In Texas, Persons' Places a Thang

Downtown Fort Worth, one of my favorite Texas places, during an antique car show

Imagine being the first person to discover a place. 

Nobody reading this blog has discovered a geographic place.  Our planet is fully explored and mapped, often by successive waves of explorers, mariners, land surveyors, government agents, migrants, and indigenous tribespeople. 

Indeed, for most Europeans who emigrated to America, starting with the Spanish explorer Juan Ponce de Leon, who landed in Florida in 1513, the discoveries they chronicled weren't firsts for humankind.  They were discoveries for Europeans.  Indeed, our continent was already inhabited - albeit sparsely - by other people groups.  We forget that before Europeans arrived, with written languages (and financial sponsors back in the Old Country who expected the explorations they were funding to be fully documented), the people we consider indigenous to the United States already had discovered many of the places the white-faced settlers claimed.

Unfortunately for the Native Americans, however, their experiences didn't count back then, and while a lot of their names for places remain with us to this day, history is written by the victors.  Which means white folks ended up taking credit for finding - and naming - most of the places where we live.

Because when you discover someplace, one of the first things you do is name it, right?

I'm not white-bashing here; I'm just pointing out that a lot of people have gone to a lot of places before us, and historically, politically, and socially, a lot of water has passed under the proverbial bridge of exploration.  A place is really only ever "discovered" once, but other people can lay claim to discovering that place if prior discoveries aren't sufficiently established.

Which brings me to present-day Texas, where I live, and which is home to one of the most diverse geographies of any state in America. We have lush tropical-like beaches lining the Gulf of Mexico, dense pine forests in the Piney Woods of east Texas, plus vast expanses of average scrubland, flat prairies, and finally, before you get to New Mexico, the impressive Davis Mountains.

All these places were discovered over centuries of exploration and settlement by Native Americans, Mexicans, and Europeans. Some of the Native American and Mexican names have stuck, while many more places have been named by Europeans either trying to honor themselves, or someplace in their home country or culture.  Texas has particular regions dominated by Germans and Czechs, for example, so some names reflect that heritage.

After living in the Lone Star State all these years, I've made a discovery of my own - and it's the discovery of how charismatic the names of some of this state's places are.  Some seem downright Texan, as if they belong nowhere else but here.  Some seem to portray a characteristic of Texas, such as its tendency for boastfulness and flash, or rustic romance, or even how plain and unremarkable much of the state's topography can be.  Some are stereotypical Western, almost as if they were named by a Hollywood producer. 

Some, like Uncertain (in Harrison County), and Cut and Shoot (in Montgomery County) seem simply dumb.  Located in the far eastern side of Texas, Uncertain is on Caddo Lake, which is the only natural lake in the state.  It's a small town, numbering all of 94 people as of 2010.  Apparently, when settlers went to incorporate the place, they couldn't decide on a name, so they filled out the state paperwork with "uncertain" in the space for the town's name.  So when the state approved the town's charter... you can see how a lack of planning doesn't lead to much, considering the place never grew very much either.  Besides, it's only half a square mile in size, and a lot of that is water.

Cut and Shoot is officially one of the newest towns in Texas, incorporated in 1969 north of Houston.  But its history extends as far back as 1912, when two opposing religious factions in the area argued over access to a meeting house so fiercely that an 8-year-old boy reputedly wailed, "I'm scared!  I'm going to cut around the corner and shoot through the bushes in a minute!"

Mostly, however, these places have names that seem strangely pleasing to the ear, and maybe even to the mouth, while speaking it.  And you have to speak the names with a Texas accent, which - just so you know - tends to drawl a bit.  Whiteright, for example, was named for the New York City financier who purchased the land for it from a nearby railroad, but Texans don't say it the way the man's family back East would have said it.  "Whatt-raht," with only a brief touch of the t's, is the proper Texas way of saying it.

