Richard e Hill - a Writer's Journal

Pink Martinis, Sharecroppers and Peach Tree Streets

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Pink Martinis Sharecroppers and Peach Tree Streets

History is two words, his and story.  If it were truly an accurate account of events as perceived, the one word would be ‘realstory’. In its biased provincial context, no country loses or starts a war. Instead conflicts are resolved or discontinued, battlefield retreats become strategic withdrawals, plagiarists become innovators, and prejudices are merely pre-existing social standards. Historians were once held in esteem although they were merely the capricious echoes of their sponsors.  After the demise or fall from grace of these benefactors, the ‘realstorians’ controversially chronicled the events. History’s vintage is determined by truth in aging vats for nothing is more inaccurate than the politically expedient depiction of current events.The daily news has regional interpretation, the North analyzes and re-analyzes, finds or invents spins or twists ---whereas the South seeks a reasonable possible explanation in order to ‘get it resolved and get it forgotten’.   Such geographical concepts and ideology could start a war --- been there and done that supposedly.


Legends become perceptions in depicting an area; to wit Georgia is the Peach State although it yields less then one tenth of the production of peaches than California and forty percent less than neighboring South Carolina; peaches were originally introduced into the United States by the Spanish. A current bit of urban folklore describes Atlanta as having nearly every street called Peachtree or some variant. There are Peachtree streets intersecting, paralleling, diagonally placed and are seemingly everywhere.  Therefore you may deduce the provenance in this tale is in the imagination of some writer, who believed there was an orchard or a possibly a clump of peach trees prominent in Old Atlanta and this became a reference point. North of peach trees, west of peach trees, east of peach trees, northeast of peach trees. You get the drift.

There are some ‘closed’ dark issues in Atlanta, where the Civil Rights movement gained impetus.  Issues, issues, issues; the Olympics Bomber, the questionable to some, resolution of the Atlanta child murders and wherever there are issues there is politics storing them in a social camel’s hump, waiting for an election

 

Once upon a Time in ‘906…

 

Corn-pone tones and easy ‘you all’ drawls

The grits and gravy flavor of the old City with new ways

Far removed from now international claim

Where the Sons of Rights found fame

Justice’s slanted swift impact

Fell mainly upon a lesser perceived back

A land where dark bodies were bought, later rights

Now votes were sought on infamies’ nights

During the palindrome inverted ‘906

Black was everywhere but in the mix

Nightriders rode, fires burned, families yearned

Votes disappeared in gun smoke along with equality and kin

The former did return reluctantly

The latter recalled only at reunion or on faded photograph

A time of deference, indifference

Guilt with sin recognized by hue of skin

Birth of beginning or resurrection of hate’s epitaph?

Solution clouded by absolution’s aftermath, shame

Colored citizens died; survivors cried

“JUSTICE, I know your voice; why don’t you know my name?”

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