In a Land Park driveway during the pandemic, we are all one, and America works just fine

In this moment of profound American dysfunction, the impulse to jump into despair is sometimes overwhelming.

Some estimate that one in three Americans is facing major depression or anxiety issues because of…Well, what isn’t there to feel despair about?

COVID-19? Quarantine? Social distancing? Can’t go to your favorite spots? A major economic crisis? Not being able to touch your loved ones or sometimes even see them physically?

There’s more, of course. Lots more.

But let me give you a report on a place where America works just fine.

It’s a driveway in Land Park.

Opinion

Mostly every night, my neighbors gather, usually in that same driveway, and always socially distant. Six feet would be crowding; they like 10 or 12. They all have their masks.

In that driveway at 6 o’clock sharp, a microcosm of America gathers with a drink of some kind, maybe a chair, even a walker.

They are Black, white, Asian, Latinx, married, unmarried, older, straight, not straight, tall, short, on canes, or just back from a 15-mile bike ride. Perhaps 10 or 12 show up each night.

One couple, Clarence and Callie, are in their 80s. They are Black, retired social workers, and were among the original Black students who integrated the University of Tennessee in the late 1950s. They noted, when George Floyd died, they were only admitting Black graduate students because Tennessee didn’t want undergraduates living on campus.

There is living, thriving history in a driveway in Land Park. Ever had a conversation with a Black couple about how they used the “Ebony Travel Guide” instead of the “Green Book” to plan their travel, or how they would drive around the Mississippi border because it was too dangerous?

You can do that in this driveway.

Clarence is 88; he had three quarters of his stomach removed because of cancer a few years ago. He proudly showed off his new folding bike the other night. He will also proudly show you his stunning yard full of hundreds of bonsai he’s been nurturing for 50 years.

Would you like to meet a 90-year-old man named David who was, as a young priest at the Vatican, best friends with Pope Paul when he was merely Monsignor Giovanni? You can in the driveway.

Oh, and David is a humanities professor who grew up in Paducah, Kentucky. His best family friend was Truman’s Vice President Alben W. Barkley, who once offered David an appointment to West Point or Annapolis.

David chose the seminary instead. He speaks many languages, and he’s a hell of a singer.

In this driveway, you can talk to Guillermo, a former state accountant, wonderful artist and Mexican chef. He can tell you about how his father gave him $5, incredibly hard to come by for his family then, when he was named a Little League All Star in 1962.

You can talk to Dave and Dee, who are the nicest, most down-to-earth people I know. Both are former state workers. Dave lost his father a few weeks ago in the midst of the pandemic.

Dave had to deal with the grief, packing his father’s belongings in Washington, while taking care of his elderly mother here.

Al and Jacquie were on the last plane out of New Zealand ahead of the pandemic. They are retired state workers, too, and welcoming a new grandchild soon.

Richard and Julie are teachers, warm and vivacious, and they are struggling with how that is going to work during this pandemic. Bob is a retired school principal supervisor, terribly amusing and droll.

Doug and Anne are retired, and they can’t hug their grandchildren. Doug ran a grocery store, did well, then health issues knocked him off his tennis game and he uses a cane. Everyone takes turns making sure he gets across the busy street.

As the postal worker drives by, she waves, and we all wave back. She is enthusiastically greeted and popular. She knows everyone, too. We wave at the Sacramento cop, the UPS driver, the runners, the cyclists, everyone. They smile and greet us back. Always.

A young family cruises by most evenings, and their little 3-year-old daughter on her tiny bike always is treated like the Tournament of Roses queen. She is theatrical and loves the attention.

In the driveway, we are all very different people. Yet, we are all the same, too. We are lonely people craving human contact in a driveway, 10 feet apart, making the best of a situation none of us could have possibly conjured only four months ago. We are all socially apart in that driveway, with masks.

We are Black, white, Asian, Latinx, you name it.

But, in the driveway, in America, we are all neighbors, and all together.