Friday, October 26, 2007

Built in 1952, Florence Heights -- a federally subsidized housing project in Northampton -- has been propped up over the years by periodic infusions of government money that have paid for new roofs, furnaces, appliances and other improvements. The apartments open onto small front porches, many crowded with kids' bikes, scattered toys and white plastic chairs. And although living conditions can be cramped and difficult, the children at Florence Heights give the place a palpable jolt of energy every day.
--Watch a multimedia view of kids' life at Florence HeightsOut on the sidewalk, in front of her family's apartment, Mercedes catches sight of a little girl in pink coming her way.

 

 

'Can I do your hair, Princess?' she asks.

 

Princess nods, and settles herself on the front wheel of Mercedes' bike. Mercedes begins twirling the 6-year-old girl's dark hair into a bun.

 

Mimi, watching from close by, inches her bicycle closer so she's right behind Mercedes. 'Give me your hair,' she says. She deftly sections Mercedes' light-brown hair and starts twisting one piece over another, fingers flying.

 

--See a multimedia view of kids' life at Florence Heights.

 

Mercedes Diaz, 11, Princess Scott and Mimi Guzman, 10, live in Florence Heights, a federally subsidized housing project in Northampton. Comprising 12 red-brick apartment buildings, it shelters 49 households, 40 of which are headed by single mothers, according to the Northampton Housing Authority, the agency that oversees the development. The average household income, according to NHA records, is $14,700. And its demographic profile - 50 percent Hispanic, 40 percent white and 10 percent African-American - makes it the most diverse neighborhood in the city, says the NHA's director, Jon Hite.

 

Built in 1952, Florence Heights has been propped up over the years by periodic infusions of government money that have paid for new roofs, furnaces, appliances and other improvements. The apartments open onto small front porches, many crowded with kids' bikes, scattered toys and white plastic chairs.

 

The buildings are grouped so closely together that the grown-ups say there's no respite from prying eyes, ear-splitting music or fights. Drinking, drugs, domestic violence and police cruisers called in to quell disturbances are part of the ebb and flow. The adults talk in a verbal shorthand about 'the drama' of living at Florence Heights, and some try to shield the children from the worst of what swirls around them.

 

'We talk a lot about it,' says Lannette Scott, the mother of Princess and three other children. 'I think it's mostly safe,' she said as she stood in her doorway on a recent afternoon. She spoke warily, as if trying to balance worry and optimism. A tattoo on her arm reads 'HOPE.'

 

But the apartments are just yards from the common areas where, Scott says, kids sometimes see fights, or people drinking or using drugs in the open: 'I tell them that what you see is not what all the world is about.'

 

 

******

 

 

The children at Florence Heights give the place a palpable jolt of energy every afternoon. The school buses pull away, and, from the entrance to the development where the road dips down a hill leading to a cul-de-sac, the kids make their way toward the apartments, shedding backpacks, trailing sweaters and jackets.

 

They are their own community -- one that is less dependent on minivans and organized activities than some other Northampton neighborhoods. For the kids, living neighbor-atop-neighbor -- the same arrangement that many of the adults desperately want to escape -- means there's always someone to play with, or do homework with. There's always someone to commiserate with, complain to, or complain about. Someone to tease, or bother, or confide in.

 

This story is about Florence Heights from the kids' point of view.

 

 

******

 

 

On a sun-washed October afternoon, Michael Martinez, Chrissy Diaz and Marcus Aponte are sitting on the front step in front of the apartment Marcus shares with his family. Mike lives next door, Chrissy is two doors down, and they're all 13-year-old students at the John F. Kennedy Middle School.

 

Flanked by Mike and Marcus, Chrissy is doing her homework, crafting answers to questions about 'The Monkey's Paw,' a book by W.W. Jacobs. Pen in hand, she is bent over her notebook. Her hair is pulled back from her face, revealing the glint of gold hoops at each ear. As she writes, the boys are peering over her shoulders, offering advice spliced with teasing. Chrissy, no pushover, pushes back. 'I know how to spell!' she says indignantly.

