American Homecoming — Reverse Culture Shock and the Race to Survive

One day, while on an overnight layover in San Francisco en route to Osaka, I stepped into a market not far from the hotel. Standing in the checkout line, I happened to overhear an elderly yet graceful gentleman who, for whatever reason, was sharing his résumé with the lady behind the counter. The thirty-something-year-old woman seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say—or at least pretended to be. "I used to be the Executive Vice President of XYZ company, had a zillion people working for me and my name is engraved here and engraved there blah blah blah," went the stately old man matter-of-factly. Shoot. Even I was impressed. Yet there he was, standing in the middle of the supermarket, draped in his Sunday best, trying to convince the lady at the register he was somebody important. I guess what he really wanted was for her to SNAP TO ATTENTION and SALUTE whenever his majesty graced the premises. I also got the distinct impression that, somewhere along the way, he had l...

To live in Cuyler-Brownsville, an historically African American sector of Savannah’s inner city, is to be on the front lines of change. Because of the rapid influx of residential developers and gentrification, the neighborhood is starting to shed its marginal feel.    But white residents don’t seem to be celebrating.    Most white folks barricade themselves inside their homes or duck inside their vehicles before hightailing away. Some say, “good morning”, when they must, but otherwise seem content to remain ghosts; rarely venturing beyond the sanctity of their own driveways.     Many are new to the area, while others have lived here for years. They are a mix of homeowners and renters and represent a variety of backgrounds.  What’s more, their increasing presence is a siren’s call to would-be investors, students, and even short-term tourists.        Yet for those of us who call Cuyler-Brownsville home, spotting a white...

                                                                     Managing a home share in Savannah feels like being the keeper of countless untold stories. The mahogany floors creak with history, and antique appointments whisper tales of yesteryear. While some might call it "just another Airbnb," I prefer to think of it as a stage where life's most fascinating dramas unfold, two or three days at a time. For seven years, I've welcomed travelers from across the globe to this slice of Southern history. They come to explore Savannah's infamous historic district, but sometimes they leave me with stories that could fill volumes. It's not always the loud or obvious moments that stick with you – sometimes it's the quiet ones that linger longest in memory. Just today, a striking couple checked in: sh...

In the heart of Savannah's vibrant urban tapestry, an unconventional building stands out – if you can call anything shaped like The Alamo ‘unconventional’.   For the residents of Cuyler-Brownsville, this quirky landmark is as dependable as the afternoon mail, with its doors always open to serve the community.   Welcome to Baby Cakes.  Take a drive along Burroughs to 34th Street to this unassuming fortress where convenience meets necessity.  With its potted exterior, Baby Cakes is more than just a "hood store”, but a testament to the resilience and warmth of this urban surrounding. In the morning the store pulses like a beehive, where the bees wear hard hats and drive school buses. The store's shelves are a carefully curated collection of essentials, where panty hose might share space with glue traps, and pullovers nestle next to detergent. This efficient use of space ensures that every item earns its place. What truly sets Baby Cakes apart is its knack for breaking—a...

As a new presidential election dawns, I would argue that Joe Biden is the worst president of my lifetime, but I could not in good conscience vote for Donald trump.  While Biden offers a semblance of dignity that the office of the President portends, his costly blunders—stumbling out of Afghanistan, failing to secure our southern boarder, and enabling Palestinian genocide— which will stain this country for generations to come—casts him as an incompetent leader in my view.  Trump, on the other hand, strips naked the honor and decency of the presidency.  He is a natural born liar, huckster, and soon to be convicted felon. I would wager all that I hold dear he has not read a single book in 50 years.  Such is the way he comes across—simple minded, inarticulate, and silly.  His saving grace is the fact that he is white; and yet our enemies understand that he is inept enough to risk war without bothering to weigh the consequences. For this they fear him more than Biden...

     A morning walk can unveil unusual things. With a slight knee strain, doc said I must trek thirty minutes a day for the next few weeks before attempting a run.   No worries.     For walkers, the placid, tree-line streets of Savannah offers a curious world unseen by passing cars, or ones zipping through by bike. Retired folk, some rocking lazily on their front porch, wave or nod good mo'nin. Rounding Ogeechee Rd, along the old cemetery pathway, where endless troves of slaves are buried in unmarked graves, I maintain my stride, right over left, paying close attention to my tender right knee.     Up ahead, a patrol man, sitting idle in his car, is pointing a long barrel gun aimed dead at my dome. He doesn't blink nor turn away. For a flicker of an instant, we stare each other down. Thank goodness he's hawking speeders and does not eye me as runaway prey.     I continue my stroll, walking past the cop who bemoans a pret...

Migrating to a foreign land can shape you in ways you hardly expect. Distasteful food, uncertain working conditions, and alien lifestyles that play havoc on the senses.  But nothing compares to the biggest shock of all: returning home.       After immersing himself in Japanese society for two decades, Darrell Gartrell suddenly found himself yanked back to the dog-eat-dog world of the United States .    Shunned by big business, he immediately was overwhelmed by  urban survival, bootstrap self-employment, and the degradation of his once-distinguished family. Now, Gartrell shares his struggle to integrate back into American society; a land as alien to him today as Japan was 20 years before. With gut-punching honesty, he boldly tackles some of America’s most familiar foes: structural racism, police violence, as well as his own unresolved demons.