Climate change
For this couple, Boston was the city of cold shoulders
 Raymond Johnson, with son Cole, is a former Malden resident who moved his family to North Carolina last year. (Globe Staff Photo / Jonathan Wiggs) |
Sixth in a series of occasional articles about blacks and Latinos living in metro Boston
KNIGHTDALE, N.C. -- Within a year of moving to the Boston area toward the end of 2000, Raymond Johnson began lobbying his wife, Idella, to leave a region whose coldness -- in every sense of that word -- had baffled, frustrated, and ultimately alienated him.
As a reimbursement analyst at a health-care firm, Raymond was accustomed to adding things up. So at the end of each semester at Tufts University, where Idella Johnson was teaching music, Raymond would put the same urgent query to his wife: ''Della, are you ready?" Sometimes, he dropped the question mark: ''Della, we are getting out of here." Idella loved her students and enjoyed her job at Tufts, but over time she, too, gave up on the idea of Boston as a permanent home.
So in the summer of 2004, they packed up and moved to this small town just east of Raleigh. They have not looked back. The schools are solid, the weather is balmy, the neighbors are friendly, and housing prices are a fraction of what they are in Massachusetts. But for this African-American couple, there was a hidden cost of living in the Boston area that had nothing to do with housing or taxes or insurance.
That hidden cost had to do with Boston's most intractable problem: race. And it was further inflamed by Boston's enduring obsession: class. Those factors coalesced into a tipping point for the Johnsons. Seeking a racially mixed environment for their children that, in Idella's words, ''looked like the world," they faced the realities of a region divided into two worlds: one black, one white.
''We didn't want to raise our kids there, plain and simple," says Idella Johnson, 34. ''Being African-Americans, you want a sense of balance. . . . We never felt at home. We never connected."
The Johnsons' experiences and observations go to the heart of Boston's struggle to expand its black middle class. Indeed, with their intense focus on education, their upwardly mobile career trajectories, and their ultimate decision to leave, Raymond and Idella Johnson embody a warning contained in an April report by the Civil Rights Project at Harvard University: ''Perceptions of racial discrimination can affect the decisions of talented minorities within the region to stay or to leave."
The Johnsons are quick to point out that the racial climate was not the only reason they left. The literal climate was part of it, too. They palpably shiver when they talk about New England winters. Moreover, Idella had begun to yearn to stay at home with their two (now three) young children, and it's a lot easier to live on one income in North Carolina.
The bottom line, though, was that the Johnsons saw few reasons for a devout, hard-working, family-oriented, culturally aware, middle-class black couple to build their future in the Boston area. They know that others see it differently and have made rewarding lives in Boston. They do not claim to speak for anyone but themselves, and they bear the region no ill will. Still, it may be instructive -- in a city and region still struggling to shed an image as inhospitable to people of color -- to follow the arc of their disillusionment.
But beyond Cambridge, they found the environment far less diverse -- and far less welcoming. Take, for instance, the ugly incident that occurred just one day after they moved into a three-bedroom apartment in Malden. While they were driving to a grocery store, another motorist suddenly cut them off, nearly causing an accident. Then, for good measure, he gave them the finger. ''It was just so uncomfortable," Idella says.
It's not as though they were unaccustomed to the rough edges of city life. Idella was from Oakland, and Raymond was from Pittsburgh. But they are an old-fashioned couple in some ways. They place a high premium on courtesy, and they were consistently taken aback by the rampant incivility of Boston. When he had flown in for a job interview, Raymond had been startled by his rude treatment at a car-rental agency; when he asked for directions, an employee snapped at him to ''just go grab a map." He was likewise treated disdainfully in the hotel where he stayed. Even their own doctor was so brusque that Raymond chose to get medical advice from his sister, a physician.
They had moved to Malden because it was a convenient commute to work for both of them. (Raymond's first job was in the Charlestown office of Partners HealthCare System; he later switched to the Cambridge Health Alliance.) Once there, though, they found that their new neighbors made little effort to reach out to them or to reciprocate their own friendly gestures (with the exception of an elderly couple who were, Idella says with a smile, ''sweet as pie"). It wasn't much better in Boston or other communities where the Johnsons circulated.