 

When a second girl joins the group, the conversation digresses briefly into a back-and-forth about who said what about somebody wanting to marry a certain someone someday. Then it's back to homework, until Chrissy's mother walks over to usher her inside. She's going out to do some errands, Lola Diaz tells her daughter, and she wants her in the apartment with her brothers while she's gone. When Chrissy goes in, the three-way conversation continues through her screen door, with the boys outside.

 

Michael Martinez, whose family moved here from New York City several years ago, likes the closeness he's found at Florence Heights.

 

'I can go right next door,' he says. Outgoing and sociable, he quickly mentions several friends who live just yards away. Marcus. Javier. Raymond. Chrissy. The list goes on. He has friends in other parts of town, lots of them, he says, but he's rooted here. 'I don't like traveling a lot,' he says, unless it's to Lilly Library or to Sam's, a nearby convenience store.

 

Mike lives with his parents, two brothers and a sister.

 

Florence Heights is a huge improvement over New York, he says. 'People here are more nice, not as angry.' He says there aren't any gangs, but there are sometimes fights, though they're not 'killing each other fights' like there were in New York. Mike doesn't mind seeing the Northampton police officers when they stop by and walk around. 'That's a good thing,' he says, 'because then they're right here so they can help us if something happens, instead of having to call them and then you have to wait.'

 

Mike says he loves school, where his favorite subjects are history and math.

 

'I'm cool with Mr. Canata,' he says of JFK's vice principal, Sal Canata. Mike admits that once in a long while he gets mad at school and ends up in trouble. But he makes a point to say that's not his parents' fault.

 

'They want me to be very respectful and to help other kids around me,' he says. 'I try to be a good influence.'

 

 

******

 

 

One of Chrissy's older brothers is Raymond, a sophomore at Northampton High School who is 15 and has an air of bravado.

 

Raymond and Chrissy, along with brothers Javier, 14, and Joshua, 10, came here from Springfield. Lola Diaz, their mother, moved the family to Florence Heights last winter to get away from violence. But Raymond misses his old neighborhood, even though he has more freedom now to come and go.

 

'I had so many enemies there,' he says, pausing to talk before heading out on his bike. 'But I miss it. I like the danger. I like the risk.'

 

He knows that's not what his mother wants to hear. 'She hates the idea that I even have that thought in my head.'

 

For Lola, who's 32, Florence Heights is a world apart from Springfield. 'I couldn't take it there no more. I couldn't sleep, I was so worried.'

 

Since arriving, she has kept mostly to herself -- a well-honed instinct from living in a much bigger city. But she feels safer and says she no longer has to keep her kids under lock and key. She has landed a job as a night-shift manager at McDonald's in Easthampton and now that she's got a car, commuting has gotten easier; before, unless she was able to carpool with a co-worker, she walked the three miles to and from work.

 

 

 

 

******

 

 

When they get off the school buses, Mercedes Diaz, her brother, Jay Wright, 12, her stepbrother, Elijah Diaz, also 12, and her half-sister, Shiane Diaz, 6, all converge on the family apartment in Building No. 9. The parents of this blended family, Tammy LaRochelle and Dion Diaz, are waiting. Dion cuddles Anisa, the couple's 10-month-old baby, who has been playing on the maroon braided rug in the living room.

 

Dozens of framed family photos dot the walls and the place is spotless, thanks to Tammy's penchant for cleanliness. Lest anyone forget, she has posted signs around the kitchen. 'When I'm full, throw me away!' reads the one above the garbage.

 

Still wearing his name tag and uniform, Dion, 36, is home from his 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. shift at a local nursing home where he is a certified nursing assistant. At work, he tends to the elderly, the sick, the frail and the dying -- and at home he seems to thrive on a close and affectionate give-and-take with his brood of kids.

 

'I'm a caregiver and a dad,' he says.