So, without further ado, see what you think about some of these favorites of mine:


Bastrop

Boerne - (Texans pronounce it "burn" - it's one of the German towns I mentioned)

Burkburnett

Clute

Comfort

Cotulla - (with a long U)

Doss

Electra - (sounds like a fine name for the town of an oil tycoon, which it is - kinda.  The celebrated rancher WT Waggoner was drilling wells in scrubland near Wichita Falls, looking for water for his cattle.  Yet he's quoted as complaining that all his wells hit were oil, not water!  Electra was his daughter's name, but she never actually lived in the town.)

Estelline

Falfurrias

Fluvanna

Freer - (pronounced with a Texas drawl as a one-syllable word, not "free-er")

Goliad

Grit

Gun Barrel City

Jolly

Kendalia

Langtry

Levelland - (out in the middle of nowhere, west of Lubbock in the Texas Panhandle, where the "land" really is "level".  Texans pronounce it "LEV-ul-lan")

Loving - (somehow, I can't picture any town in New York State being named such a romantic word)

Luckenbach

Luling

Marfa

Maydelle

Monahans

Montague - (Texans pronounce it "MON-taeg")

Muleshoe

Ponder

Refugio

Ruidosa - (Texans pronounce it "Ree-ah-DO-sa")

Rusk

Shiner - (home of a famous alcoholic beverage, and one of the Czech communities I mentioned)

Tom Bean - (named after a wealthy landowner, Thomas Bean, who obviously thought "Beanville" or "Beantown" weren't suitable for his legacy.  Texans pronounce it "tomBANE" with no space between first name and last name)

Uvalde

Van Alstyne

Vidor - (Texans pronounce it "VAH-der")

Witharral

Ziler

As a bonus, I'll also add the county name of Deaf Smith, located in the barrens of Texas' Panhandle.  The name honors Erastus Smith, whose nickname was "Deaf" because he partially was.  Older generations of Texans pronounced it "DEEF," but not anymore.  "Deaf" Smith was born in New York State, but eventually found his way to Texas, serving as a soldier in the Texas Revolution, and one of the first Anglos to reach the Alamo after it fell to the Mexicans.  "Deaf" himself was not racist, marrying a Hispanic woman despite the political disputes between Texas and Mexicans at the time.  One of "Deaf's" daughters also married a free black man, who served with him in the Texas Revolution.

Purty inneresting, ain't it?  Considerin' all the sociopolitical rancor we like to mess with these days.
_____

Rae Ann, David's Bear

During her career at Chase Bank, Rae Ann didn't handle any account worth less than a million dollars.

One evening, she called her husband, David, from her office to say that the FBI had just shown up, needing her to run numbers on an account whose owner the federal government wanted to prosecute.  So who knew when she'd get home.

That's the type of job she had.

When I met Rae Ann, however, her proficiency with numbers extended to babbling "one-one-one-one-one" or "one-two-one-two-one-two."  You see, I met Rae Ann at Autumn Leaves, the dementia care facility where we'd had to place my father.

Just before David placed Rae Ann at Autumn Leaves, he'd had her brain tested, and it was functioning at the level of a two-year-old's.

David and Rae Ann lived simply, and they never had children.  Theirs was the second marriage for both of them, and while each of them had good jobs that required considerable responsibility, they were never big wage earners.  Still, they'd managed to amass a small fortune that should have ensured that they'd enjoy a comfortable and secure retirement.  But Rae Ann developed early-onset dementia, forcing her to retire early from Chase Bank.  And when she died early this morning, at Autumn Leaves, the sizable retirement portfolio she and David had built had been depleted to several thousand dollars.

All the rest - including vacation property in Maine that David sold a couple of years ago - ended up paying for her dementia care.

David died over a year ago, after his COPD flared up.  He'd quit smoking years before, but after he was forced to place Rae Ann in Autumn Leaves, his mother suffered a debilitating stroke and soon died.  As his wife's condition continued to deteriorate, the stress wreaked havoc on David, and he went back to smoking, even though he kept denying it to anybody who'd ask.  His own death was quick and relatively painful; quite unlike his wife's death, which was slow and, in her final days, quiet and as pain-free as her hospice nurses could make it.

