Harold Raines, Yvette Russell, and Hunter Russell-Horton

[00:06] HAROLD C. RAINES: Okay, my name is Harold C. Raines. I'm 72 years of age. Today's date is October 16, 2022. 2022. And we're here in Harlem, New York City, doing an interview with two of my neighbors who about to introduce themselves to you. So if.

[00:32] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: All right, my name is Hunter Russell Horton. I'm 17 years old. Today is October 16, 2022. We are in Harlem, New York City. I'm here with my mother and a neighbor. And that is it. And my name is Yvette Russell. I am 53 years old. It is October 16, 2022. And we are in Harlem, NYC, USA. And I'm here, my youngest twin son, Hunter, and a neighbor.

[01:08] HAROLD C. RAINES: All right, that sounds good. So which of you wants to start first, or do you want me to start first?

[01:19] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: I can start first.

[01:20] HAROLD C. RAINES: Okay, Hunter, you can start first.

[01:23] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: I guess my question is, were you born in Harlem? Are you a Harlemite, moved here?

[01:29] HAROLD C. RAINES: No, no, no. Actually, I was born in Brooklyn. I was born in Flatbush, which is now known as East Flatbush. I don't know why, because the post office zip code hasn't changed. That occurred around. I started seeing those changes in the New York Times, mid seventies. I think that's largely work of real estate interest to try to delineate changes in neighborhoods for purposes of sales and development. But when I was in Brooklyn, Flatbush was Flatbush, and East New York was East New York, and Fort Green was Fort Green, and Bedford Sappers, Bedford Sarrison, Marine park. And you had neighborhoods that were clearly delineated. There weren't any nicknames or fashionable names for them, like Kensington or Arlington or anything like that. They were just straight up neighborhoods. And we all lived there peaceably, if boringly, because this was the fifties. The sixties were yet to come upon us.

[02:46] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: Well, I guess my next question is, how did you get into the Harlem community? What made you come here?

[02:52] HAROLD C. RAINES: Well, the thing was that I'd come up here 54 years ago to attend university. I went to Columbia College from 68 to 72. And of course, that's a hob skip and a jump from. From 116th street and Broadway through the park. But I'd been to Holland before. My mother had relatives here on 29th street. And I had come up once to make a speech presentation at the salvation and deliverance church on 116th street between Lennox and Fifth, which at that time was called Walker memorial. That was when I was about 1314. So that was in the early sixties. But the other memories I had of Harlem were like going to the Apollo Theater. Of course, when it was a dollar 25 to get in. And the last time, well, time before I went recently, the last time I was there, in 1972, I saw Franklin cry to that James Brown. And that was when it was at its peak. You know, you had honeycows as the announcer and the MC full band. It was. It was good bargain, less than $2.

[04:19] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: What did that mean to you? Was that prominent in your memory of Harlem?

[04:23] HAROLD C. RAINES: You know, that was one of the memories, the early memories, because at that point, I was a teenager when I used to come up here to go to the Apollo Theater, even before that time in 1972. But the other memories had to do with just walking around in an environment where the population was black. I mean, there were very few Caucasians here, or anybody else for that matter. A few Asians running restaurants and laundromats. But for the most part, it was predominantly black. I mean, it was the black mecca at that point. And there was Michaud's bookstore, where the state office building is now. And, in fact, that was. I was there when there was a protest in 69, when the state office building was being erected. And during that time, Michaud's bookstore was. And I'll never forget this, because it was located on the corner, and you had to sort of, like, go downstairs. And it was a fairly close and tight place, but it was full of all these books that you never encounter anywhere else unless you went to the Schomburg library, but they were for purchase for your own use. But I remember when the state came and, well, there's no other way to put it. Did a number on them. A lot of those books wound up at the entrance to the bookstore. And I remember people walking over them, and I was thinking to myself, you know, what a shame, because that was a history. Not only the neighborhood, but a black people period, because that's what he did. And the bookstore had been there for decades, and then all of a sudden, be so ignominiously removed at a point in time when there was ferment happening in black neighborhoods across the country. So there was protest, but it wasn't enough to do anything. But I remember distinctly going down with a few classmates. And it was a very strange thing. Despite the fact that it was warm, this being the end of the spring. I didn't mean the latter part of April. It was very cool and cold at that time. I don't know if there's any significance to that, but the weather seemed to be very strangely different from the way it normally was. But, you know, I just won't forget that. There were some other instances at that time and that period of time that were also significant. But I remember going down Lenox Avenue and 7th, and there were, of course, it was wells, waffles, chicken and waffles. And there were all of these small stores selling various artifacts, earrings. And I remember purchasing a number of these earrings for family members and other people that were handmade and hand designed. They were made of copper and beads. They're very nice. And I remember sending some of them off in a low box. I never forget that. And the person who would receive them thanking me because they hadn't received anything like that before. But the thing about Harlem back then was things were affordable. You could get an apartment. I remember coming up here, and you can get an apartment for less than $300, $200 a month.

