Today, all over Brooklyn we hear talk about gentrification. It is an ugly word depending on who you ask. For Renee Collymore, a second generation West Indian-American, the word conjures images of struggle and sacrifice of one person, her father.The 1970s and 80s in Putnam Avenue and Fort Green were as rough as they come. It was era of the crack epidemic, prostitution, a corrupt police department, and the banging cackles of gun shots piercing the wake of the night."My dad played big part in revitalising these communities when no one was willing to take a chance because of problems you experience in the inner cities," Collymore told me.
She went on to chronicle her father's path, from humble beginnings in St Andrews, Barbados, to life in Mt Lambert, Trinidad at the early age of 12 years.Cecil Ruben Collymore, her father, later migrated to England, then to the United States. Nomadic, one can say. Nevertheless it offered the rudiments of discernment, the ability to grasp the moment."My father was a technician but also did low paying jobs to earn additional money."Collymore spoke fondly about her dad and her closeness to him. But it is his business acumen that still bewilders her."With the help of my mother Beatrice, who did odd jobs, he saved enough to buy an empty lot on Green Avenue, and a commercial store front on Putnam for $10,000."
This was only the beginning. A few years later the Collymores owned a laundromat, a salon, an ambulette service, a coffee shop, and rental properties."Half of Putnam Avenue and parts of Fort Green," is how Collymore put it.By the turn of the millennium (2003 to be exact) both areas were designated "prime real estate." In hindsight, her father was the consummate trailblazer who "took a chance when no established business would."Cecil Collymore was also contributory in "saving Julia Richman High School from being shot down because it failed to meet certain standards."According to Collymore her father fought and triumphed over the Department of Education, arguing that it had served the community and produced many successful personalities, including rapper Dougie Fresh and the late actor of Fame, Gene Anthony Ray. She also mentioned her father as "instrumental in the building of church that stands today on Grand Avenue."
Her father, she said, epitomised fatherhood and the entrepreneurial spirit, attributes that should be recognised and preserved by the City of New York."It is a must that we as second generation immigrants bring attention to our involvement in New York's development.Hers is a struggle for the accomplishments of immigrants to be preserved by street naming, and the dedication of school libraries, playgrounds, pedestrian plazas.It is an uphill task that brought Collymore before the Public Safety and Transportation Committee to have a street named in her father's honour, a street in one of the areas he helped revitalised. The requirements were dizzying. She met the criterion, "surpassed it."
Hundreds of signatures, references from business owners, politicians, clergy, education administrators, and news clips-she produced them all-only to be rejected.The board she said dismissed her application on the spurious claim that "its members did not know my father."It is a rationale she said that is baseless and without merit.How could the board members know my father when they weren't even around?" she asked rhetorically.Collymore, now locked in a bruising political battle for a State Committee Seat, will resubmit her request, vowing to continue the fight for her father's recognition."The contribution of our foreparents must transcend cultural shows and parades," she ended.
• Dr Glenville Ashby
New York correspondent
The Guardian Media Group
glenvilleashby@gmail.com