On his deathbed - literally - my mother and I promised David that we'd continue to look after his dear wife, the woman he affectionately called his "Bear."  Her extended family lives in Maine and Florida, and David's only surviving relative, his brother, was struggling with his own cancer treatments at the time.  Fortunately, David's brother eventually managed to beat his cancer, and along with his wife, they moved to Arlington from Mississippi so they could be closer to better cancer care if he needed it in the future.  Along with one of Rae Ann's brothers in Maine who served as her medical power of attorney, David's brother and sister-in-law monitored Rae Ann's daily care until the end.  And Mom and I visited her at least once a week, like we promised her husband we would.

Although... it was quite weird for us to realize that, because of her dementia, she never knew she had become a widow.

When Mom and I first toured Autumn Leaves, as we prepared to place Dad there, Mom says she was in such a daze, she doesn't remember it.  But we met Rae Ann during that tour, as one of the managers was showing us the facility's airy craft room, and explaining how all of the artwork on the walls had been done by former residents.  Rae Ann, who at the time still sported what I'd call a "normal" hairstyle, wore clean clothes, and properly-applied fingernail polish, wandered into the craft room, silently listening to the manager, and nodding her head in an inquisitive cadence.  At first, I thought she was the family member of another resident there.  She wore a bright shirt with "Maine" on it, something I particularly noticed since my Mom is originally from there.

It wasn't until the manager took Mom and me from the craft room and down another hallway - with Rae Ann still shuffling along behind us! - that I realized she was a resident.

Back then, David usually fed her at mealtimes, so her clothes weren't marked by spilled food.  If you've ever seen a dementia patient eat, you know it can be a messy process.  Rae Ann didn't really need to be fed until about a year ago, but David wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, and he wasn't bothered by the chaos that can easily overtake a dining room full of dementia patients.  Mom and I, on the other hand, couldn't bear to watch Dad eat, so I'd usually place him at David and Rae Ann's table before we left.

She'd led a proper and well-mannered life before dementia set in, as you'd expect from an accountant at a bank.  Rae Ann quilted, crocheted, and sewed in her spare time - all hobbies that bespeak a congenial temperament of precision and disciplined creativity.  In fact, when her brother-in-law and sister-in-law cleaned out their house after David died, they contacted a church group known for its knitting circle to come and clear out a bedroom full of cloth, yarn, and other supplies.  When the ladies arrived to get the material, they were stunned, and told her in-laws that they would document all that Rae Ann had in stock for tax purposes, because it would be a significant amount.  To her in-laws' surprise, the ladies calculated that Rae Ann amassed craft materials worth over $11,000!  She'd probably planned on spending her retirement working away quietly on various knitting and sewing projects.  Instead, it went to helping pay down David's estate taxes.

At Autumn Leaves, meanwhile, Rae Ann could be anything but quiet and well-mannered.  One morning, just as we'd arrived to visit Dad, Mom and I saw Rae Ann storm by, her face as black as coal with that tell-tale dementia scowl, water dripping everywhere, clothed only in a canvas-looking shift that caregivers often put on residents while being bathed or showered.  Her hair was dripping wet, and a caregiver was trotting behind her, towel in hand, but staying just enough out of Raye Ann's strident gait.  According to Texas state law, residents of care centers cannot leave a shower with wet hair, so the caregiver who'd lost the battle in the shower was simply following Rae Ann with the towel in case a state inspector showed up!  David had already approved that plan after it was discovered that Rae Ann, whose normal lifetime of patience ran low in her dementia, would often rage out of a half-completed shower, maybe because she didn't understand why she was wet.  "Just stay out of her way when she's in that mood," David would say.  "It's one reason I have her here - I can't control it myself."

He arrived at Autumn Leaves soon after that, and when Mom and I told him - laughing - the spectacle we'd seen, David laughed as well.  "That's my 'Bear'," he grinned.

