Through changes upon changes, a community clings to its character

Albert Hinds, at 98 one of the oldest members of the Princeton community, sat leisurely with his arms resting on a small dining room table, eyes fixed in an astute and contemplative gaze. His classic wool sweater — with a pink patch dangling from one end of a hole in its elbow — reflected his age, good taste and casual disregard for the trivial.

While University students typically spend four years on the spacious campus trying to decide how they will use their Princeton experience in the world beyond, Hinds has spent the majority of his lifetime in a smaller, more crowded neighborhood, watching how the world has affected his community.

During that time, residents of the John-Witherspoon community have struggled to retain their neighborhood's character in the midst of constant alterations to its boundaries and ethnic makeup.

"Did I ever tell you where I was born?" Hinds asked during a pause in the conversation. He proceeded to locate a piece of paper and began sketching.

"Not many people can say this!" he declared after he had lifted his pencil to reveal a rough map of a street with buildings on it. Hinds has lived in the same, century-old house at 227 John St. for roughly 50 years. But what he had drawn on the paper was a picture of Witherspoon — a single street on which he proudly said he had been born, gone to school and attended church.

Though Hinds was eager to outline the physical boundaries of the early part of his life, he sought more earnestly to emphasize the interaction among the people who had lived within them.

With a beaming, mysterious smile, he quietly left the table to retrieve his mother's 1894 diploma from the same school he, and many residents of the John-Witherspoon community, had attended.

And with a contented, introspective ease, he continued to talk about the companionship and connections among the families he grew up around.

Hank Pannell, 61, another lifetime resident of the John-Witherspoon community, also recalled the neighborhood of his childhood with nostalgia.

"When I was a kid here, just about all of the houses were individually owned by families," he said. "We were all a family. Everyone knew one another. I don't care if you're black, Italian or what — if a member of the family got sick, you'd take care of them. It was a true community."

But 71 years ago, Edgar Palmer 1903's dream of creating a revitalized downtown district — later to be called Palmer Square — started the ignition of the crane that would begin moving members of the John-Witherspoon community down and out, residents say.

Neighborhood revitalization projects in Princeton, largely begun in the first half of the 20th century, have compressed the formerly black and Italian neighborhood into five densely populated blocks in which most of Princeton's low-income blacks, whites and Hispanics are compelled to coexist.

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Pannell painted a geographic picture of the neighborhood's diversity, naming the ethnicity of each homeowner. "That one's white, that one's black, that one's black, that one's Hispanic," Pannell said, one hand pointing toward houses, the other resting casually on the wheel of his car as he steered through the neighborhood's streets.

On the porch of one house on John Street a black man sat in a reclining chair, smoking a cigarette after a long day of work. On the steps of the adjoining house, his son was playing catch with two Hispanic children whose parents had moved from Mexico to their home at 240 John St. nine years ago.

Just a few blocks away at 13 Greene Street, a white family has moved into the birthplace of Paul Robeson — a famous black performer and social activist whose father became a neighborhood pastor after escaping from slavery.

But while Pannell can confidently point to houses and name the people who live in them, the evolving character of the community is more difficult to define for many residents.

"I keep a low profile," said Barbara Ackerman, who works at the Princeton Public Library and moved into government housing on Clay Street 10 years ago. "I'm not scared. I'm not threatened. But I would have liked to have been some other place."

Ackerman, who is white, said she believes many of the black youths who live in her neighborhood seem angry — demonstrating what she called a "Trenton mentality." She said black teens often swear, play loud music and act in a disorderly manner, though most live comfortably in Borough-subsidized housing.

"It's a cultural thing I don't understand," Ackerman said. "I don't have any black friends. No one's invited me for dinner so what I see is what I see on the street."

Nine-year-old Yessenia Lopez, who moved to John Street from Mexico six years ago, described similar discord between her family and her neighbors.

Lopez said the mere instance of parking a car in a neighbor's driveway can trigger a call to the police. She said a neighbor yelled at her family when they had guests over, and one day he called the children "stupid."

But Stephanie Rodriguez, also a nine-year-old immigrant from Mexico — who was walking home from school with Lopez — said she is happy in her home on Leigh Avenue.

"Near my apartment my neighbors are nice," Rodriguez said.

And Ackerman, too, does not view the John-Witherspoon community through a completely darkened lens. She said she believes the area embodies a unique vitality.

"The irony," she said, "is that this neighborhood is more interesting than other neighborhoods, but you don't have any fancy mansions."

"There is an energy," she noted.

It is an energy that compels residents to preserve and protect the essence of the rich and historic community.

Pannell, who works in a shop off of John Street assembling computers from used parts to give to families in the neighborhood, said he admires the diligence of the area immigrants who are getting jobs and raising families.

Irene Gonzalez is one such immigrant.

She moved to John Street from Mexico nine years ago and recently accumulated enough money to bring over her fourth child from her native country.

"I want to refurbish [the house] but it's very expensive," said Gonzalez in Spanish.

Her family is gradually saving money from the long hours her husband works at Tripkin Restaurant on U.S. Route 1 to make improvements to the old, dank house in which bare light bulbs hang from the ceiling.

Gonzalez and her family are characteristic of the type of people who, for decades, have lived and worked in the John-Witherspoon area.

"This has always been a working class neighborhood," Pannell said. "Our fear is of the community being gentrified."

In response to this fear, members of the community have been taking concrete steps to preserve the most precious elements of both the character and the physical appearance of the John-Witherspoon neighborhood.

Pannell and Maria Fernandez, head of the Princeton branch of the Mercer County Hispanic Association, started the Neighborhood Alliance about one year ago.

The group tries to meet once each month, Pannell said, to talk about neighborhood issues and plan community events. Last year, before Thanksgiving, members of the community packed baskets of food for those in need.

So, though the faces of the neighborhood have changed, most of its residents, both old and new, aspire to retain its old sense of character.

"I don't speak much English," Gonzalez said as she sat on the floor of her daughter's bedroom holding her infant son in her lap, "but I say 'hi' and whatever else I can, and [my neighbors] answer."