Recently, we were approached by a young man who grew up in North Portland's St. Johns neighborhood and wanted to tell his story. He had an interested point of view on gentrification and we wanted to include some of his experience in the project. Since he now lives in Los Angeles, he was good enough to write some thoughts down so that we could post them on this site. We've left the story in his voice and we think it deserves a read. -- Cornelius Swart, producer.
My name is Zach Garman. I am 21 years old and reside in the Los Angeles area. However I grew up in Portland, Oregon during a very definitive time.
The year is 1999. I am only 5 years old at this time but I can remember everything as if it were yesterday. The small street I lived on was comprised of mostly older and run down bungalows, craftsman, and two small apartment complexes. It was extremely noisy where I lived. There was always someone yelling or sirens flying past the end of the block on the street perpendicular to mine. My family lived in a partially renovated 1905 farmhouse previously occupied as a crack house. There were a few other families on the block as well. Our neighbors, the Jacksons, lived on the corner. They’re a large family of Old English drinking, lifted truck driving, rednecks from Arkansas. They have grit and attitude like most of the families in the neighborhood. They play music all night through the summers on subs loud enough for literally the next three blocks over to hear. The rest of our street is just as eclectic. There are a few black families, an old white lady, and some recluses that never seem to leave their homes.
