Tag Archives: Furnier

Cincinnati Public Housing: Winton Terrace

When my great grandpa William Howard Furnier passed away in 1940, he left behind his wife Edith Myrtle (nee Graham) and their two kids.  Sometime around then she moved to the Cincinnati Metropolitan Housing Authority project Winton Terrace.  In my Grandpa’s (Edith’s son’s) papers there are newsletters from Winton Terrace in the latter half of the 20th century.  This one particularly caught my eye for its colorful cover and anniversary theme.

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Unfortunately there isn’t much history inside the newsletter, aside from this page making a special tribute to the families that moved in when Winton Terrace first opened (including my great grandma):

 

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The auto-fill that pops up when I type Winton Terrace into a Google search bar looks something like:

winton terrace beating

winton terrace fights

winton terrace cincinnati shooting

winton terrace cincinnati oh fight

The history of Winton Terrace

My Cincinnati and public housing history knowledge isn’t very sharp, so I don’t feel qualified to really dig into the social-cultural issues that make up Winton Terrace’s history and present.  (Best thing found in a quick online search is this report.)

I asked relatives about their memories of Winton Terrace. The small details of kid memory get me the most, like my aunt remembering “Grandma’s bricks on her aluminum garbage cans.” Memories from multiple family members about their Grandma (my great grandma) threatening (but never hitting) them with a flyswatter when they misbehaved.

I want to know more, but I started grad school this year and stuff got pretty real in February, so I have to set aside in-depth personal research for research of the school and work variety for now. But Winton Terrace will be hanging around in the back of my mind for awhile. That tension between the hope of public housing and the reality of decades of aging and change, and how personal memories and contemporary stereotypes about housing projects shape the conversation. Lots of questions; lots and lots of questions.

(P.S. The Pruitt-Igoe Myth is a really good documentary on a public housing project in St. Louis.)

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Somewhere Over-the-Rhine-bow

Likely Cincinnati (check out the "Queen City" label on the inside of the overhang).  I think the second kid from the left is probably my great grandpa, but I'm not 100%.

Probably Cincinnati (check out the “Queen City” label on the inside of the overhang). I think the second kid from the left is possibly my great grandpa, but I’m not 100%.

It’s been a number of months and I’m still struggling to write down my impressions of Cincinnati’s Over-the-Rhine neighborhood.  I mostly feel a murky sense of awe at the beautiful architecture and a mix of shame and distress over what kind of living conditions many of the people in the neighborhood deal with on a day to day basis.

In the places we encounter we all bring something to the table.  I’ve lived in Los Angeles for almost six years now.  It is both the richest and poorest place I’ve lived in.  I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area and was taught that the Bay was beautiful, but LA was a dump.  I’ve always been a fan of the underdog, and now that I’ve been in LA for awhile I feel a sense of ownership and pride and think I can finally call this sprawling metropolis my home and my city.

Downtown Los Angeles has its Skid Row.  It’s a blurry line between bars with $12+ cocktails and industrial streets lined with tents and makeshift shelters.  Well-dressed and high-heeled foodies and cocktail connosseurs cross paths with dishelved individuals who often seem to be aimlessly wandering the streets.  Sometimes you get asked for change, sometimes someone from the tent side of town will try to start a conversation with you (that usually doesn’t make much sense), but as long as you mind your own business the vast majority of encounters with Skid Row residents are passive.

Los Angeles gets such a bad rap for its gang issues, its race riots, its Skid Row.  I’d seen parts of Skid Row enough times at all hours of night and day, so I didn’t think seeing a neglected downtown core in another major city would be any kind of shock, but I think that’s the only word I can use.

I know Cincinnati is a Rust Belt city.  I know Cincinnati has an important significance in the history of my Dad’s dad’s side of the family.  I know when I visited suburban Cincinnati in 2006 all my relatives told me not to go downtown (they all now live in the suburban neighborhoods outside of downtown – no one lives in the city anymore).  Of course that made me want to go even more.

When adult people are slumped over motionless in doorways, it’s easier to distance yourself; to make it a “us” and “them” situation.  We all compartmentalize to some extent as a mental survival mechanism.  The world is full of many things both inside and outside of our control and we place our thoughts and feelings in the bins they need to go in so that we can keep functioning within the narrow scope of our individual lives.

A mystery person (probably a relative) in a photograph taken at a studio at 7th and Vine St. in Cincinnati

A mystery person (probably a relative) in a photograph taken near Over-the-Rhine at Young & Carl photo studio at 7th and Vine St. in Cincinnati (Family Photo Reunion says this studio was in operation at this location between 1895 and 1915)

For months now I’ve placed Over-the-Rhine in its historical bin – a curious look into a past place where my ancestors existed.  Neighborhood neglect has been both a blessing and a curse as many structures still exist, but many are also slowly crumbling away.  Taking a walking tour was a great chance to get to walk the streets my ancestors walked and to see the buildings they saw.  Place is a powerful component of the past.  Getting to see the Over-the-Rhine neighborhood with my own two eyes and feet seemed like the next best thing to climbing in a time machine.  But a very current place exists among the structures of a past time.  While the buildings were neglected and forgotten, so too were the communities that came to live in Over-the-Rhine.

