And check out funeralforahome.org
Giving last respects to a beloved house
Rev. Harry Moore, pastor of Mount Olive Baptist Church, stands beside a house at 3711 Melon St., in Mantua where he will preside over a "funeral" for the house in an attempt to recognize Mantua's past, embrace its present and celebrate its potential rebirth with the help of a federal Promise Zone. ( RON TARVER / Staff Photographer ) February 17, 2014
It promises to be the grandest of funerals, with clergy leading a procession through the streets of Mantua, hymns sung by a gospel choir, and eulogies delivered by neighbors and friends.
But the honored dead isn't a person. It's a house.
Specifically, an old, empty, two-story rowhouse with a failing roof and broken windows at 3711 Melon St.
Its funeral - and demolition with pallbearer trucks carrying the remains to final rest - is the conception of artists, historians, and civic leaders: an effort to recognize downtrodden Mantua's past, take stock of its present, and celebrate its potential rebirth as the heart of a new federal Promise Zone.
The artist Jacob Hillman had the original idea, which was expanded by Temple Contemporary at the university's Tyler School of Art. The Pew Center for Arts and Heritage granted $160,000, and the property owner, WPRE Inventory L.L.C., an affordable-housing developer, was willing to let the house be torn down.
The property's financial value lies in the land, in the chance that something new could be built there.
Its emotional value is higher. Knocking down a house, neighborhood leaders said, isn't like razing an office building.
Homes hold memories.
Homes are where people get their children ready for school in the morning and tuck them into bed at night.
Homes are where people celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, and where they mourn the loss of those they love.
By honoring one home, the sponsors said, they honor all. The demolition is a way to engage people in thinking about the future and protecting what remains of the past.
"We wanted to talk about family, families that lived in that home, how that's reflective of the broader neighborhood's history," said Patrick Grossi, a Temple doctoral student and project manager for "Funeral for a Home."
The ceremony is three months from now, set for May 31, but planning is well underway as neighborhood groups create new energy and optimism in Mantua.
"The whole concept of a funeral is a good thing, not a bad thing," said DeWayne Drummond, a lifelong neighborhood resident and president of the Mantua Civic Association. "You can't go forward if you don't know your past."
Artist brothers Steven and Billy Dufala, in charge of funeral details, wonder whether the body of the house can, as it dies, become a sort of organ donor: bricks to people who want to build garden pathways, timbers to those who need sturdy beams.
Steven Dufala, who with his brother has studio space at nearby 41st Street and Haverford Avenue, wants people to leave the funeral with a renewed sense of community and a drive for the work of improving Mantua.
"If that's all that happens," he said, "that's enough."
The house is a wreck.
In the last year, it's gotten attention from the city for all the wrong reasons: citations for rubbish and weeds, for being vacant but unsecured, and in October for its collapsing roof and a bulging rear wall. That filing deemed the house unsafe.
It stands as a lone tooth in a gappy smile, a sliver of man-made construction amid seven vacant lots.
The Promise Zone is a high-crime area, but there have been no robberies, burglaries, or thefts during the last six months in the four blocks around 3711 Melon, police records show. That may be because so many houses are gone that there's not much to take, little left to steal but grass and weeds.
The developer plans to rebuild much of the 3700 block, a rebirth that starts with the funeral.
"When I first heard it, it took me a couple times to grasp what they intended to do," said George Bantel, a partner in WPRE Inventory.
The Promise Zone, bounded by the Schuylkill to the east, Girard Avenue to the north, 48th Street to the west, and Sansom Street to the south, covers all of Mantua and all or part of Powelton, West Powelton, and Belmont.
Each year, Philadelphia issues about 675 demolition-related permits, according to Next City, a nonprofit media group. Despite recent population growth, noted those working on the funeral, Philadelphia still has more houses than people to fill them.
Nearly 15 percent of homes in the Promise Zone are vacant, double the city average.
That's partly why West Philadelphia was picked in January by the Obama administration as one of five Promise Zones nationwide. All are due to get attention and benefits in a bid to end decades of decline.
The Philadelphia zone's overall poverty rate is 51 percent, in places 80 percent.
It wasn't always that way.
At the turn of the 20th century, Mantua was almost a suburb, home to largely Irish and Jewish residents. In the midcentury, African American families arrived in the great migration from the Southern states. As recently as the 1960s, Mantua was a solid neighborhood of iconic rowhouses and single-family manses.
The Melon Street home was part of that. Records indicate it was built in 1925, although that may reflect an addition or alteration. A house has been located on the site since at least 1878.
A family named Richardson lived there the longest.
Leona Richardson bought the house in 1946, and kept it until her death nearly six decades later in 2002. In 2011, her estate sold the property for $9,000, and the next year WPRE Inventory bought it for $15,000.
Those planning the funeral are searching for a member of the Richardson family to attend.