[08:56] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: Wow.

[08:57] HAROLD C. RAINES: Yeah. Even though they weren't in the best condition. But at that point, there was a place where people could live. You could live among people who share the same language and culture and traditions that you were used to. Most people having come up from the, the south here in the thirties, my mother among them, and I remember her telling me how she and her sister and cousins would rent rooms, some of the brownstones, and have to throw rent parties for a dollar admission in order to pay the rent. And the height of the depression and how people used to leave your door unlocked and folks used to sleep in the parks. At that point. In the thirties, libraries were open 24 hours a day in a different situation, but you could live fairly comfortably within your means, as opposed to now, when, because of soaring prices and gentrification, things are outrageously priced.

[10:11] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: Yes.

[10:13] HAROLD C. RAINES: I was telling someone earlier that over a period of less than three years, the rent tripled from $400 a month to $1,200 a month as the neighborhood became gentrified, from the mid nineties through the end of the nineties to millennium, and how the value of property went from about a quarter of a million dollars to $950,000 in valuation over a period of less than eight years, stretching from, let's say, 1992 to 1999. So Harlem has undergone a number of changes, but the tradeoffs have been steep in order to reach the point now where things are relatively quiet and safe, as opposed to what they were when I got here to live back in 1988. And people would walk around with guns in a waistband and sell drugs open on the street. So things have changed dramatically. But as I said, in exchange for safety, you entered another unsafe and uncertain situation where you may not even be able to pay the rent. So whereas you are able to pay the rent and have a place to stay that wasn't as safe. Now you've got safety and economic uncertainty and instability.

