Vendor Writing

Mr. Smith and the Dying Peach

BY JEN A.

I live at an MDHA property. When I first came to live here, I was struck with how beautiful the landscaping was. There were so many rose bushes with fragrant red, pink and yellow flowers. There were wonderful holly bushes. Their thick, crinkled, deep green pointed leaves caught and reflected the sunlight year round. And there were trees; cedars, and exotic trees with branches that wept to the ground. But best of all there was a peach tree.

This is where I have to tell you about Mr. Smith. He was a longtime resident when I got here. He was a fixture to say the least. Everyone knew Mr. Smith. He always dressed to the nines, carried a briefcase, and topped it all off with a Fedora. He was a sweet, gentle, interested man. Everyday Mr. Smith would drive his power wheelchair with an oxygen tank clanging off the back out front to take advantage of the bounty of our glorious yard.

He’d pick a perfect rose and slide it carefully into his lapel or a button hole of his shirt if he was feeling especially frisky. And he loved the peach tree. When MDHA privatized the management of their properties, the first thing to flag was the landscaping. First to go were the rose bushes. Then the cedars got sick and died of neglect. And then the peach tree started looking pretty peaked. Mr. Smith, desperate to save it, would fill a green Sprite bottle with water at a spigot at the base of the building and drive it down and deposit it at the base of the tree. Over and over he would fill the bottle and take it to the peach tree. It was like watching someone give CPR to a dead man. You know like on one of those medical shows when a group of doctors has put all their energy and expertize into saving a dead patient to no avail.

There’s one doc who refuses to give up and keeps pounding on the poor guy’s chest and calling for O neg or some such thing until one of the other docs pulls her away. That’s what it was like watching Mr. Smith minister to that blackened tree. But he kept it up as long as he could.

Mr. Smith died suddenly one day while carrying water to his beloved peach tree. The dead tree carcass stood for many months after his passing. We often speak of Mr. Smith and sometimes think it would be nice to plant another tree and put a plack at the base in his memory. But we haven’t done it yet.

CAN YOU FIGURE IT OUT

TYRONE M.

Can you figure it out? Life!

Can you figure it out? Death!

Can you figure it out? Racism!

Let me help you. Racism is a toxic, negative condition, that is taught while you are young, then it grows and grows until a person is consumed with it.

Can you Can you Can you/ you figure it out?

Stop the presses! Let’s print a new edition. Naw, not the singing group! Bobby Brown! Can you figure it out?

I can.

When a person or people hate you, they really hate themselves. Can you figure it out!

LET’S START TODAY

JOHN H.

Being a Black man, never felt so proud God’s love, so clear, It speaks very loud Understand me, maybe you’ll feel the same too Look up, don’t look down, ‘cause he looks straight at you

Don’t be afraid, especially by people on this earth Jesus told you the truth, ever since his birth Hear, believe, and please obey Let’s stay true, let’s start today

Even you may hate me, God say I have to love you I obey his word, Because his word is true Let’s “love,” all you who may Let love guide you, let’s start today