 

In this household, the rule is that responsibilities come before play.

 

'Your friend Huck called,' Dion tells Jay, who is scouting the pantry for a snack, 'but you gotta do your homework first.'

 

Elijah and Mercedes have spread their books out in the kitchen. Elijah is reading 'The Dark Pond,' by Joseph Bruchac. Mercedes is working on an assignment about nature.They are both eager to tell Dion about what they can win if they sell lots of magazine subscriptions for a school fundraiser: a ride in a Hummer limo to the VIP room at Burger King!

 

Dion sighs, discouraged about the powerful lure of tantalizing prizes. Tammy is equally unenthusiastic. It was a mess the last time they tried to sell the subscriptions, she reminds Mercedes, and, not only that, the neighbors who bought them said the magazines never showed up. At this point, the Hummer ride holds zero appeal, at least to the parents.

 

 

******

 

 

Dion Diaz and Tammy Larochelle met eight years ago when both were working as nursing assistants at a local nursing home. They've been together now for seven.

 

Tammy grew up in Northampton. Dion grew up in the Bronx where rats were plentiful and burned-out buildings scarred the landscape. 'We had nothing,' he says. He was 12 when he came to Northampton with his mother and stepfather. He lived at Florence Heights until he was about 16, in the very same apartment he and his own family live in now.

 

Dion's life these days is about giving his kids more than he had. He wants them to go to college. It doesn't have to be Harvard, he says, as long as it's a good place for them. Though he doesn't see Florence Heights as a bad spot, he hopes his kids are living elsewhere when they're grown.

 

'This is supposed to be a stop,' he says. 'You got to want better for your kids. You gotta want more. You gotta set goals, or they'll be stuck here forever.'

 

He and Tammy are raising their shared children with a strong sense of family. 'We're a unit,' says Dion. Whenever possible, they sit down and eat a family dinner together, a ritual of closeness Dion says was almost unheard of during his own childhood. On family nights, which they try to have several times a month, they shut the door to the outside world and pile into the living room.

 

'We do a lot of stuff, like we'll sit down and watch a movie,' says Jay. 'We've seen 'Harry Potter, Goblet of Fire' and 'Soccer Dog.' '

 

 

******

 

 

When their homework is done, the kids can go out. They know the rules. Out back, they're not to go any farther than 'the park,' the common play area that the apartments share. In the other direction, up toward the Florence Road entrance, they stay well away from the busy street. They've been told to mind their business. And, says Tammy, pointing a finger at Mercedes, 'if I catch you inside anybody else's house...'

 

Tammy has no apologies for laying down the law. The older kids -- Jay and Elijah -- will be grown and gone in the blink of an eye. 'If they don't get it now,' she says, it will be too late. Cops aren't going to listen to your excuses, she has told them: 'Cops will arrest you.'

 

In summer, they can go out after supper, but everyone must be inside by dark, when the streetlights come on. 'You see others out at 9 or 10 at night,' she says. 'I don't approve of that.'

 

 

******

 

 

Elijah Diaz is more reserved than his siblings, Tammy says. By himself, he crosses the parking lot and heads to building No. 6 to see what's up with Amy Davis, 32, and her son, Jack, 7.

 

He finds them outside, in front of their apartment, where Jack is fidgeting with the chain on his bicycle. Elijah and Amy have developed a rapport over the years, and sometimes he stops by just to talk to her about anything, or nothing in particular.

 

'I think it matters a lot if you are nice to the others,' he says of life at Florence Heights. 'There are a lot of nice people here.'

 

Elijah is a lanky sixth-grader at the John F. Kennedy Middle School. The step up from elementary to middle school was an adjustment for him. 'But time passed and then it became cool,' he adds, sounding both proud and relieved. They have Snapples at JFK, he says -- also cool, in his view. And lately he's been learning about the equator and the Northern and Southern hemispheres - he likes that too.