[12:01] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: That's really interesting, because I moved here in 98, at the end of 98, December 98, actually, right onto this block, 120th. And I have a long history with Harlem, including, like, you being born and raised in Brooklyn, but having family rooted here in Harlem, and East Harlem in particular. And for me, as a teenager, coming here and visiting 125th street was more than just the Apollo. It was like looking at all the cute guys that were there on their motorcycles parked on 125th street, which used to be a thruway. It was like, you know, you were making an adventure to come to 125th street. You had all the hotties was on 125th. You could really just. And you could shop, you could buy things. You could walk away and show up in Brooklyn with something that wasn't in Brooklyn. It was uniquely Harlem. There was definitely a different vibe about Harlem in terms of the way people dressed. The attitude was very different than the attitude in Brooklyn. Harlem was very sharp. You know, everybody just. You did not step out of your house without being dressed. Whereas in Brooklyn, it was more. I would say the culture was more afrocentric. So you walked out and you wore your wraps or you wore your dashikis, or you wore. You know, it was just a different type of vibe. Whereas in Harlem, it was like, you had the latest shoes, you had dapper Dan, you had, like, all of the fashion. And I, my grandfather, who came to Harlem by way of Virginia with his family, lived up on Sugar Hill, which was a whole other different type of vibe. You know what I mean? So we came into it with that history. My dad growing up again, like in East Harlem, and then us having a latin heritage also that wasn't based in East Harlem. And then me moving here, I remember my dad walking me around the neighborhood and just being. And, like, he took me on 119. She was like, no. He was like, this is where you don't go. You're not going on 119th. Because 98, even though it was very different than when you were first here, it was not. It wasn't what it is now. You know, there were bodies still being bought out, even on this block. I remember you had parking. You had a parking spot, but you had the ambulance, you had the fire department. You had police officers always between here and the park, pulling people out. I remember seeing, you know, even across the street on Lenox and 120th. I remember them literally pulling bodies out of the buildings. I remember seeing the flashes of light where people just lighting up their pipes, you know, doing crack, whatever the heck they were doing out there. Maybe heroin, I don't know. But it was a place where I settled down, and I had my family. So, hunter, for you, being a teenager now, but being born and raised in Harlem and being on 120th, you know, as a toddler, I did not. You weren't hanging out in the street on 120th street, right. And yet now, as a teenager, it is like the place you go to to hang out, you know, if you're not going out with your friends or whatever. So, you know, for me, I guess I would love to hear, from your perspective, what is your earliest memory of Harlem, and then also now, like, I mean, you've survived through a pandemic. You've watched your whole entire neighborhood change from when you were younger to where it is now, and you've been a part of that. So I'd love to hear what your, you know, your earliest memory is and then also where you are now with Harlem. Well, I think my earliest memory, I would say, is the parades that would come down the block. I just remember always, always whenever the parades would come around, you would have us outside. We'd have our bells. We'd be cheering. And sometimes when it was the HTz one, we'd be out in the crowds, participating in the parades, just causing the ruckus, you know, doing, having fun. And I just think embracing with that kind of culture, Harlem culture at such a young age was very. I don't. It was unique to Harlem, I want to say. It wasn't like any other neighborhood in New York, in Manhattan specifically, had the kind of vibe that Harlem did. And still to this day, despite gentrification and all the changes to our neighborhood, I think it is still something that is very unique to Harlem. As to now, where we have Marcus meets Malcolm, and the block is closed off to that, I'd say we were never really. We never really played in the street. I always had the friend across the street. I always had my friend Ava, family friend, has been that way for a long time. But it was never really a matter of, oh, let's go outside and play. It was more like, well, we can have a play date, maybe. But from then to now, as a teenager, post Covid, to see the block closed off in little kids, they must have been my age then, trying to play on the block. And I just see them playing with the little cars or their skateboards playing in the fire hydrant. It's. I always ask myself, I'm like, if I was their age, it would have looked a lot different, and I would have. I would probably been brought up a bit different, too. That sense of community and knowing that I could just go outside and have a friend outside just to play with or confide in, it would have been very different. I think the sense of community that we've built around this block has strengthened. I hear people who don't even live on this block, like they. We have, I guess, knowingly created a bigger sense of community within, I want to say, five block radius, but also throughout Harlem. Like, I have friends at school. Oh, you live on that block that's always closed off. Right. And I'm like, yeah, all the little kids play. Yeah, I live right there. You ever see me skating? That's me. Ever hear a skateboard? It's a very different vibe, but I'm very much present and here for it and supportive of it. You know? What I think about, and it just resonates with me is at the beginning of the pandemic, when. I mean. Cause where we live is right on the corner. So we get to see what's happening down the block on 120th, but we also get to see what's happening on Lenox Avenue.

[19:13] HAROLD C. RAINES: Right.