I think that was the biggest shock of the decayed downtown core.  Most of the LA Skid Row individuals I’ve encountered are adults, while walking around Over-the-Rhine felt more like seeing the inside of a multigenerational community existing in spite of human and structural threats.  A group of little kids waved at us from an upper story window, while a gangly woman with a beaten face walked over to a man in a doorway, and a buff weightlifter parked his car along the sidewalk to blast some tunes while he hefted big metal dumbbells on the strip of concrete between sidewalk and asphalt.  This place is alive; people really live here.  (And I don’t mean to knock LA’s Skid Row as a place where people don’t live – it just has a much more transient feel to it, unlike the very rooted feeling of Over-the-Rhine.)

At the beginning of this I mentioned “shame” as one of the feelings percolating in my mind.  I’ve written about the idea of the legacy of historical shame in the past (Legacy Guilt), and I think I’ve come around to a good psychological place on personal genealogical issues.  Despite this, I am still working on finding some level of acceptance in confronting bigger picture injustices that were created by past discrimination and neglect and are perpetuated today.  Like dealing with my personal family history, the bigger family history of humanity (and American humanity in particular) is something that I can’t change.

Maybe at least increasing awareness is a good step in the right direction.  It definitely opened my eyes and made me want to know more, to see more, to understand more.  My inner optimist fell in love with the neighborhood and I feel hopeful that there is some sort of possible middle ground for Over-the-Rhine, where it can keep its roots but become a structurally and culturally safer place for the community to grow.

There are changes and movers and shakers working on the neighborhood, though there is always a fine line between saving buildings and bringing in money and pushing out those that live in the neighborhood.  Can gentrification be a positive for everyone involved?

The Three Piece Suit.

William Howard Furnier, my paternal great grandpa. , possibly in Cincinnati, likely sometime in the 1910s or 1920s.

William Howard Furnier, my paternal great grandpa. Possibly in Cincinnati, likely sometime in the 1910s or 1920s.

This is my paternal great grandpa William Howard Furnier.  I look at this photo and think, hey, if this were taken in the era of the digital photo they totally would’ve looked at the camera screen and done a second take.  But with this possibly taken in Cincinnati mostly likely in the 1910s or 1920s, great grandpa Howard Furnier was stuck with this eyes shut photo.

But, I digress.  This post is less about my ggrandpa, and more about his attire.  Rewatching Boardwalk Empire made me pay even closer attention to everyone’s clothes, and I am just dying over the three piece suits.  The jacket-pants-vest combo in 1920s wonderfulness is killing me.  I did some google image searching which led me to this fantastic blog with great posts on Jimmy Darmody’s suits (dark pinstripe and blue suit). (Nick Charles has got it goin’ on too.)

Vests and menswear really don’t fit my body type.  Neither does 1920s womenswear, alas.  Thankgoodness me and the Mad Men era get along.

Howard Furnier would’ve been a contemporary to Andrew Holt (all the way over on my Mom’s side of the family).  Andrew was about 10 years older, but they both seem like they were movers and shakers of a sort.  Howard did some amateur boxing in the 1910s and 1920s – exciting!  Totally a future post topic.  I think I’ll be staying in the 1910s/1920s for awhile, I’m getting comfy here.

Not to mention, Howard married my great grandma Edith Graham in Newport, Kentucky in 1929.  I went on an Underground Cincinnati tour, run by the fabulous American Legacy Tours company, and learned they also have a Newport, Kentucky walking tour on gangsters, speakeasies, and all that jazz!  I don’t know when I’ll be back in the Cincinnati area to visit relatives again, but I definitely want to go on the Newport tour next time I’m around town.  I had no idea Newport was a significant place during Prohibition.

Grandparents and parents.

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Margaret and Donald Hickman with my Uncle and Mom. February 1959 and probably in Garden Grove, CA

I went to a clothing swap on Saturday that confirmed my belief that 1950s and 1960s dresses are my thing.  I still think the early 1930s are my most favorite fashion years, but I wasn’t built to wear those styles.

I’m glad Don Draper on Mad Men is finally becoming aware of his alcoholism.  My grandpa Don was also an alcoholic in the 1950s and 1960s (and other decades).  I hope Don Draper can move beyond his drinking problem and not let it kill him in the 1980s like it did my Don.

My grandparents lived in Southern California for awhile in their younger years.  Don was a Seabee in the Navy at Port Huaneme (and other non-SoCal locales), and then he and my Grandma lived in Los Angeles and Orange County for a bit before they ended up back in Oklahoma.

I haven’t found documentation, but when Don was a little kid I think his parents brought him out to California at least once in the 1930s.  It seems like he had a very unstable childhood.  I’ve always thought his dad James Aubrey Hickman (who I call “Pa” because that’s what my Mom called him) was handsome in photos.  I think he was also an alcoholic?  Maybe I’ll post about Pa next.

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Machiko and James Furnier with my Dad, circa 1960-1961. Could’ve been taken in Montana or Okinawa or Ohio or elsewhere. I’m sure someone knows where. I should ask.

I didn’t get to know my Furnier grandparents very well before they passed away.  My Grandpa James was big into genealogy, which is one of the few things I know about him.  He did a lot of research on the Furniers, back in the days before the internet.  As genealogy torchbearer I’ve been debating creating some kind of online database with all the genealogy related materials digitized and organized.  I don’t think of myself as owner of any of it; I think of myself as steward of materials that belong to the whole family.

For now I’m just going to start posting more about genealogy on this blog.  It seems to be one of the few subjects I feel inclined to ramble about.  Writer’s block is no match for genealogy musings.