A TREE GROWS IN DETROIT,[[ I hope.) tponetom

[tponetom]

A TREE GROWS IN DETROIT

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V-J day! August, 1945. Many people were giddy with a gusher of emotions. Many of them were deliriouswith joy and anticipation of good things to come.
More than a few would carry a wrenching sorrow for the rest of their lives.
Sadly, the warfare was only taking a ‘time-out.’ It was postponed for five years. Only the venue changed.
In 1945, a movie, "A Tree Grows In Brooklyn,"made its debut. It was a story of poverty and desperation and, of course, sentimentality. The time was the early years of the 20th century.

Cynics would call the story a soap opera. It has all the ingredients of one. But if anyone had ever been dirt poor or maybe just brushed close to it, and observed the multiple tragediesthat fester because of poverty, they might be a bit kinder in their assessment.
1900 to 1915 was an era that would have its sequel in the ‘thirties.’
My ‘Tree’ story is of a happier nature.

McClellan Avenue. Circa, 1945-49.

The spending spree was softening just a little. New automobiles were parked by the curbs. New washing machines made laundry a ‘part-time’ job. Ma bought herself a ‘mangle.’ Automatic Water heaters eliminated the danger of those manually operated, gas, side-arm water heaters. You had to light it with a match and you better not forget about turning it off. Explosions were more than a little prevalent.
Summertime. It was an early Saturday morning. I was out on the street, prowling, for some action. I looked down our block and seen Angelo’s father, Mr. T, with a shovel in his hands. Their house was next door to the 4 family flat where Peggy lived. I sauntered down the street ever so casually, so as not to appear being ‘nosy.’
I said, "Good morning Mr. T. Are you looking for gold?" He smiled his ever present smile and told me he was planting a tree. There it was, standing up all by itself, leaning a bit by the front porch. It was about ten feet tall with a burlap bag wrapped around the root section. He said he did not want one of those 3 or 4 foot spindly things that would become saturated with dog urine and ultimately, die. [[Those were not his exact words.)
There was not a single tree on our side of the street. Probably, due to the lack of ‘front’ lawn space. There was about six feet of space between the street curb and the edge of the sidewalk. The distance from the other edge of the sidewalk to the porch skirting, varied from 8 to 12 feet.

Mr. T got the tree planted. It presented a forum for varied opinions. Neighbors were watching Mr. T’s efforts from their front room windows, or their front porch or just standing on the sidewalks. It was a novel sight, watching someone planting a tree.
Before the war, poverty banned any frivolous spending. The necessities of life trumped the wild cards of instant gratification and more so, on anything like a tree that might take 20 or 30 years to shower its beholders with the glories that only a tree can give.
At first, all of us smart-aleck teenagers made smart-ass remarks about the futility of any kind of pleasures the tree might possess.
"Hey, that stupid tree will blow away from the first strong breeze!"
"How can you get any shade from a bean-pole like that?
"I wouldn’t eat any fruit off of such an ugly tree. No leaves or nuthin."
Well, the sarcasm ebbed after a few days. A possessive attitude, extremely cloaked in vagaries, began to spread over the whole neighborhood. A nice word, here and there, and a gentle word of hope, for the life of the tree, could be heard now and then. The naysayers began to quiet down.
After a week or two, there was not a single discouraging word to be heard about OUR tree! Eventually the enthusiasm calmed down. The tree had become a silent ‘cause celebre, "come on baby, get some leaves."
Between 1948 and 1953, 8 of our gang of 12 got married. Some of us bought one of the asbestos shingled houses for $ 8,000.00 or so, Others bought the larger, all brick homes for between 12,000.00 and 15,000.00. But we all had developed an affinity for grass, flowers, bushes, gardens and trees. Perhaps we were encouraged by Mr. T’s success with his tree. [[And later adopted as ‘OUR TREE.’)
In the ensuing years of our young adult lives, it became a credo of sorts to always inquire as to the health of ‘our tree’ whenever we visited one another. The tree did flourish. I cannot remember the last time I seen it. I wonder if it is still there.
Ray’36 posted a photo of McClellan. < 01DET.JPG >24.1 KB, 222 views) looking north. There were two trees in the foreground on the eastside of the street and two more in the background on the same side. I hope that one of them would belong to Mr. T. in perpetuity.
　
The tree was a symbol for us kids as a constant reminder of the things we never had, but rewarded us for the little things we did have. Like a tree.

Maybe Detroit needs a few more trees????
　
　

[Maof]

love it T! i bet that tree IS still there. why wouldn't it be? also love the way you refer to your mom as "ma"

[Bobl]

Oh, yes!
Detroit needs more trees. The young people need more Mr Ts in the neighborhood, and to hope. Hope is gone, for too many.

If you can come up with an address, we will check on the tree. I would like to touch it, and think of the young tponetom and Peggy, who were given hope and a future.

ps: My dad purchased one of those asbestos sided homes. The rose bushes and raspberry vines remain.

[eriedearie]

Great story Tp. I've always loved a tree lined street.