When Temple's Grossi went inside the house in November, and again in February, he saw signs that someone was living there, a squatter who had illegally taken up residence. Most of the house was buried in debris and trash, but the second-floor bedroom was arranged as living space, with clothing and magazines on hand.
Even in its death throes, he noted, for that one person, the house was a home.
"This house is going to come down," Grossi said. "What's going to happen after that? That's an important question."
jgammage@phillynews.com
215-854-4906 @JeffGammage
Inquirer staff writer Dylan Purcell contributed to this article
Read more at http://www.philly.com/philly/news/20140315_Giving_last_respects_to_a_beloved_house.html#AkrIF6CGsLcp5H5C.99
Melon Street house, 142, gets a 'funeral'
A claw truck sits beside 3711 Melon Street in anticipation of its demolition. The home is dressed with a flower crown for its "funeral" which occured on May 31st. Hundreds of Mantua residents attended the ceremony which was officiated by Pastor Harry Moore Senior from the Mount Olive Baptist Church. (RACHEL WISNIEWSKI / Staff Photographer)
There were tears, more than a couple. But also joy, and music and memories, all in celebration of 3711 Melon Street in West Philadelphia.
The house began life 142 years ago as a stack of bricks and lumber, and was set to end it on Saturday as a dusty pile of the same, after a ritual demolition.
The empty, abandoned home, its roof failing and back wall bulging, was the centerpiece of "Funeral for a Home," an arts project that paid tribute to one home as a way to recognize them all - in a city where demolitions have become commonplace.
For decades, the house belonged to a strong, determined, and independent woman, Leona Richardson, who lived there with her son, Roger Richardson. She died in 2002 at age 80, he in 2009 at 63.
On Saturday, friends and family came from as far as California to honor them and their home.
"It's a bit overwhelming," said Annie Hunt, Richardson's niece, gazing at the crowd that packed Melon Street. "I'm surprised how many people are here."
Hunt traveled from Newark, Ohio, and her sister, Julia LeBlanc, from San Diego.
"It's a happy day," LeBlanc said. "It's a day that brings a new life to the neighborhood and the people."
An affordable-housing developer, WPRE Inventory, was willing to let the house be torn down because it plans to rebuild much of the 3700 block.
The house, its front door and windows boarded, was draped in funeral flowers and black bunting. Nearby, waiting to accept the remains, was a wreathed, gold-and-black Dumpster.
Ushers wore black armbands as they distributed programs. People pinned on carnations. Men came in coats and ties, or jeans and baseball caps. Older people attended in wheelchairs while babies watched from strollers.
A drum corps and drill team led a loud procession onto 37th Street. Marchers passed wreaths mounted at empty lots, a tribute to the homes that once stood there.
The procession moved past plastic bottles and wrappers on curbs, a broken TV set dumped on a sidewalk, and a thriving community garden where fresh vegetables grow.
The tone was by turns somber and happy, the soundtrack a church organ or the angelic voices of the Mount Olive Church choir, which sang the gospel favorite "There's a Leak in This Old Building."
"This is a start," Mount Olive pastor Harry Moore Sr. told the crowd. "This is a start of affordable housing coming to the community."
He paused. "If this was a church, I'd get an 'Amen.' "
"Amen!" people shouted.
The house is surrounded by vacant lots - and local leaders want to change that, with help from the federal government.
In January, the Obama administration named a swath of West Philadelphia as one of five Promise Zones nationwide. All will get extra attention - but no money - in a bid to end decades of decline.
Mantua lies in the heart of the Philadelphia zone, which has a poverty rate of 51 percent. Houses are disappearing through neglect and demolition.
On Saturday, one home and one family were remembered.
Leona Richardson was ahead of her time. As a teenager in the late 1930s, she left the segregated South of small-town Louisiana, making her way to Baltimore. When World War II broke out, she got a job in a defense plant as a welder.
After the war, by then the single parent of a baby boy, Richardson moved to Philadelphia and bought the two-bedroom rowhouse.
The house fell to ruin after her death.
"When I think of 3711 Melon Street," Hunt told the crowd from a pulpit set up on the block, "I think of Aunt Leona and Roger, growing up in this house in the big city of Philadelphia."
Her sister, LeBlanc, told the people: "You are in control of your neighborhood. . . . You let this house, this whole thing, be a way to join people together. If you can come here to a funeral for a house, there can be a resurrection."
When the speakers finished, a big yellow excavator - its single arm wrapped in mourning black - tore at the roof with its claw, sending down a cascade of debris. The mourners, separated by a chain-link fence, couldn't take their eyes from the sight.
Demolition was to be completed late Saturday, after the crowd left.
"So long, 3711 Melon," said Mantua resident Ardie Stuart Brown, an artist and educator. "We'll never forget you."
jgammage@phillynews.com215-854-4906
@JeffGammage
Read more at http://www.philly.com/philly/news/local/20140601_Melon_Street_house__142__gets_a__funeral_.html#0A93MqscAr9wxQ1b.99
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