''It was very hard to connect with people," says Idella. ''I'm a social being; it doesn't take anything for me to meet anybody. But Boston, that was a challenge. . . . People were so busy doing their own thing there was no time to sit down and create community."
Of course, aloofness and discourtesy are not necessarily tantamout to racism. People of all ethnic groups have experienced Boston's cold shoulder and sharp elbows, and many have chafed at its ethos of hurry-up careerism. But the Johnsons are convinced that race was at the root of some -- Idella estimates one-quarter -- of the chilly or downright unpleasant encounters they experienced in the Boston area. ''You could just sense it, tacitly, in people's attitudes," she says.
For instance, when their son Cole was 1 year old and Idella was pregnant with their daughter Adia, the family went out to dinner at a Boston-area restaurant. Several employees of the restaurant came over to their table to coo over Cole, telling the Johnsons how cute he was. But a little while later, when Cole let out a couple of shrieks, the maitre'd instantly strode over to their table and barked at the parents: ''If he does that again, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
The Johnsons were taken aback. Just moments before, their meal had been delayed because the restaurant staff was fawning over their child; now they were being threatened with expulsion because Cole had given vent to two not particularly loud cries. ''If anything was ever racially motivated, I would bet on that," says Idella. ''We were the only black family in there." The Johnsons complained to the restaurant's owner and eventually received an apology.
Then there was the time one of Raymond's white co-workers blithely declared: ''I get so dark in the summer, I have to sit in the back of the bus."
More subtly, and more pervasively, the Johnsons got a continuing education in the way race and class are entwined in Boston. Again and again, this attractive, outgoing duo found themselves ignored in a social situation until the subject of their jobs came up. But when Bostonians learned that Idella taught at a prestigious university and that Raymond was a senior reimbursement analyst at a health-care company, ''Then all of a sudden people wanted to talk to you," says Idella. ''Prior to that, they didn't have anything to do with you. As soon as they found what we did, then they'd have another idea of us. That happened a lot. A lot."
''Sometimes it gets frustrating that they're out to judge you on what you do, on what position you hold," says Raymond, 42. Adds Idella: ''Then they want to talk to you, whereas before they didn't have two words for you."
All in all, it was enough to make the Johnsons wonder if the folks back in Pittsburgh had been right about Boston.
Those questions underscore the lingering reality of Boston's national reputation on race. Although many Bostonians have worked hard to overcome it, and the racial climate has improved, the city is still dogged by a reputation as an unfriendly place for black people. This stems partly from the turmoil surrounding court-ordered desegregation in the mid-1970s. Searing images from that period remain in the consciousness of some African-Americans. ''That was always in the back of my mind, the things that went on in earlier years," admits Raymond. ''That stereotype that occurred over the decades, people haven't forgotten that."
During conversations with other African-Americans who had moved to the Boston area from somewhere else, he learned that he was not alone in his misgivings. ''I've met so many people that have said that same thing: 'Oh, I was just like you; when I arrived I wanted to leave the next day; now it's 20 years later and I never made a move,' " he adds. ''And I kept thinking to myself: ''Oh my God, is that going to be me? I heard that from more than a dozen people I came across. A lot of African-Americans feel this way, but they don't do anything."
For all of their qualms, though, the Johnsons discovered some silver linings to their life in the Boston area. Raymond and Idella both genuinely liked their jobs. They still consider Boston a great career springboard, although Raymond contends the region lacks ''a support system for black professionals," which can lead to feelings of isolation. They became involved in the Concord Baptist Church of Boston, where they met several other black couples with whom they socialized, although none of the other couples lived near Malden.
But as with many other parents, the education of their children was the crucible for a life-changing decision. They wanted their children to go to school in the suburbs rather than the city because they considered it safer, and because they wanted their children to be exposed to white as well as black children. ''I grew up in a 50-50 neighborhood, and that was good. I learned to appreciate all types of people," says Raymond. ''I can actually deal with all groups, and I want my kids to do the same."
