D’lores

I'll always remember Philander Street. My name is D’lores Simmons. I call myself the Storiteacha.

Green, blue, tan, white, yellow, and brown houses standing so close together. Children playing. Teenagers courting, grown folks chatting, dogs barking, cats meowing, music playing, motors roaring, people walking, saying a friendly hello to all that they greet while living on that unique street. {Poem from D’lores’ autobiography Days Gone By}

Again, I am D’lores Simmons, the Storiteacha. And I did grow up in the northeast part of Rochester, New York. I grew up on a very unique street. How many of you have wished that some of your childhood days could come back. I often think about the days that I lived on Philander Street in the city of Rochester, New York.

I loved living on that unique street. Let me share some of the reasons and memories and interesting facts about Philander Street that I grew up on. Philander Street was located on the east side of the city. It ran between Syracuse and Central Park Streets, not far from the Rochester's public market that sold everything from shoes to fruits to vegetables.

Going to the market was an enjoyable weekly trip that my Mama and my sister Maxine, we took it every Saturday morning. There was about 22 houses on Philander Street. And only eight of them were single homes. All the other houses had from four to eight apartments in them. Some of the houses sat so close together that my brother in law said that when it was so cold, the houses would huddle together.

That house that I lived in, like many others, had no front yard. We entered our house from the side, which was paved with blacktop and just wide enough to fit one car. The front of the house sat on the edge of the sidewalk. When you walked down the sidewalk, you could actually touch our living room window. We did have a small backyard that held our clothesline. And there was also an oak tree and a few bushes. Can you imagine 22 houses that housed over 70 families.

Almeta

Thank you.

D’lores

There were so many children that we always had someone to play with. We would do something that I don't see children doing today.

We would play outside. We played kickball in the streets, jump rope, played hopscotch, and got on the sidewalk, played those jacks, and we played hide and seek, and made up games just for fun. But once those street lights came on, we had to be in our own yards.

There's an old saying It takes a whole village to raise a child. On our street, we were disciplined, chastised, and cared for by our neighbors. We didn't have anything called Neighborhood Watch. We had Ms. Clara May. Uh huh, I say Ms. Clara because back in the day, she would put a handle—We had to put a handle on adults names, and that's why we called her Ms. Clara May.

They were either Ms., Mrs., or Mr. Now Ms. Clara May, she could see, smell, and hear just about everything we children did that wasn't right. And she didn't hesitate to tell our parents. Again, there was no such thing as child abuse and parents didn't spare the ride. There were several times that I had to go outside and get a switch from that oak tree in the backyard. And of course I would always, always get the smallest one I can find.

Neighborhood stores were all around us. We had grocery stores, clothing stores, furniture, shoe stores, bakeries, dry cleaners, meat markets, and everything was in walking distance. We had our own neighborhood churches. and our own schools. We would walk to and from school. And I remember the days when we would leave school, go home, have lunch, and be back at school on time for the afternoon session.

In the early 60’s, I was still enjoying my life on Philander Street as a teenager. Most of the same families were still living there for people believed in stability back then. Really and truly, we were one big, almost always happy family. And even though we didn't have a lot of money, growing up was a carefree time. And personally, I did not even know my mama had to pay a water bill. I didn't know gas and electric wasn't free because my mama never told us and we never saw any bills and we were just living.

I realized that my mom was struggling to make ends meet but she never let that be a burden of mine. I didn't know that the water wasn't free. My mother was old school and she didn't tell us anything or complained about any household issues.

In 1964, things changed. That was the year of the riots in Rochester and I will never forget that scary night. Hearing the sirens screeching, glass cracking, smoke rising, squeaking yells, and running feet. People were watching and mothers were telling their children to go in the house. I listened and I watched as I peeped out of the front window.

I was listening and waiting for the unknown to happen as the National Guard and the police patrolled our streets. The riots of ‘64 changed the lives of people living on Philander Street, as well as in the entire city of Rochester. Many people moved and blinders were taken off as we learned a lot about what was happening in our city.

We no longer had neighborhood stores for most of them were burned down or went out of business. Philander Street was never the same after the riots. In 1970, I moved, but I only moved right down the street on Central Park from Philander Street. And I kept in contact with the people of my old neighborhood.

There was a strong bonding between my neighbors, and a close relationship with the people who grew up on Philander Street that still exists to this day. There have been times when I would see someone and they would say, “Hey, aren't you Philander Street, Lois?” And I would say, “That I am.”

Philander Street no longer exists. It was replaced with the Freddie Thomas High School on Scio Street. The school sits on the land that once housed many homes and a community of people. This year again, as we have had for the four past years, planning a reunion to renew old acquaintances and to restore a sense of pride in our today's community that can be passed on to our children and to our generation.

Philander Street, a unique street. And even today, we are still a community in the Rochester, New York area. And that's the end of that, y'all. {Excerpt from D’Lores’ autobiography Days Gone By}

Almeta

All right now, and what I appreciate what you've done with that Lois, is there are many disappeared streets that were the result of the Uprising. I don't use the word riot.