One time, after she had a seizure and David took her to the hospital, Rae Ann managed to deck an ER technician, despite her petite frame and skinny arms.  Indeed, Mom and I never touched her until recently, when her strength was obviously gone.  We didn't  know what would provoke her.  Sometimes she'd lash out at David, and he just took it, because he knew she didn't know what she was doing.  One time, a visitor to Autumn Leaves came up to her, on the other side of a room from where David and I were talking, and he put his arm around her to greet her.  Some people are touchy-feely like that, even when they don't know the other person.  But Rae Ann wasn't a touchy-feely type of person.  She turned and glared at the man, a complete stranger, and her face turned coal-black.  David turned to me quietly and said, "I'm waiting for her to lay him flat out cold."

Fortunately for the man, he immediately got Rae Ann's drift, and moved away from her, much to David's obvious disappointment!

Back in those days - hard to believe I'm only talking about the time three years ago when Dad was there - the corporate office at Autumn Leaves would hold corporate parties at this Arlington facility, which is the original in their chain of dementia care homes.  They'd hire a caterer, set up long tables with white tablecloths stocked with platters of fancy foods, and invite vendors, family members, and who knows who else to come and have a feast.  Mom and I never understood why people would want to party and socialize at a dementia facility, and the parties never did manage to attract big crowds.  But one evening, as Mom and I were getting ready to leave, and I was about to take Dad down to his dining room (away from the tables with white tablecloths), David came strolling by, looking for Rae Ann.

"Have you eaten any of this grub?" David asked, with a chuckle in his voice.  When we told him we hadn't, he laughed.  "Good!  Because Bear's been by a couple of times already, dipping her hands into each of those bowls, and fingering all of those platters of food!"

And who knows where else those hands had been.  Dementia patients are not known for their cleanliness or sanitation savvy.

One of the things Rae Ann did - for hours on end - was walk.  Autumn Leaves is designed with hallways that radiate out from a central courtyard, which gives dementia patients the feeling that as they walk, they're actually going someplace, even though they're just walking in one big circle.  Dad walked a lot, too, but not as much as Rae Ann.  One Saturday, I recall, Mom and I were at the doorway to Dad's room when I looked up the hall, and saw Miss Margie, one of the most frail women there, being helped along by her son.  But they were in Rae Ann's way, during one of her walks, and she pushed Miss Margie so that she fell, and actually broke her hip - right there, as Miss Margie's son and I watched.  They had to call an ambulance and take Miss Margie to the hospital, and although physical therapy managed to help get her back on her feet, Miss Margie never really did walk again, and her family preferred her having the relative safety of a wheelchair anyway.  But the family never sued David or Rae Ann, or Autumn Leaves.  Like all of us who have to deal with the reality of dementia, Miss Margie's family understood that "sometimes things just happen."  It's sad, and frustrating, and even a bit scary, but that's dementia.

What's also scary about dementia is how young some of its victims are.

Rae Ann, for example, was 71.  She'd had dementia for approximately nine years.  David dutifully cared for her by himself until he could no longer handle her severe mood swings.  He realized things were getting out hand when, one day, she opened the door and invited some Jehovah's Witnesses inside before he, from another part of the house, realized what was going on.  Fortunately for the irreligious David, their conversation was going nowhere fast!  Remember the "one-one-one-one" babbling?  That's about all the talking Rae Ann could do.

Well, except for one time that Mom and I will remember with special fondness.  We were with Dad, and David, and Rae Ann, walking the hallways together, and we came upon one of the activity directors, a young, small woman who was expecting her first child.  And David took it upon himself to make a mild "fat" joke in light of her pregnancy...  at which point Rae Ann stopped, wheeled around, and turning to David, pointed a skinny finger into his face, and loudly chastised, "NO.  Not my husband!"

It was an amazing moment of clarity for Rae Ann, and we all burst into laughter.  Except David, whose eyes welled up with tears.  Yet not with shame, at being reprimanded.

"Imagine her picking this time to be lucid," he marveled, beaming lovingly at his wife.


 

New Convert Syndrome

A pastor from Chicago recently contacted me for my opinion regarding the dynamics of how singles and America's evangelical church interact.  He'd found my name from a Crosswalk.com article that I'd written several years ago, back when the Christian webzine had me as one of their regular contributors.