The Johnsons had owned a house in Pittsburgh, but they had chosen to rent for the three-and-one-half years they were in the Boston area. By the spring of 2004, with their son Cole approaching school age, all their qualms and reservations about the Boston area were assuming a more concrete shape. They began to ask, Idella says: ''What type of environment were we going to raise our kids in? Were they going to be the only African-Americans in class?"
They concluded that in Greater Boston, that would all too often be the case. ''I didn't want [Cole] to think that that's just normal, where he's always a minority. . . . I didn't want him to be like the only one out of a class of 25," Idella adds. ''At least give me half, or at least give me a quarter."
It became clear to the Johnsons that it was time to move. Raymond learned of an opening at Clifton Gunderson, a prestigious accounting and consulting firm in Raleigh. He went for an interview, and the differences with Boston could not have been starker. ''First of all, it's green, it's beautiful, people were extremely friendly, you know, it was 'Good morning' and 'How you doing, sir?' " he recalls. Step one was to rent a car in Raleigh -- an illuminating experience. ''When I rented my car in Boston, the [agent] yelled at me; I get here, and they ask, 'Do you know where you're going? Let me show you where you're going.' And they took a pen and wrote it down," says Raymond. ''It was just a totally night and day experience."
Idella extensively researched the school systems near Raleigh, and she was especially impressed by the test scores and the diversity of a town called Knightdale. African-Americans make up 27 percent of Knightdale's population, compared to 8 percent in Malden. (Knightdale is a much smaller community, however, with a population of 6,000 compared to Malden's 56,000). The Johnsons liked the fact the school system in Knightdale is a blend of black and white students, and they noted approvingly that the test scores of black students compared favorably with those of white students.
In June 2004, Raymond said yes to a job offer from Clifton Gunderson. By searching online, Idella quickly found them a 3,000-square foot house on a cozy -- and racially diverse -- street. Raymond went to Knightdale and made an offer on the house. It was accepted. The price was less than half of what a similar house would cost in the Boston area. That made it easier for Idella to stay at home with the kids, a choice she had been leaning toward for a while. (She had also learned she was pregnant a couple of months before).
Today, a little more than a year after they said goodbye to Massachusetts and hello to a new life in North Carolina, the Johnsons have no regrets. Weatherwise, it always seems to be 75 degrees, in Raymond's satisfied view, and other kinds of warmth are evident as well. On the day they moved in last July, a white neighbor brought over a Tupperware container filled with brownies. Another day, when Raymond and his brother were moving an organ into their house, another neighbor hastened over to give them a hand.
''Cutting grass here the first time, people were stopping by, waving," says Raymond. ''When I go to the mailbox, they wave."
When Idella's mother had open-heart surgery in California in August, their new North Carolina friends put out the word via e-mail and rushed to help the family by taking the children out to dinner or by preparing meals. In ways large and small, the Johnsons feel the sense of community whose absence bothered them so much in the Boston area. Culturally, the Raleigh-Knightdale area boasts museums, theaters, and a symphony.
On a recent weekday, the Johnson home was the scene of happy bedlam, as 5-year-old Cole and 3-year-old Adia rushed to show a visitor around and 1-year-old Aria toddled about. Cole proudly ticked off the names of his many friends, some black, some white. ''I can notice a difference in my kids," Idella says. ''They became settled."
But the Johnsons also hope their move will pay long-term dividends for their children, by expanding their educational horizons and their overall sense of possibilities. Among several colleges in the area is Shaw University, the oldest black college in the nation. The Johnsons consider this symbolically important. ''You can see more African-Americans in college here. Up there, you're not," says Raymond. For their children, he says, ''It's not going to be 'Am I going to go to college?' It's going to be 'Which college am I going to go to?' "
In short, Knightdale is home in a way that Boston could not be. Which is not to say that the Johnsons never want to see the Hub again. ''We can't wait to go back and see our friends," says Raymond. Adds Idella, nodding vigorously: ''A good place to visit."
Raymond can't resist adding one qualifier: ''It's going to be a weekend in the summer."
Don Aucoin can be reached at aucoin@globe.com.