[19:13] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: Because we have a corner apartment. And one thing I could tell you about living in Harlem is you can look out the window 24 hours a day, and you will always see someone. Like, it's. There's never a moment where if you're looking out the window, I don't care what time of day it is, you could just look out the window, and there will be someone walking by or doing something, and it could be, regardless of the weather, anything. And at the start of the pandemic, and we went into quarantine. Remember that, Hunter? When it was, like, the lockdown and nobody could go outside? Nobody. Like, literally, you can only go shopping. It's a curfew. Right, right. I remember them announcing that on the news, and it felt surreal. Like, I remember the blackout that happened when I first moved here, and I remember that feeling of, like, how is this really, really happening where there's, like, no electricity anywhere outside, period? Like, no street lights, know, anything? If there wasn't a car going by with their headlights on, you did not know that there were lights at night. Right. And then for you guys and Hunter, you can talk a little bit about this is if is when that curfew happened, what that felt like for you and your. In your twin brother. It was surreal to say. The least. We wrote an entire, I guess, essay about our experience with curfew and kind of what that meant and what that looked like. It was for New York alone is a very busy city. It is widely regarded as the most busy city in the world. And from seeing bodies, always when you look outside to seeing nothing, no people, no action, no screaming, not like nothing's happening outside. It was scary. Sometimes you'd hear a cop car go by, but that was it. That was it. And it was dark out. I think the curfew was eight. Was it 09:00 or. It was early. I remember that.

[21:17] HAROLD C. RAINES: Yeah, it was.

[21:19] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: Yeah. And very surreal. It was frightening. Do you remember what you guys asked me? If you could do something? You go outside. They wanted to go outside. They were just like he and his brother. They said, let's just run. Yeah. They're like, mommy king. Because I would always take them out no matter what, like the weather, whatever, it didn't matter. I'd take them outside. And they asked me, they were like, mom, can we just go outside and see what it's like? Yeah. And they went outside and it was so quiet, it actually scared them. And they ran back upstairs. This is just two years ago. They ran back upstairs and they were like, mommy. It was so quiet. There was nobody outside. They were taking the trash down. I remember that. Yep. We taking down the trash. And I was like, hudson. And he's like, yeah. He's like, come on, let's go outside. I'm like, all right. We step 1ft outside, and then we're both like, what? We look to the left of the block. There's no people to the right. No people. And we. I think we walked up to the corner and then we just ran back. We were like, no, it's just something out of a scary movie. I'm not feeling it. We ran upstairs like, ma, ma, it's silent. Like, I could hear birds chirping, like, there is no one outside. And that experience was very much just like a wake up call as to what Covid was and what it meant to people, how serious it was and how scared people were. But it was definitely something I hope doesn't happen again. What are your hopes for Harlem?

[22:58] HAROLD C. RAINES: Well, as I said, at the top of this conversation, I noticed the particular changes that had come about with respect to housing and along with that displacement of people who've been here years. Give me those who own property had to sell it. Their property, whether it was voluntary or involuntary, depending upon how it was held, the tradition among african american families with property that had been handed down is to hold it among family members, which means that at any given time, somebody going to want to sell out their share, and if you cannot buy them out, the property has to go on the block. And I've seen that happen a few times around the corner on 19th street, which you had remarked about, and which I had lived on for about 20 years. And I had seen the changes changing from a block where you had crackheads every 2ft and people walking around with guns in their waistband to a situation where, as had been predicted, if you threw a rock down the street, you wouldn't hit anybody. And that was the beginning of gentrification. But like I said, it was a trade off. And in return for relative safety, you got relative insecurity in terms of housing. So at the time that you're talking about 98, it was during that period that the cost of housing tripled. If you come here before that, you wouldn't have had housing that was as well kept maintained, but it would have been a third of the cost. So that constituted a difference. So at this point, I know that this may constitute a faint hope, because pretty much Harlem's fate has been sealed with respect to. In fact, it's no longer really the black macaroo that's moved on to Atlanta, Georgia, and other places south. You know, what you would like to see is at least a substantial showing of people who represent its past, in the sense that you have a solid cohort of folk who can continue to live here and flourish, even if they're subsidized. Because the future of Harlem at this point is moving closer and closer towards the final stages of gentrification, which means higher rents and higher property prices and folk being pushed out. So the only hope that I could have is if that process would be slowed down or stopped entirely. But again, that's up to the local administration and state and federal authorities to provide subsidies for people who stay here. Because otherwise Harlem is only going to be Harlem in name only in terms of a place where the culture was practiced 40, 50 years ago continues, including businesses, black owned businesses.