Here's his question:

Although single myself, I have spoken on singleness maybe twice in my life.  Singleness is way down my list of interests or passions.  Nevertheless, I’ve begun looking at bias or even prejudice against singles in the Protestant church, as pointed out to me by Muslims background believers and Jewish believers.  A cultural lens is strong and causes us to see things that are not there and blinds us to things that are.  The fresh eyes of Muslim background believers and Jewish folks looking at Protestant Christianity have exposed different blind spots in the church, and one of those may be perceived bias against singleness.  My own experience as a single has been positive, but the more I've dug into the issue of singleness and the church, I'm realizing my good experience may be the exception.  What is your perspective of the broader church and its relationship with singles?

And here is my response:

What you highlight here is probably less a dynamic of singlehood, and more a dynamic of "new convert syndrome." 

Which, of course, is quite unfortunate, and inexcusably common, since as evangelicals, we should be used to being around new converts.  But so few of us, at least in the United States, participate in the conversion and initial discipleship experience of new converts, we actually find the enthusiasm and intensity of new believers (regardless of their marital status) to be somewhat draining and odd.  Particularly for new believers who come from other religious traditions that are more intense than ours, such as Islam and Judaism.

We Western evangelicals are mostly sanguine and enveloped in our own problems and frustrations with church, even to the point where we become wet blankets for new converts.  Here they are, with the Holy Spirit having just revealed the most profound truths they will ever know, and here we are - no matter our gender, or race, or ethnicity (as conventional American evangelicals) - actually being bothered by the questions, the optimism, the exploration, and the excitement of new believers.

I myself have been guilty of this, and I've seen it first-hand, where a new believer quickly runs into walls thrown up not just by unbelievers, but by fellow Christ-followers who should be willing to spend the extra time and energy necessary to help acclimate our new brothers and sisters in Christ into His new life.  It's called "discipleship," and we try to squeeze the process into a program, or a class, or some other package, when discipleship is often as individualistic as the convert.  Like most genuine relationships, the discipleship dynamic should probably be more organic and less structured than we try to make it.

I suspect that true discipleship requires more time and energy from us than we want to give it.

And particularly within the dynamic of a singles ministry, or when singles have new faith, this "new convert syndrome" can take on even more awkward tones, at least with men.   Evangelical women, as you might be able to attest, can be fiercely protective of their virtue to the point of being overly guarded and easily offended.  Meanwhile, evangelical men tend to be either ill-equipped spiritually or at least uncomfortable discussing faith with new believers.  If it's not about sports, business, or politics, many guys quickly clam up.  In my New York City days, I was around MBBs and Jewish converts who tend to be more intense, and frankly, when you're not used to it, it can be off-putting.  Which, of course, is my fault, not theirs.

A lot of it depends on the language and expressions that were used in the salvation process.  If people come to Christ on promises that He will make their lives better, and that He will help them succeed, then frustration will inevitably ensue after the conversion experience.  Life isn't easy for believers, and those of us who've been saved for a while know that.  However, if people are led to Christ through Biblical instruction, which teaches the indelible nature of our sin, yet the totality of God's holy grace, then emotional and situational expectations probably won't lead to quick disappointment.

So while the church in general may have issues with singles, for new converts of any marital status, it may be that many long-time evangelicals simply consider them too much work...

...To which this Chicago church-planter replied, "well-said."

Was it?

Chipsters "R" Gentefiers, yet Profit Still Motive

Gentrification has arrived in Dallas.  Big time.

And some new urbanists hope gentefication isn't far behind.

For years, beginning with suburbanization in the 1950's, and then fueled by white flight since the 1960's, many Caucasians have considered Dallas's central residential neighborhoods undesirable.  And not simply for racist reasons.  Like every other city in America during those decades, bigger suburban lot sizes and single-family homes were prized totems of the American Dream, while dense, zero-lot-line urban neighborhoods simply couldn't compete for affection.

Now that our urbanization tide has turned, however, newer generations of all skin colors and ethnicities are discovering what their parents and grandparents had deemed outdated:  the "inner-city."  Smaller lot sizes are now desirable because both husbands and wives now work outside the home, and have little time for - or interest in - tending a sprawling yard.  Trends shift, after all.  Plus, increasingly grueling commuter drive times now encourage many urban workers to live closer to work.  And, frankly, America's inner cities feature a housing infrastructure that has decayed over the years to the point where it's becoming economically feasible to profitably redevelop aging neighborhoods.

