The News from Gridleyville

Decades ago, in my neighborhood, the city tore down an entire block of traditional row houses on our main street to build a new public school. But neighbors objected to the plan because it’d supposedly create an influx of young people with dark skins. The total pale-people outrage was sufficient to preserve the lot for many years as a debris- and weed-filled mess, which came to be greatly beloved by the residents—because it afforded free parking.

Now, just one block away, a developer has demolished a small, ugly, respectable office building in order to build upscale condos. However, neighbors are again objecting to the new construction, this time because it’ll create extra traffic on the tiny street (barely an alley) at the rear of the property.

Again, as the photo shows, we possess a huge lot full of rubble that may be with us for a long while. And no one seems to mind.

I’m beginning to think, actually, that we have a love for rubble. It’s kind of cool in its own way. It appeals to the common folk. It’s not all rich and snooty like prospective condo buyers, and unlike the developers, rubble is not beholden to political insiders.

If we had a neighborhood vote, Pile of Rubble vs. Designer Condos, I think Rubble might win.

Besides, as I’ve noted in in recent posts about the political landscape, we Americans just like knocking things down and admiring the carnage.