Changing Colors Brighten a Resident’s Life : In 55 years in the same South-Central home, Esther De Bar has seen many changes. But she has found that loving your neighbor is a powerful force for creating harmony.
One day when a friend from Beverly Hills visited my South-Central Los Angeles home, she was shocked to see young folks of all ages, sizes and colors playing ball in the street. She exclaimed: “Horrors! Aren’t you afraid one of those kids will snatch your purse, rape you or even shoot you?”
I laughed at her fears. “Of course not,” I told her. “Those kids are my friends, and some even call me grandma. Many have been to my home playing with my grandchildren and sampling my homemade cookies.”
I’ve discovered that loving your neighbor is a powerful force for creating harmony in any neighborhood, whether it’s South-Central or the suburbs. If you love your neighbors, chances are they will love you back.
My husband and I moved into South-Central on our wedding day, May 1, 1934. We lived in furnished homes for the first six years. The rental on a two-bedroom furnished home at that time was $35 per month.
*
In 1940, we purchased our dream home, again in South-Central, to be near my husband’s business Downtown. Our neighborhood was strictly small-town then. We baby-sat for each other’s kids. We shared homemade goodies and worked in the local PTA together.
Sometimes I tell folks, “I’ve lived in the same home for 55 years, but have lived through many changing neighborhoods.”
In the early 1960s, a big exodus began in our area. One by one, original neighbors moved away to the mountains, the desert, the suburbs. As soon as a home was vacated, a family from another state or country moved in--folks seeking jobs, fleeing war, poverty or persecution.
Eventually, my family was the only original one left on the street, and we wondered if we should also flee. But we loved our home and felt that the inner city had a lot going for it, so we decided to stay put and welcome the newcomers to our area.
At first, living among people of all races, colors, religions and languages was a challenge and an adventure. Some of the newcomers had evidently never heard of wastebaskets, so they dumped all their trash and garbage in the streets. What a mess!
I tried being an example. Every time I walked to the corner mailbox, I took along a large brown bag in which to put the trash I picked up. One child I met told me: “Only old people pick up trash.” But I kept on cleaning my street, and eventually others followed suit.
*
One family dug up the front lawn and planted tall corn. It grew as tall as the house. Another nearby neighbor raised ducks in the front yard, and every morning I was awakened with “quack, quack, quack,” but I didn’t let it bother me, as I knew those ducks would get the ax when Thanksgiving Day arrived.
Another time, when a neighbor family played extremely loud music, I waited until Christmas to solve the problem. On the Christmas card, I wrote, “Thanks for being wonderful neighbors.” That did it. (Actually, they were good neighbors except for the noise.)
As the makeup of the neighborhood changed, residents who passed my home admired the greenery and asked how they could improve the looks of their property. Some would ask, “When you trim the rubber tree, would you give me a slip?” or “Could you give me roots from your ferns or flowers?” Soon, new greenery was springing up all over the neighborhood.
Showing love to your neighbor can be as simple as a wave of the hand or a smile as you drive down the street. In a big city, it’s especially important to watch for small acts of kindness to brighten lives. Here are a few examples.
I became friends with a lovely lady who lived nearby, and she admired my flowers, some of which hung over the fence into her yard. She told me: “I love flowers, but I can’t garden because of my bad back.” When I saw a clump of weeds in her yard, I asked permission to dig them out. When I saw that beautiful fertile soil, I couldn’t resist planting a dozen pansy plants there.
I wish you could have seen the ecstasy on that lady’s face when she first saw those pansies. “Oh, how adorable,” she said. “Those faces of the pansies look like real people.” She was a popular lady on the street and called to everyone to come and look what Mrs. De Bar did for her.
*
One day when driving to the neighborhood supermarket, I came across a handicapped elderly couple hobbling along to the store. In spite of the language barrier, we became good friends, and I took them shopping for the next 10 years, until they both died. Every Christmas I sent the couple homemade cookies and they sent me homemade tamales.
One year, a handicapped lady across the street sat in her wheelchair all day. I’d wave and say “good morning.” When I took a bouquet of sweet peas to her one day, we became lifelong friends--and she became my security guard. As she sat on her porch each day, she saw everyone who entered my yard. Strangers kept their distance.
At one point, a family with several children moved next door. The kids spoke excellent English, but the mother spoke no English at all. They were a delightful family, and I made friends with the children through the tangerine tree in my back yard. Sometimes we’d play ball over the fence with the tangerines.
Later, this family moved to the suburbs, but came back later to visit me. I was surprised to hear the mother speaking excellent English and telling me, “I now teach at the university.”
One exciting thing I often do is write a letter or make a phone call to the “boss” of some employee who does an outstanding job. Once I even phoned the head of the L.A. Sanitation Department to commend the man who collects trash at my home. A simple thing, but oh, the joy it brings to the recipient. In a couple of instances, the employee has been promoted because I cared enough to write or phone.
*
I never expected the love I gave my neighbors to be returned to me, but it happened. My husband, who was several years older than I, lost some of his walking ability as he got on in years, and he often fell while walking through the house or down the steps. As he weighed around 200 pounds, I couldn’t get him up without help.
When my husband fell, I’d go out on the street and ask any young man I saw for help. I never asked, “Are you a gang member?” or “How much will you charge me?” No one ever refused to help me, but ALL refused the money I offered them.
The last time my husband needed help was on a New Year’s Eve, a night of celebration. I hesitated asking for help, but an 18-year-old down the street had offered to help me any time, day or night.
When the young man had put my husband to bed, I brought out cash and said, “Please take this to help you and your girlfriend celebrate.” He refused, saying: “What are neighbors for if not to help each other? Besides, I’m a Christian now, and I’m doing this as unto the Lord.” We hugged each other and both cried.
This is only a sampling of the wonderful neighbors of all ages, colors and creeds who have enriched my life in South-Central L.A. I realize that loving your neighbor doesn’t solve all the big city problems--but it helps!
