O-H- Hell Naw?

Today begins the long journey to  Dayton, Ohio where I have recently accepted a job.  While I am extremely grateful to have been offered a tenure-track position (especially in this bleak job market), I am not really sure what to expect in Dayton.  I have only been to Ohio twice in my life.  Once in the late 90s when I visited my college boyfriend during his summer internship in Cincinnati and then again when I traveled to Dayton to interview for this new job.   In the past, I have generally avoided travelling to—and through—the Midwest.  If I may make a gross generalization, I find the region oddly segregated and uncomfortably conservative.   But I am trying to remain open. 

In preparation for my move, I have been reading quite a bit about Dayton—past and present.  From what I can gather, Dayton is a Rust Belt city that used to thrive on industrial jobs and factory production.  When the factories closed and the industry waned, unemployment and other social problems increased.  As it has been explained to me, West Dayton is comprised largely of poor blacks, most of whom descended from migrant southerners, and east Dayton residents are mostly poor whites of Appalachian descent.   Interestingly, nobody I have spoken to would entertain the idea of me living in West Dayton.   Both black people and white people have recommended that I stay away from west Dayton.  Clearly none of those people knows me very well because I have every intention of spending time on the west side, if for no other reason than to see what all the fuss is about. 

Nevertheless, because I could not get any clear intel about west Dayton and because I rented my new place sight-unseen (I couldn’t afford to travel to Dayton before moving there), I have ended up renting a house in east Dayton in a poor white neighborhood.   This will be a first.  Growing up, I lived in predominantly white neighborhoods but they were solidly middle-class.  Since college, I have lived in my fair share of poor neighborhoods in Atlanta, D.C., and New Orleans.  But I have never lived in a white AND poor neighborhood.  I’m not even sure I know what that looks like.  Sure, I’ve seen South Boston on t.v. and I’ve driven through some poor white neighborhoods in Baltimore that look straight out of a John Waters flick, but I have never really spent time in a poor white neighborhood. 

I can’t help but wonder if the existence of urban neighborhoods that are both poor and white are products of a particular brand of segregation that exists predominantly above the Mason-Dixon line—the de facto brand of segregation that was not mandated by Jim Crow laws but rather shaped over time by racial covenants, housing policies, school redistricting strategies, and unspoken social rules.

I am definitely feeling a bit apprehensive about how the neighborhood will receive me—an educated, light-skinned black woman with dreadlocs, eyeglasses, and an attitude that is slightly west coast casual with a tinge of urban disinterest and  flavored with southern style and manners.  I can’t decide if I should try to ingratiate myself to the neighborhood by smiling politely and introducing myself to the locals or if I should mean-mug everyone I see, openly wield my machete in the front yard, and play the role of the crazy black lady living in a white neighborhood.   It’s hard to tell yet.  Statistically, things seem a little rough in east Dayton —violent crime is high, property crime is high, and unemployment is high.  When I google-earthed (yep.  I used it as a verb) my new neighborhood, I saw some tough looking adolescents who were clearly stalking the Google van as it went by taking pictures of the neighborhood.   I doubt they were stalking the van maliciously.  It seemed that they had no idea what the Google van even was.  Either way, it’s no good.

Despite my apprehensions, I am trying to remain open and slightly hopeful about moving to Dayton.  The city has a surprising amount of culture—a ballet, a philharmonic, an opera, an art institute, and countless festivals are among the most evident cultural elements.   And did you know there are more than 70 miles of bike trails in Dayton?  I sure didn’t.  But as a budding cycling enthusiast, this is great news to me.  I guess I will have to find out everything else when I arrive in Dayton in a few days.

Right now I am about to hit the road in my 2002 Toyota Echo—just me, my dog, and my incredibly supportive momma.

First stop on our road trip to the Midwest?  Vegas baby!!