 

Out of school, he is a football fan who's partial to the Pittsburgh Steelers, despite living deep inside New England territory. 'I respect the Patriots,' he says earnestly. 'Don't get me wrong.'

 

Within his neighborhood, Elijah is known as the kid who loves to draw. He's been doing it for years -- 'anytime I get a chance' -- and he often carries his spiral sketchbook with him. 'If it was up to me,' he says, 'I would stay in my room for hours and draw.'

 

He says his ideas come from his imagination or from what he sees around him. 'If I see a feather on the ground, I might go ahead and draw it.' After his grandfather died earlier this year, Elijah sketched a tombstone with his name, Luis, on it, and a flower, bent in sorrow.

 

Amy says that Elijah has given some of his drawings to her son, Jack, who colors them in and treasures them as prized possessions. When Elijah sketches outside, sitting on the curb, it doesn't take long for a clutch of kids to gather.

 

'Is it a monster?'

 

'Are you drawing a cartoon character?'

 

A winged angel begins taking shape.

 

Elijah's favorite artist right now is Claude Monet, the French impressionist he learned about in school. He likes Monet's colors and his creativity. 'There was a flow to his art work,' he says.

 

Every other Friday, Elijah comes home from school and gets ready to leave again. Though he lives most of his time with his father and Tammy, he visits his mother in Northampton twice a month.

 

Hands in his pockets, his face almost hidden by his black baseball cap, he waits outside on the sidewalk for her to pick him up. He doesn't need to bring his sketchbook, he says, because he keeps one at his mother's.

 

Except for the banter among the kids, the neighborhood on this afternoon is pretty quiet. Elijah suggests that maybe some of the older people are already out clubbing.

 

That won't be me, he says, even when he's old enough.

 

'Definitely not me,' he adds.

 

What would be him? he is asked. Someone who's an artist and who's educated, he answers, so that he won't have to work at a Burger King. Then he smiles. Or maybe he'll be a professional food tester, he adds, because he really likes to eat.

 

Mimi Guzman, who has been zipping around the complex on her bike, dipping into conversations here and there, catches that.

 

'You'd like eating octopus?' she asks, leaning on her handlebars.

 

'Maybe if I tried it I would,' Elijah replies.

 

His mother, at the wheel of a silver car, arrives shortly before 5. She cuts the booming music as she comes to a stop in front of the apartment.

 

As his son gets into the car, Dion Diaz is watching from behind the apartment's screen door. He looks lost in thought, and a little sad.

 

'Love you!' he calls out, waving to Elijah.

 

The car pulls away.

 

 

******

 

 

Though Elijah and Jay Wright, or JJ, as some call him, are technically stepbrothers, neither of them bothers with the distinction. Jay is the son of Tammy LaRochelle and her former husband, as is Jay's sister, Mercedes, who prefers to use Diaz as her last name. The boys are four months apart, share a bedroom upstairs and fight sometimes, Jay says, about 'typical brother things, just stuff.'

 

Jay likes that there are always kids to play with at Florence Heights, but also likes the idea of moving to a house where he could have his own room and paint it any color he wants. 'That would be nice,' he says.

 

Another good thing about a house would be having a bigger backyard that would be just for his family -- not like the park at Florence Heights that everyone shares. 'I'd like that at some point in my life,' he says. 'At least I'm hoping.'

 

Jay is as passionate about athletics as Elijah is about drawing. Soccer and baseball are his two main sports, and he has excelled at both, despite having a left arm that is only half-formed.

 

It's been that way since he was born, he said one late-summer afternoon, as he sat outside on the lawn. He long ago became adept at compensating. When he pitches for the Cal Ripken Baseball League in Northampton, he tucks his glove between his left arm and his side; after the release, he quickly shifts the glove onto his right hand in one fluid motion. He plays outfield, too. And, he says, he almost never misses a ball.