D’lores

Oh yes. Mm-Hmm.

Almeta

I call it an uprising.

D’lores

It was an uprising.

Almeta

It wasn't a riot. It was an uprising. There are many disappeared streets, and Philander is one. And for you to just bring it all together at the end, it's this beautiful—spirit, it has this right in control. What I want you to talk about is the connection between the different cultures of people.

I don't know what the household makeups were on Philander. Where I lived in Hanover houses, Rhine with my grandmother, Kelly, Joiner, Woodward, and when we moved over by Central Park on 3rd Street, there was many different groups of people. Did you have that on Philander Street as well?

D’lores

No. Let me talk about that in my way. I moved to Rochester from Memphis, Tennessee in 1960. Now, in 1957, I had come to Rochester and stayed one year with my aunt and my cousin. So I had some experience of being in Rochester, but at 12 years old, you really don't remember all those experiences except coming home from school, having hot dogs for lunch.

Almeta

Tell me about it.

D’lores

But in 1960, I moved to Rochester with my mother and my sisters. Coming from Memphis, Tennessee from a segregated city. In Memphis, the only white folks I ever saw was the white couple that my mother used to iron for. They would bring the clothes to be ironed, come and pick them up. The only other white folks that I ever saw was when I had to go to the cotton field to pick cotton. There were white folks there who were taking care of the business. If I went to a certain store a little ways from where I lived, there was a white store owner where I remember buying a green dress that came off the shoulders.

Almeta

All right now.

D’lores

But other than that, the watermelon man was white and I can remember—and y'all know I came from the South. And coming from the South, you do little things. I remember the watermelon man coming down the street and my girlfriend was across the street. I said, “Hey!” She said, “What girl?” I said, “I smell wood.” And she said, “What kind of wood?” I said, “Peckerwood.” And then I ran. But the watermelon man was always white, but growing up in a segregated city in Memphis, not being surrounded or having any relationship with white folks. Coming to Rochester, the person that I am, and I thank God for who I am, the transition was easy.

I had no problem, hey, when I went to 27th school, there was white kids in my class, so what? It was alright. But when I went to East High School, I'm coming from an all black high school. When I went to East High School, the school was predominantly white 98 percent of the time. There might have been one or two blacks in each class, except in my math class with Mr. Riley. Mr. Riley had more than four black boys and more than three black girls in his math class. And I loved Mr. Riley. He was strict. He was from segregated South and he knew us. And that made it very important in my learning from him.

But back to school. Coming from a segregated Memphis to a integrated Rochester, I had no problems. I had no problems going into the school, communicating with white girls and white boys. It was easy. And I made good friends with black and white. But the only thing that I can say about my years at East High School, the school was integrated, but it was also segregated.

Go to the lunchroom. And when you go to the lunchroom, you will see how segregated it was because all the black kids sat over here, and all the white kids sat over there. So the school was still segregated, even though it was integrated. But for me personally, I had no problem with integration. I had no problems with white folks.

I can remember being in my social studies class, coming from the South, and the teacher asked us, what was our nationality? Well, there was only about two of us in that class, so it went around the room and I was the first Black to answer. Now these other white kids that talk about Italian and French and German, they got to me. I said, “I'm Cherokee. Cherokee Indian is my family.” They looked, but nobody said a thing. And I didn't say anything. Because you see, I'm coming from the South. I didn't know nothing about no Africans. The only Africans that I knew was Tarzan. And Tarzan was on television making Africans look dumb, stupid, and illiterate. And I didn't want to connect with Africans. But it wasn't until I became educated, it wasn't until I learned who I was as an African American that I began to take on my ancestors who came here from Africa.

So, living in Rochester and dealing with other races was no problem. It was just something that I was able to take on just like that. And now on Philander Street, we had about three families of white folks that lived on that street. And the Browns lived at the end of the street. Hey, we were all family. We were all family. Two houses in a single house, there was a white woman. Family! We treated her just like we treated the others, but one thing about it, if you treat people right, they'll treat you right. And she treated us very well. And in return, we treated her well. So that's important, to treat others the way you want to be treated. I don't care what neighborhood you're in or where you come from.

So we did have a mix. And, oh, Sam. On Philander Street, we had a store called Sam's. Sam was white but he owned the store. And guess what? We never looked at Sam as a white man. We looked at him as Sam, who owned the store. And that's the way life was back then. And, like I say, after the Uprising of 1964, things changed, Sam moved on. So dealing with other cultures, nationalities in our community, we did what we had to do and we had a sense of who we were.

But I'm gonna tell you something else and I'm gonna put this in here. I'm going to write about this as a story, but not right yet. I got it up here. In 1968, now the riot was in 1964, Martin Luther King was assassinated in what year? 1968. But four months, four months before Dr. King was assassinated, my man, James Brown, came out with a song and that song said, “I'm Black and I'm proud.”

