A HUD Nightmare

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I spent the past few days as an admiring guest upon a receding cultural atoll. Enlisted by friends to aid in the draining of their whiskey casks, I traveled to one of the more wistfully unique neighborhoods I have seen in a very long time. Unadvertised and marked by only the implicit signage above, it exists as a strikingly preserved sample of antique Americana. It is as if its long ago founders understood the ephemeral nature of that sweet moment and sought to preserve it for their posterity. This being a sentiment we know that is not without precedent in American endeavors.

It was a community accessed somewhat dearly, though not littered with ostentatious mansionry. It’s value not priced by quartz countertops or crown molding, but instead found in social capital, which is higher than a Baltimore body count.

There children play unattended throughout the neighborhood well past dark. Practically every face smiles in greeting. Impromptu games spring up in green common areas, where not-for-long strangers share picnics. Evening porch parties dot every few houses, as wanderers-by are warmly welcomed to join. Kids’ bikes litter the sidewalks and itinerant family dogs seek patting from strangers they have no fear to approach. Not a door is locked. And on the last night of my visit a band played in an open area as people from 8 to 80 danced together like they were in their own living room.

It is, as our media would describe, a place of pure Hate.

The demographics of this enclave hardly require describing. Not only is there no diversity but–as my reputation loosened hosts’ tongues–no (((diversity))) either. One obviously being fertilization for the other.

How all of this arid land for enrichment is maintained involves legal artifices that aren’t my business to discuss. Though until such an environment of nourishing homogeneity is experienced, it exists to most people only as ancient lore. And that’s a shame, since it was the birthright of millions stolen by a rapacious and venal few.

I’ve mentioned some of the extant social features of this community, though there are areas where it is conspicuously lacking. There are no murderous sidewalk zambonis piloted by something called a “French Tunisian.” Nor are there regular recreations of Rorke’s Drift with the native Zulu fauna. There are no rhyming reverends, pickled Aztecs, or ululating imams. There are no Soros subsidized agitators or civil rights(sic) attorneys. There are no hyphen-American celebration months or other obligatory racial genuflections and gestures of sycophancy. I didn’t even hear a single mention of hurtful histories or painful pasts.

In fact, most of these white parents seemed to think their children were born to a higher purpose than groveling at the feet of those who would starve without their charity. It’s all quite presumptuous, I’m sure liberals would agree.

Though I did wonder how such peace and harmony were maintained in light of the comparatively futile efforts of far more lushly funded national actors. Upon inquiring, I learned the “community coalition” had launched no bombing sorties against ISIS positions in the Levant. Nor had the Neighborhood Security Administration (NSA) implemented a mass surveillance apparatus. Finally, I was aghast to learn the LEO tactical teams were being fitted without the latest military kit: no Kevlar, holographic sights, or stun grenades–they didn’t even have a fucking explosives droid!

All of which can leave a visitor quite perplexed as to how his safety is being conscientiously maintained. And so was compelled to ask: How can you feel secure here without bombing Iraq, listening to my cell calls, or repelling disorganized dindu infantry assaults?

And before he could even answer, there’s another couple at the door with a bottle of wine and a cheese ball. What new Hell is this?

Maybe I’ll coax a response out of him next time. Or maybe I’ll ask my own Chinese neighbors why we don’t have that kind of civilizing social cohesion here. If we spoke the same language it would certainly be an easier mystery to unravel. How do you say “Here’s a cheese ball and you have to go back” in Mandarin?

17 thoughts on “A HUD Nightmare

  1. “There children play unattended throughout the neighborhood well past dark. Practically every face smiles in greeting. Impromptu games spring up in green common areas, where not-for-long strangers share picnics. Evening porch parties dot every few houses, as wanderers-by are warmly welcomed to join. Kid’s bikes litter the sidewalks and itinerant family dogs seek patting from strangers they have no fear to approach. Not a door is locked.”

    Julian Castro will hear of this travesty. To tie the tale of your brief foray into Willoughby in with current events, I was watching To Catch a Thief earlier and couldn’t help but notice the lack of diversity in 1950s Nice. But we’ve since traded Baccarat at the Negresco with Cary Grant for infidel bowling on the Promenade des Anglais with Mohamed Boulhel. How enriching…

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  3. So that’s why the site was so quiet these last few days. There must be an urge to stay forever in a place like that and forget the nightmare world beyond.

  4. Willoughby! I still watch that episode now and then, although I live in such a place, just not in the USA; I live in rural Argentina. I’m the “diversity” element in the village, but being bilingual and having an Argentine dtr-in-law and grandsons born here plus many years of residence has me assimilated. We are “diversity poor”: no Negroes, no Jewish folk, no Muslims and no real social problems. Et in Arcadia est.

  5. I had that same type of neighborhood until the last 6 to 9 months. Hell, my whole county had a reputation for hostility to ‘diversity’ and suddenly it’s shopping with me at the grocery store. Luckily I rent and I can move further out to the sticks where wall of hostility keeps the diversity to the minimum.

  6. There’s a small town more than an hour’s drive from my vibrant city where every summer a fireworks display draws most of the townsfolk and families from the county. Racial homogeneity brings with it a sense of contentment, one feels eerily at home in its presence. Of course such a place of profound HATE! will have to be diversified soon with a battalion of Muslim rapefugees lest our “values” go unobserved. I’m sure the neckbeards will fit right in with cute girls in daisy dukes and wholesome looking country boys. There’s nothing like loud, malevolent looking foreigners to add a little spice and vibrancy to your community.

  7. evokes Ray Bradbury. nearly made me cry, because i grew up in a place like that. there were lots of those places back then. thanks.

  8. Small town America pre-television. Great post Porter. Your insight is second to none. I especially like this line, “And that’s a shame, since it was the birthright of millions stolen by a rapacious and venal few.” It fits so much of the history written for us by others and yet it is exactly what we’ve experienced.

  9. Pingback: Lightning Round – 2016/07/27 | Free Northerner

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