An Unforgettable Experience

Charlie lived with his wife in the Nicetown-Tioga neighborhood of north Philadelphia.  We first met at Graterford Prison (closed in 2018) in the mid 1980’s, where Charlie and others went weekly to minister to inmates.  Long story short, Charlie and I became friends and developed a ministry together called “Where City and Country Meet” at the Yokefellow Center in northeastern Maryland. For a number of years, Charlie brought African-American children from the Nicetown-Tioga community to experience a day in the country.  I, in turn, visited Charlie on numerous occasions in his community.

The Nicetown-Tioga neighborhood is a 20-minute drive from downtown Philadelphia.  It was an extremely impoverished, drug, and crime-ridden neighborhood (“hence the North Philadelphia gallows-humor witticism that ‘there’s nothing nice about Nicetown’”).   In the 1960’s there was an influx of African Americans escaping poverty and the discrimination of the south into the already “worn and used” community.  That’s where Charlie and the children he brought to the Yokefellow Center lived. Charlie’s grandson (14-years of age) was shot and killed while walking across a parking lot near his home.  Charlie couldn’t afford to move out of the neighborhood so he tried his best (along with his Church community) to make it a better place.  It was not safe for me, a white man, to walk the streets of the neighborhood—but with Charlie by my side, I felt safe.  Charlie introduced me to his friends and neighbors.  I remember visiting the local barbershop and listening to the fellows gathered there and what they were up against. I shall never forget the experience.  Nicetown was Helltown. That was some thirty-plus years ago!  

When I visited Charlie I usually traveled  from the south and knew exactly how to get to his home (no GPS then).  Then one day on a return trip from New Jersey with my wife, we decided to visit with Charlie and got terribly lost—ending up in the middle of Philadelphia. Spotting a police car nearby I stopped to get directions.  Sitting in the cruiser was an African American police woman.  She reminded me of Officer Laverne Hooks in the Police Academy movies.  She was short, like Officer Hooks, and even had a soft gentle (though not squeaky) voice.

I explained to her that I was totally lost and discombobulated and where I wanted to go.  She responded with her soft voice that I must have the wrong address for my friend.  I assured her that I had visited Charlie on previous occasions and the address was correct.  She shook her head and then instructed me to go wait in the car.  A few minutes later she came over and said that she would “lead” us to the address.  And she did.  When we arrived at Charlie’s home I thanked her profusely for her help.  Her response was that she would remain parked in front of Charlie’s house until we finished our visit and then she would help us find our way out of the neighborhood. When we finished our visit and walked out of Charlie’s home—there she was, true to her promise. We followed her cruiser out of the neighborhood and she pointed us toward our way home.

“We do not know the inmost depths of the human heart;

 it is revealed only to love. 

But those who condemn have generally little love,

 and therefore the mystery of the heart which they judge is closed to them…” 

(Nicolas Berdyaev, The Destiny of Man).