later, the neighborhood was awash in police cruisers, motorcycles, bicycles, and Segways, followed by camera crews, television reporters and other associated media.† I returned to the place I had stood a few moments earlier.† It was now occupied by a police cruiser securing the crime scene by blocking Green Street.† I handed the officer inside my business card, pointed out where I was standing, and told her what I heard and saw.
As I walked away from the cruiser, the bells of St. Francis church began to ring the noon Angelus.† Reflexively, I slowed my pace and whispered “The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary, and she conceived of the Holy Spirit.”† The peal of the bells bore sharp contrast to the report of gunshots, yet their similarities were eerie.
Just south of the crime scene tape on Race Street, I noticed a makeshift street memorial.† As I had never seen it before, it must be of recent vintage, bearing witness to some other tragedy only a few feet from the most recent.
They say that violence is senseless.† It may be, but it is also calculated.† Calculated to exact retribution, to warn, to change behavior of a person or an entire community.† I wonder of the intended and unintended consequences of what I witnessed yesterday.
Published by Michael in The neighborhood on September 20, 2008 at 11:41 am
Utility crews began digging a new trench in Vine Street this week.† Traffic is a mess and parking for the businesses in the area is nonexistent.† Note that this trench is approximately eight feet west of the trench dug and filled in the Spring.† That project disrupted the neighborhood for about two months.
I do not know the purpose of this little dig.† Perhaps the businesses struggling to survive in this overlooked stretch of Over the Rhine needed yet another challenge thrown their way.
For some reason, the last verse of this classic tune pops into my head every time I walk past the dig.
Published by Michael in The neighborhood on September 10, 2008 at 5:09 pm
At the other end of my block, there are two older women who often sit outside for much of the day.† The first is always well dressed in casual clothes, usually with a bit of sparkle to an accessory, glitter here, a sequin or more there, a group of rhinestones somewhere else.† We speak almost every day.† Pleasantries mostly, but I am often tempted to stop and visit a while.† That she has but one chair outside her building makes me pause when I think about chatting.
The second, a few doors closer to my work, has been crocheting an enormous afghan this week in bright orange and black.† At first I thought she or a family member was a football fan (snide comment about that not being football unnecessary).† Then I thought it was to be a Halloween gift or decor.† Today, two younger women were talking to her as I walked past.† I overheard her telling them “no, I simply found these two colors of yarn in the back of the closet and decided to make something with them.”† I am sure that afghan will keep her comfortable as the days continue to get cooler and her little sliver of sidewalk receives fewer minutes of sun.
Wednesday must be car washing day in the neighborhood.† I counted no fewer than a dozen cars in various stages of wash, wax, buff, polish or vacuum on a rather short walk this morning.† Interestingly, I saw no evidence today of the young guy who has a little business washing cars where the owners park them for the day or of his wagon of supplies.
I walked past two very young gentlemen who were just greeting each other.† As I made eye contact with the one facing me (as I try to do with all I pass) and nodded, he exclaimed “Yo, b***h.”† I kept pace, sure that he was greeting his pal, and he continued “What you lookin’ at, b***h.† Yeah, you cracker.”† His strings of cracker this and m-f that receded into the normal sounds of the city over the remainder of the block.† It occurred to me that this was the first instance of a person’s speaking to me with any sort of disrespect in the neighborhood since I began spending every day there.
At lunch today, another regular of my favorite place gave me a sport shirt bearing his new logo.† This young entrepreneur is selling a line of jeans incorporating patches of sting ray skin on the pockets and also repping a line of athletic shoes emblazoned with references to Bible verses.† Today, he was sporting a pair bearing witness to Philippians 14:3 (“I can do everything through Him who gives me strength”).† I am not sure of the etiquette in this situation; do I return the favor with a piece of Just Cured embroidered clothing?† Buy a pair of jeans?† Or shoes?
