My Sunday stroll

Empty storefronts, front porch chairs and churches abound in Sarasota's Newtown neighborhood

For this week’s Sunday stroll, I wandered through Newtown, Sarasota’s predominantly African American community. Though I’ve walked this neighborhood before, following the trail of historic markers created by Newtown Alive, this was a more aimless amble, with no set itinerary. Still, I managed to cover a lot of territory both north and south of its east/west central dividing line, Martin Luther King Jr. Way.

I started in Amaryllis Park, the northeastern corner, at the Robert L. Taylor Center, a community gem where, for less than a single Ben Franklin a month, you can gain full access to its fitness facilities, pool, game room and lush green playing fields.

During the past year, its parking lot has served as the county’s walk-up Covid-19 testing site and seeing it again brought back that day in late September when I, feeling fairly wretched, stood in line for the nostril plunge, anticipating the positive results that would come two days later. I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude to have come through that experience relatively unscathed, but it crushes me to think of all those who have not been so fortunate, especially in communities of color like Newtown, which have been disproportionately affected by the virus’ toll.

My spirits were lifted again by the sight of this enormous mango tree prolifically covered in buds. Though the tree in my own yard is a late bloomer, I saw many others on my walk that were similarly festooned. It certainly seems likely this will be a bumper year — for mango lovers as well as mango thieves.

One of the things I noticed almost immediately was the number of houses with chairs set out on the front porch, stoop, driveway or lawn. Though on this unusually warm winter day there weren’t many people using them, I loved imagining that neighborhood residents could sit and watch the world go by when the light and heat of the day faded. The few locals I encountered who were seated outside (in the shade) greeted me in a friendly way, but no one was willing to let me take a photo. An older, white woman on foot is not a common sight in Newtown and I got a feeling it was cause for suspicion.

The group smoking (something) in Fredd Atkins Park was even little less welcoming. One woman threatened to confiscate my phone because she thought I had taken her picture. I told her I never took anyone’s picture without asking first.

“Is that thing on?” she persisted, pointing at my cell. “No pictures! No recording! You understand what’s going on here? You could be the po-lice.”

Considering the community’s history of confrontation with law enforcement, it wasn’t hard to understand her mistrust. Instead I took pictures of the nearby plaques devoted to community legends like Emma Booker (principal of the first African American grammar school), builder John Floyd (who started the first home for senior citizens) and educator Janie Jackson Poe).

I also noted the porta-potties that remain in place, almost two years after the city ripped out the deteriorating public restrooms there, vowing to replace them with “something much higher level than what they had before.” (No wonder Newtown residents are skeptical of promises.)

The MLK corridor, once the bustling center of Sarasota’s Black-owned businesses — Carner’s Grocery, Cooper Cabs, Budd’s Barber Shop — is now quiet, with just a few stalwarts like the Town Hall Restaurant and King’s Meats still providing a trickle of economic activity. Here and there are signs of the past (a menu featuring “large portions” and low prices), the present (a new barber shop called Phat Hedz) the enduring (colorful international flags flying at Dollar Dynasty, which has long supported Newtown’s poorest families); and the future (the stalled revival of “Miss Susie’s restaurant). But it’s a far cry from its heyday.

With little faith in the follow-through of local government and Sarasota leadership, residents of Newtown have long turned to the Lord to answer their prayers for a brighter future. There are more churches per capita here than in any other part of Sarasota County. And though, for a few, the signs of welcome have outlived the actual congregation, these houses of worship and fellowship remain pillars of strength, security and solace.

Newtown came into being after residents of Overtown (what we now know as the Rosemary District), Sarasota’s original African-American neighborhood, were systematically displaced via a “slum clearance” project beginning in the late 1950s. Here and there you’ll find references to that history on the Newtown Alive historic markers scattered around the community, which tell of the Celery Fields and Turpentine Camps where many of Newtown’s residents worked, the Jim Crow laws that forbade them being on the streets after sundown and the lynchings that went unpunished and (largely) undocumented.

At the corner of MLK and Maple, you’ll find the Wright Bush home — reputedly the first in Newtown to have electricity and a popular gathering place for neighborhood residents. (Today, it’s badly in need of a little TLC.) If it’s not a Sunday, you can learn more about the community’s past at Jetson Grimes’ history gallery just off MLK Jr. Way, where the revered neighborhood elder displays a large collection of newspaper clippings and artifacts.

Newtown’s borders to the east and west are the railroad tracks, no longer in use but still in evidence. On the western side is Booker High School, the educational jewel of the neighborhood with its Visual and Performing Arts program a point of special pride.

The tracks to the east, just past Rte. 301, give meaning to the adage “the wrong side of the tracks.” As is typical in most communities of lower economic status, Newtown has more than its fair share of polluting industries, low income housing units and uncollected garbage. Below, a mountain of crushed concrete at a cement factory leaves a hazy film on nearby, houses, cars and windowsills; a new low income senior housing facility nears completion; an abandoned shopping cart becomes a receptacle for trash.

Just behind the housing authority is the Orange Blossom Community Garden, an effort to teach children in the neighborhood the source of their food and how to cultivate it. Though a sign says “Volunteers Welcome,” I could find no unlocked entrance where I might have entered to help pull the plethora of weeds growing rampant in the garden beds.

As I passed one of Dr. Nik’s “art bykes” — this one seemingly created expressly for Newtown — I heard (or really, felt) the deep bass notes of amplified rap music. The young man on a fat tire bike with speakers said his name was Cain, but didn’t seem to get the joke when I asked if he had a brother named Abel. Though I was old enough to be his mother, he seemed to delight in flirting with me. I thought this was hilarious but hey, I take my flirting where I can get it these days and we teased each other for a few minutes. Before riding off, he made sure to point out where he lived “just in case you want to stop by.”

On a quiet side street, I came across this glittery memorial/ The fence surrounding the house across the street was also decked out in silver tinsel, with heart shaped signs that said, “[heart] you to the moon and back!” I asked two young boys who passed by if they knew the person in the picture or what the story was behind this sidewalk descanso. They said they didn’t and, eager to escape my nosiness, hurried away.

As I completed my stroll, I stopped to admire this huge mural on the wall of one of the buildings off MLK Way. Its message suggests a vision and a promise that has yet to be fulfilled in Newtown, a neighborhood too long misunderstood, too often overlooked.