The problem, of course, is that these aging neighborhoods full of decaying housing aren't empty.  While whites and affluent minorities have been ensconced within suburbia, the urban poor have continued living in these grim urban neighborhoods.  And the reason inner-city housing is now prime for economic renewal rests entirely on the fact that the urban poor have been unable to pay for the type of maintenance that would have kept this aging housing stock in prime condition.

But that doesn't mean the urban poor haven't developed their own types of community within America's inner cities.  The urban poor may have been marginalized in the eyes of relatively affluent suburbanites, but they never disappeared.

So now, imagine how indignant the urban poor are to see new, white hipsters and empty nesters eagerly invading city neighborhoods; neighborhoods through which most whites wouldn't have dreamed of driving ten years ago, let alone purchasing a home.

It sure looks like another racial attack on minorities, doesn't it?  Except this time, in reverse?  Instead of whites fleeing "invading" minorities, the whites are now the invaders.

For folks who see racism behind every tree, that's the obvious scenario.  But what we want to see isn't necessarily reality.  Because at the root of gentrification lies not racism, or skin color, or ethnocentrism, but economics.

Think about it:  If whites who are moving back into the inner cities were such racist bigots, why would they be willing to live next-door to people who don't look like them?  Wouldn't whites instead be moving into heavily-fortified gated communities surrounded by moats and turrets?

Besides, while gentrifiers today may be mostly white, many are also black, Hispanic, and Asian.  They're not "invading" urban America to reclaim it for their particular race, they're moving back downtown because it's closer to where they want to work and play and live - and THEY CAN AFFORD TO.

Ka-ching!  It's about the money, folks.  Not racism.

Still, some folks seem almost eager to paint this new-found popularity of formerly dying cities as some sort of pall on the very urbanity in which newcomers are obviously eager to reinvest.  In a way, this sounds like a new form of reverse racism, in which some blacks and Latinos seem unwilling to admit that whites can be less sensitive to skin color and ethnicity than they are.

Witness the newest trendy term to preoccupy gentrification's opponents:  "Genteficiation."  In Spanish, "gente" is the word for "people", and the inference here is that Hispanic gentrifiers can be intrinsically more beneficent to the "indigenous" people populating inner city America than whites.

According to The Dallas Morning News, "the center of gentefication is the idea that Latino entrepreneurs may be more likely to preserve a barrio’s integrity, the cultural institutions of a neighborhood."  Experts on gentefication have even contrived further terms like "Chipster," an abbreviated form of "Chicano" and "Chicana" hipsters.

Gentefication is believed to have been coined in Los Angeles, where young, entrepreneurial Latinos - the "Chipsters" - are being either blamed for or credited with fueling rapid gentrification in Boyle Heights, one of the city's largest Hispanic neighborhoods. 

Henry Cisneros, the former mayor of San Antonio and member of the Clinton administration, says gentefitication involves “respecting the people who are there and their heritage, their right to be there" in these aging urban neighborhoods undergoing gentrification.  He claims Latino entrepreneurs have an incentive to protect the cultural distinctives within their neighborhoods from the type of sanitized gentrification whites apparently perpetrate.

Funny how anybody who said similar things about whites protesting the black and Hispanic integration of previously white-majority neighborhoods were called racists.  What makes that same attitude less racist today?

White flight involved the premise that blacks and other minorities were inferior to whites, and therefore a destructive force that decimated property values - a theory that seemed to prove itself because it evolved into a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Yet today, with whites predominantly portrayed as the prototypical gentrifiers, is it fair to paint whites in a similarly disparaging brush?  Who's to say that a thirst for economic victory is somehow blunted in Hispanics, whose love for some intangible nostalgia for their barrio is curiously stronger than their desire to make money through increasing property values?

There's no obvious reason to postulate that Hispanics are somehow more virtuous when it comes to gentrification.  To claim so betrays an ignorance about the phenomenon that only perpetuates racism against whites.