[27:04] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: Hunter, what would your hope be for Harlem? Much the same as yours. I think that growing up in the early two thousands, well, being born in the early two thousands, but also growing up in a situation where gentrification was already very prominent within the neighborhood, I didn't realize it then, and I didn't really know. I also didn't really care about what was happening in my neighborhood, but I didn't really know. But as I grew older, I noticed the amount of non black people within my neighborhood and within Harlem. And I didn't make anything of it. I didn't. I don't know. I didn't really pay much attention to it. But I want to say, right before COVID we were asked in class to write poem. This poem could pertain any. Anything you wanted, literally, just a poem for the class. And I reflected on my neighborhood. It was the first that I had Harlem, and the last. I don't remember the complete contents of the actual poem, but I remember the last stanza I wrote in the poem, Washington and the black Mecca transforms into a tourist attraction. And thinking back on what I was, where my mind was during that, during the time of me writing that poem, I really began to put into perspective what gentrification was and what it looked like in Harlem, East Harlem, the Bronx, and how it wasn't just only Harlem in particular. How many neighborhoods within New York City are being gentrified and the people, the black people, hispanic people who lived there originally, for generations, even, are being forgotten and left without a place to stay, most times with their buildings or homes being knocked down or rent increasing to a point where they can't pay it. It's disappointing. And my only hope would be that government officials step in and try to conserve the people who need these homes and want to remain in this neighborhood as they should. But I can't ask for any more, because you're right. The gentrification is already at its final stages. And it's almost futile, at least in this neighborhood, to. I don't want to say save, but yeah, I would say my hope is that the young people like you, Hunter, and you know that. You recognize that they change always happens. Like neighborhoods change. They just do. Right? Even if indentrification can mean so much. It's race, but it's also economic, to your point. It is cultural. You know, one thing I love about Harlem is that there's a heartbeat and that is still present. It changed from when grandpa was here to when my dad was here to when I'm here, to when you'll be here. You know, long after I'm gone, you'll still be from Harlem, right? And there is a message and a rhythm and a style and a beat that you will always have and you can pay that forward. And I think when I see you with the little kids on the block and the way you all play, and it's a diverse group of kids, you have multiracial kids, black kids, caucasian kids, kids from Europe, kids from Africa, like you guys, all play together. You have to own the history. Like, my hope is that the reason why you feel as though the way you were raised, you didn't notice a lot of things, is because I kept you in black things. You were very much in an all black school. You went to all black events or all hispanic events or events that were celebrating the richness and the culture of who we are from our heritage, right? And so there was never a point where anything else came in between that. And my hope is that you not only continue to hold that close, but that you also, in your writing, whether it's poetry or again, like the essay that was published, that was in a national publication that went to the Schomburg, they kept that in the Schomburg like that. Something that really talks about who you are today, but you can use that to educate the kids moving forward. And regardless of their race or their heritage, the knowledge is still the same. Right. Harlem will always be recognized for the richness of the culture. Right. Grandpa talks about 125th street not being all black, which is my experience. He talks about 125th street being jewish and being a lot of polish people there. And the business is being owned in this way and that. Because he had a different experience. Right. But the experience that you have is even different than the one that I had, which was in alignment with you, which was more the all black experience. Right? But you have that. My hope is that you take that and that you continue to educate the little kids around you. You know, that you. We pass baton on you passes it off to me, I pass it on to you, and you gotta pay it forward. So I guess the last question is, what does Marcus meets Malcolm mean to you? So let's go around the table real quick.

