The Cost of Accomodation

It is typical of modern people to focus on the material degradation and neglect the metaphysical degradation that precedes it.
ALAN writes:
What a difference a century makes. Here is one example:
It must have been in 1964 when I first walked into the Cleveland Rexall Pharmacy on South Grand Boulevard in south St. Louis. We were living then about half a mile from there. I distinctly remember walking many times, sometimes in early evening, to the nearby Sears department store and Ben Franklin dime store. The Cleveland Pharmacy was midway on the path I walked.
I bought magazines there in 1965-’67. A radiator stood in a corner near the window. The magazine rack was to the left as you walked into the store. It was a very modest affair, compared with today’s magazine displays festooned with sensation, filth and ugliness. The storefront consisted of a large plate-glass window and the entry door. Among the magazines I purchased were Fate, Life, The Saturday Evening Post and a 1966 issue of Look with Jackie Gleason on the cover.
Sometimes my mother and I stopped there to have a prescription filled. Toward the back of the store was a classic old telephone booth with wood partitions and folding glass door. I recall using that telephone several times. I remember walking through those residential streets on summer days in 1963-’64. I came to know the neighborhood by heart. It was always clean and orderly. It never occurred to us that it could be otherwise.
Years went by, and then decades. I stopped at the Cleveland Pharmacy less often. My last visit there was in the 1980s or early 1990s. It was still pretty much the same as it had been in the 1960s. But the neighborhood around it was changing–gradually at first, and then increasingly obviously but not for the better. Standards were declining. Lawbreaking was increasing. The old setting and neighborhood were all-White. The new setting and neighborhood were being made increasingly Black. I did not realize it at first, but I was now witnessing the surrender of an orderly neighborhood to an undeclared “public-private partnership” of thugs (on the streets) and excuse-makers (in the legislature and the courts).
The time soon arrived when I realized I had now become an alien in the neighborhood where I roamed at will in boyhood — because that neighborhood had been made wholly alien to me. Street thugs were the obvious villains, but they were not alone. Change agents in government were the engineers, and they were hard at work. They still are.