 

Jay wasn't always as confident as he is now. His mother encouraged him to try soccer when he was little, he says, and she played catch with him, too. A while back, she went online to contact Jim Abbott, the former pitcher for the Los Angeles Angels and the New York Yankees, who was born without a right hand. Though his career included the high of pitching a no-hitter while with the Yankees, Abbott has spoken often of the struggles he faced to prove himself, especially after being sent back to the minors. Tammy contacted Abbott's agent, who arranged to have Abbott send Jay an autographed photo with a note -- 'Always believe!' -- for his birthday.

 

As immersed as he is in sports, Jay has been aware of some of the worst that has happened at Florence Heights. One of the men arrested for the beating death of a man in Greenfield in 2004 was a friend of his family's. 'He was here every day,' says Jay. According to news reports then, Joell Madera, 18 at the time, was the younger brother of Carlos Madera, 27, the alleged ringleader of the attack.

 

As a parent, Dion Diaz says he found the news about Joell Madera -- someone who often visited Jay and his other children -- devastating.

 

'It crushed me,' he recalls, and it also presented a wrenching problem. In this neighborhood, he says, 'you can't keep a secret and the kids kept asking questions.' Dion and Tammy tried to explain what had happened, in ways their children of different ages could comprehend. He tried to make the older ones understand that there are consequences for blindly following others, for failing to think for themselves. 'I told them, you got to be the leader, not the follower.'

 

Asked how it affected him, Jay grows somber. 'I was mad at him' for what he did, he says. 'Then I went on with my life.'

 

 

******

 

 

Shiane Diaz, now 6, is a self-proclaimed girly-girl with pink painted nails who loves Barbie dolls and dresses. On her mind right now is being a beautiful princess on Halloween.

 

'Me and Marcia were already talking about that,' she said the other day, as she walked out back to the playground.

 

'She works too hard,' Shiane says as she spots Marcia Culver, 56, out raking the patch of earth in front of her apartment.

 

Marcia lives with her daughter and the 4-year-old granddaughter she helps care for. She'd like to have a Halloween party at Florence Heights, but she admits she's tired. Arthritis and breathing problems are taking a toll and she also thinks it's time for others to step up.

 

She's been involved in many activities with the children in the past, but, 'it's hard to get things done in here,' she says, sounding weary.

 

Shiane's sidekick on this day is Anthony Gonzalez, an exuberant 5-year-old who lives in the apartment next door. The two families are close and Shiane and Anthony are often together.

 

'I go to kindergarten,' Anthony says, introducing himself. 'What is the school called?' he asks Shiane. Ryan Road, she reminds him.

 

Jesus Rodriguez, 6, races over with a news flash. 'Do you know that Mercedes is wearing your socks?' he asks Shiane.

 

She's OK with that. The three decide to play hide-and-seek and Shiane covers her eyes. The boys scatter. 'One..two...three...four...'

 

No one knows how Shiane and Anthony and Jesus will look back on their childhoods at Florence Heights, but there are some older kids who have already had time to reflect on theirs.

 

Last year, Corey MacRae, 15, moved with his family to a yellow house with a yard on Bridge Road in Northampton. From the age of 6 on, he had lived in Florence Heights along with his mother, Candace Franchere, his younger brother and two younger sisters. Now studying law and social work at Elms College in Chicopee, Franchere was eager to get her children out of the housing project.

 

But the connection persists. Candace still goes back to visit, and brings her children's friends from Florence Heights to the house on Bridge Road for sleepovers.

 

Corey misses the old place. It's not that he remembers it as paradise. He says he got beat up there once, though not seriously, and there were some people there who were 'mean and rude.'

 

But, he adds, 'I miss being able to walk down the street and knock on any door, and say, hey -- you wanna hang out?' You could stand at your screen door, he says, and yell across to one of your buddies, standing at his.

 

Corey is now a sophomore at Northampton High School. He has friends in other parts of town, but many of his pals are still at Florence Heights. Seeing them involves a 20-minute bike trip to get there, but Corey makes that ride often.

 

'I still go back,' he said.

 

Suzanne Wilson can be reached at swilson@gazettenet.com.