[33:13] HAROLD C. RAINES: Well, you know, like the both of you were pointing out, it's one of the few times where I've seen a situation where a had been closed off, and that doesn't happen by accident. That happens by planning. When I was coming up, whenever I used to see that when I was much younger, it would be in neighborhoods where a special event was occurring. You need a police department permission to do that. And as I grew older, when I lived in Abario on the east side, you would see that occasionally when they bring out the carnivals, the traveling carnivals. But in this particular instance, like Hunter was saying, you noticed where all the little kids could come out and play in safety, relative safety, because you couldn't just block the whole street off. You'd have to allow for traffic to come through at intervals, but everybody would meet in the street, and for the first time, you would see a situation where, if they had traveling shows like the bindle stiff carnival or the movies in the evening, people coming around from blocks around representing various ethnic groups along with their children, and they would all get together and it would almost seem like, I'm not going to call it the perfect outcome, but something closely approaching, something that's. That's very, very positive. But as I was saying before, my. My hope for that would be that you'd have a situation where folks who had lived here for generations and extended periods of time could also maintain their place in this situation with folks who recently arrived representing a not only a different culture, but a different economic condition, so that you can get a mix there that would be, as we've seen on the block, folks peacefully playing together and looking like America, you know, without any controversy, without any friction, particularly as seen through the eyes of kids.

[36:07] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: So what about you, Hunter? I think that Marcus meats Malcolm was. I want to say something that we didn't know we needed, that this neighborhood was strengthened by this. I want to say this block was strengthened by these blocks. I think it was something we didn't know we needed and didn't know how valuable community was until we had it. When I see the kids on the block every day and they're always, oh, hunter, Hunter, what's up, Hunter? I would have never imagined that before. I would say before COVID but before this organization was made to strengthen the community, and I think that because of Marcus meets Malcolm, we've been able to grow individually, grow as a community, and overall grow together. These kids are making relationships that they're going to have their whole life, and they're going to think back on and say, oh, yeah, the block was closed off. We were all such great friends. We used to play, we used to skate, do everything. And then the events that happened on the block only strengthened that community in that sense of comfort and being able to confide in someone, really, anyone on the block. I think it's really important, and that the work that Marcus meets Malcolm does is crucial to our community. I love that. I love it. And for me, I think, you know, yeah, the events, juneteenth, you know, Halloween, I used to have to take my kids down to the Museum of Natural History or someplace else to have a celebration. And now everything. Like, I love when my children are on the block and people recognize them for their birthdays or they recognize them for showing up at different things or helping out. I also recognize that it took three black women, you know, to put it together, and that says a lot. It says a lot about our culture and how the backbone of our culture has always been the black woman and how this really represents that, you know, it really represents the needle and the thread. Like, we will put. We'll stitch something together to make sure that things are right, you know? And that is something that I love, and I love seeing the young people being able to come together in ways that they will carry with them to the future. They will absolutely. I love it when they walk on the block and we all recognize the kids, you know, even kids, we strangers walk down the block, we're like, oh, we're having this event next week. Make sure you come. You know, the elders are recognized in the neighborhood. You know, grandma dawn, she's known you guys since when I was carrying you in my belly. So she has always welcomed you all, and she's grandma dawn to everybody, you know? So, yeah, I think my biggest hope is that, you know, in terms of Marcus meets Malcolm is that long after we leave that that is still recognize for not only the work it's doing now, but the work that will continue long after we're gone, that you will be able to bring your kids back to Harlem and say, like, oh, yeah, I was part of when this started. You know, I put in blend sweat. You know, my mom had me out here cleaning up and sweeping up and putting up, you know, whatever, decorations for events and things. So it's been a pleasure to get to know you in this way. Now I see you all the time, and, you know, we'll be able to say hello and have this personal connection.

[39:57] HAROLD C. RAINES: Well, you know, formerly worked pretty well, too. No, but we'll be seeing each other in the future, there's no doubt about that. I mean, I always see Hunter out on the street in a skateboard. I bought my granddaughter a skateboard some. Some months back, and I remember seeing him out on the street coming up, and they were going back and forth, she on hers and he on his. So I thought that, you know, that was nice, I mean, seeing how she was only six years old at the time, but it was good to see you see her interacting with someone older.

[40:39] HUNTER RUSSELL HORTON: Mm hmm. Yeah, it's a beautiful thing. I'm glad I could be that for her. She was wonderful.