Now, let me tell you something. Many of us, and I'm speaking for myself, did not know that I could be proud of who I was being Black. Not in 1968, I was just coming 18, 19 years old. Well, you know, I'm not a grown woman. But when he came out with that song, “Say It Loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud,” thoughts came to many of us. You know what? I am proud to be Black.

And in 1968 is when I started doing my research. I started doing my research on inventors who were Black, how the slaves got over here. All these folks, these great African Americans that they never talked about. The only ones that I ever knew about was George Washington Carver and Booker T. Washington, the peanut man.

But they didn't tell me the peanut man made as much as he did. They didn't tell me the peanut man was as educated as he was. And all of the plants, and things that came from that peanut. And think about the peanut. Oh, anyways, that's another story. But I'm gonna tell you, growing up in the city of Rochester, coming from a segregated city was easy. It was easy because of who I was and the way that I was able to treat others and the way that others would treat me.

Now, when I went to Sibley's As a teenager I ain't say nothing to white folks. I wasn't used to it and I didn't speak, I didn't say nothing. But when I went to Neisner's, it was a whole different story because Neisner's was a store on Main Street, a meeting place that we all went to. It was a meeting place.

Almeta

All the high schools

D’lores

And we would go there after school and get pizza or go in the photo booth and take a picture. And folks that were working in Neisner's accepted us coming in, and we accepted them as being our helpers, our waitresses, and of whatever. So it's all about how you treat others.

If you treat others right, you might not get the respect that you want from some, but you got to know how to flip it off your shoulder and keep on going.

Almeta

That is wonderful. That is. And you brought up so many memories for me, Lois. And the reason why I'm doing this is because there's enough out there about the so called riot. Everybody doing something about it.

D’lores

Well, I talked to the guy that they charged the other day.

Almeta

No one is talking about how northeast Rochester was a diverse city. Community where all the races, everybody was in the same boat. So when you went into the—I'm like, Oh, thank you because, I don't want to talk about the negativity and you brought in everything that's good about the community. And then by the time we went to East, because I was in the Beachwood neighborhood, 98 percent Italian, 98 percent Italian.

D’lores

And then at East High School, Nick, white boy. Nick was a good looking young man and he was so nice to me. I remember.

We were friends. We weren't close-close, but we were sociable. And then, I can honest to God tell you, years later, I'm teaching at 39 school. I walk my kids to the front door and there's a fireman standing there. You know what the fireman said to me? “Your name Delores?” It was Nick. All these years later. How in the world did Nick remember me from East High School?

And here I am in my thirties. But see, that's what relationship can do. You don't have to be like this to have a relationship {D’lores crosses her fingers}. As long as you know that there's something. Nick, after 30 some years, walked up to me and said, “Are you Delores?” Nick! How did you remember me? But anyways, that's the story.

Almeta

Yeah, that's the beautiful thing. There was Marlene Tufo and I ran into her in the 90’s. She was a vice principal at one of the suburban schools and she said, “Almeta Whitis.” And I'm like, “Yes?” And she's just looking at me with this knowing smile and that little dimple and the twinkle in her eye.

And I'm like, “Yes?” She said, “Marlene. I'm like Marlene Tufo.” Oh my goodness. We were in class I was at 26th school.

I really thank you, Lois, because what you're saying is what I want to be in the archive. I want this for posterity, that we hear the actual stories of the people who lived there and experienced it. Especially on the streets that are disappeared.

…

D’lores

I was raised in Memphis, Tennessee. And being raised in Memphis, I mean, that's where I got my values. That's where I got wisdom bestowed upon me. That's where I got stories and cliches from my black teachers and all of that.

But I grew up in Rochester. Raised in Memphis but grew up in Rochester. Now when I say I was raised in Memphis, that's where I became a storyteller. In Memphis, Tennessee, you see, one day my mama had to go uptown because in Memphis we called it uptown, not down, but uptown. So my mama had to go uptown. And she said to my oldest sister, “Now Vena, I want you to watch Lois and these other kids.” And she said, “Okay, mama.” Mama went on uptown, and while mama was gone, I was playing around in the house. I had to be about maybe five, six years old. And I'm playing around in the house and carrying on and running.

Uh, oh that lamp fell and broke. And when that lamp fell and broke I went and set my behind down. Mama came home from uptown and she had with her what she always brought back, spanish peanuts and orange slices. And she looked over there and she said, “Who broke my lamp?” And my sister said, “Mama, Lois Jean did it.”

I looked at my mama. I said, “Mama, no, mama. I ain't do it. I didn't do it Mama.” And my sister said, “Mama, she telling a story.” You see, in those days, being raised in Memphis, you could not call anybody a liar. If you said lie in the household, that's a cuss word. And I remember when the word lie was a cuss word.

You couldn't say, “Mama, she lied.” You had to say, “Mama, she telling a story.” So you see, I've been a storyteller all my life.