Remember, gentrification is not a racial dynamic.  It is an economic one.

Gentrification can appear to penalize a particular race or ethnicity that may be dominant in a neighborhood being affected by gentrification.  But the phenomenon itself is colorblind.  So, in terms of trying to couch such neighborhood change in trendy nuance, why should Hispanic gentrifiers be more beneficent than Anglo or black gentrifiers?  What is it about the economics of gentrification that should make Hispanics less eager to realize a profit - because that's what new urbanists are implying.  Will comparatively wealthy Hispanics feel more personal conviction at pricing out long-time poor Hispanics?  Will Hispanic entrepreneurs price their new products - whether it's restaurant fare, housing, gym memberships, etc - within reach of longtime locals, or more affluent newcomers?  Or should they offer discounts to long-time Hispanic residents?

Or will they operate within our new urban dynamics as free market players, looking to optimize every opportunity?

How could you explain doing business any other way to your lenders?

You see, the big angst over gentrification isn't that crime rates tend to drop, or that city services tend to improve, or that economic redevelopment often results in more jobs, albeit in the low-paying service sector.  The most significant impact of gentrification is that long-time residents of an aging community - often poorer, less-educated, and more reliant on city services than gentrifiers - get forced out of their long-time neighborhoods.

Before gentrification results in a renewed sense of neighborhood stabilization - which does ultimately happen, when the new demographics are once again economically homogeneous (now at the higher end of the scale) - there is a painful transition period characterized by destabilization, as poor residents get displaced by wealthier ones.  It's a transition that nobody has been yet able to tame.  Because at the end of the day, it's all about money.  Dinero.

Remember, this is not a racial issue.  Landlords raise rents not to attract newer, whiter tenants, but because they want to exploit the rise in property values gentrification triggers.  Landlords also stop renewing rents so they can sell out to redevelopers who want to create higher-priced housing for newcomers, whether they're white, Latino, black, or purple-polka-dotted.  Money is doing all the talking here, and the accent isn't cultural, it's green.  As in greenbacks.  Dollars.  Bucks.

It's all about money.  And, speaking of money, where do these long-time residents go, especially if they can't afford higher rents?  And if they can afford higher rents, how well will they integrate with newcomers who have a much different lifestyle and standard of living?

These are some of the legitimate drawbacks to gentrification.  And they need far better answers than what we've currently got.  AND continuing to play racist cards resolves nothing.

Even if a Hispanic landlord might want to keep rents artificially low, to help their low-income tenants, what happens when rising values cause property taxes to rise?  And why should a poor Hispanic family, after spending years in their little old house, surviving high crime rates and a dearth of local amenities, refuse to capitalize on their newfound fortune, suddenly owning a property that is worth so much more than they ever hoped it would?  Just because they're Hispanic?  If you're talking racism here, couldn't that be seen as a double-whammy against them?

Hey, there's very little piety to go around when it comes to rising property values.  Even though, yes, it sure would be nice if somebody could find a way of cushioning the impact of gentrification on a neighborhood's tenured and poor.  But genteficiation is simply sloppy wishful thinking.

Dallas already has proof of that.  Just last year, in the city's hyper-gentrifying Bishop Arts District, long a gritty enclave of poor Hispanics, a historic Mexican restaurant building was torn down.  The building had been owned by the Cuellars, an influential Hispanic family, purveyors of the well-known El Chico Tex-Mex brand.  Who better to preserve a beloved icon of Hispanic heritage than the Cuellars?  They were already wealthy, and could have easily afforded to absorb the costs of maintaining their old building, even if they didn't want to keep a restaurant in it.

But no, they sold out to CVS, the national drugstore chain, which is building a modern yet generic store.  City leaders pleaded with the Cuellar family to at least keep their building's quaint character intact and force CVS to customize their store within the building's 1940 exterior.  But the Cuellars couldn't be bothered, and CVS didn't want the hassle of fitting its corporate operations within a unique venue.

So much for gentefication.  Hey, money talks - even to Hispanics.