“You can’t go home again”
With thanks to Thomas Wolfe, I didn’t listen. I went back to where it all began. Well, for me, that is. With my mother in tow (who is suffering from dementia), I went back to my old neighborhood in South East Fresno, California—not far from “downtown.”
As a 5-year-old, I walked to and from Emerson Elementary. I remember a neighborhood with grape arbors and fig, apricot, peach and plum trees. In fact, trees lined up and down all the streets, providing relief from the burning sun. There were even trees among the areas of warehouses and food-processing plants. It made sense. Summer temperatures reach well over 100˚ for weeks on end.
The neighborhood was composed of the hard-working poor with large families. They came from Armenia, Portugal, Mexico and Italy, as well as Oklahoma and Texas. All were beginning a new life. They brought truckloads of their “native culture” and exuded pride in their new community.
Don’t look back.
Through great foresight, Fresno’s city planners decided to change the landscape. The result of this change resembles people with psychological issues who mutilate themselves: Deep gouges and scar tissue abound.
The little houses and trees on Sarah, Mary, L, M, N and Van Ness streets vanished and were replaced with vacant lots among metal warehouses. Like in a cheap sci-fi movie, where aliens ate 99 percent of humanity, there was hardly a soul on the streets. Occasionally, as I wandered the vacant streets, a workman on a forklift or a loading dock would stare at me – as if he saw a camel on roller skates.
I did look back and came away with this series of photographic memories taken through the lens of time.
Don’t look back, a photographic reflection by Rick Soto
Rick Soto, 2014
Fresno and I both appreciate your appreciations!
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