The Thinking 

Dutchtown, Today and Yesterday

January 7, 2013


ALAN writes:

I have written previously about what “diversity” mongers have done to the once-peaceful “Dutchtown” neighborhood in south St. Louis. Here is their latest achievement:

To get the New Year off to a gala start, a Negro male, 33, shot and killed one man and injured another when they tried to stop his girlfriend from stealing a package of Chips Ahoy cookies in Sam’s Beauty Queen shop on the main street in Dutchtown on the night of Jan. 3.

The man killed was Anan Abdallah, 22, an immigrant from Palestine and friend of the shop’s owner.

Sam was quoted in news accounts as saying he moved his shop across the street four months ago after he saw “a growing problem with drug users and prostitutes” in his previous location.  Sam would not say, or the news source would not print, that those activities are pursued by young blacks.  But a photo showed Sam locking his “door gate” as he closed his shop.  What no one will say is that people like Sam must use “door gates” to protect their property against Negro savages like those to whom a package of chocolate chip cookies is worth more than another person’s life.

When I walked the streets of Dutchtown 55 years ago, I did so with all the innocence and optimism of a nine-year-old boy.  There was no reason not to do so.  Other children did the same.

There were no Negro predators there.  There were no pimps, whores, or drug pushers.  There were no “immigrants from Palestine” or people with names like “Anan” or “Sufan.”  There were no “Beauty Queen” convenience stores or shops offering check-cashing or “nails and wigs.”  There were no “door gates” on confectionaries, grocery stores, or dime stores.

A much-loved German restaurant and a Sears department store were three blocks away.   A flower shop and a large Catholic hospital were two blocks away.  A Kroger supermarket was one block away.  Just down the street from where “Sam’s Beauty Queen” is today was the home of “Emil Frei Art Glass, Inc.”, which commanded high respect for the artistry and craftsmanship reflected in its mosaics and stained glass windows for churches.  The Cleveland Rexall Pharmacy was in a building across the street.  Inside were telephone booths with glass-paned wooden doors that could be closed to insure privacy, a feature that reinforced good manners in an age now long vanished.

I walked past all those places in1959 with my youthful optimism, pocketful of bubble gum and baseball cards, and never a thought about who or what might be lurking around me.

In those years “Dutchtown” was heaven.  Now it is hell.

— Comments —-

Kevin M. writes:

I read with great interest and no small amount of emotion Alan’s recollection of Dutchtown of his youth versus the Dutchtown of today. I was reminded of a job I had in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, some thirteen years ago when the 9/11 attacks occurred.

I had spent four years of my life teaching English in Saudi Arabia, from 12/1996 to 09/2000. Then, one year later, shortly after the 9/11 attacks, I was walking along what in England would be called “the High Street” in Harrisburg, when I happened to notice something odd.

There was a shop rented by Muslims in Harrisburg that had a window display of two bottles of Head and Shoulders shampoo, a box of cotton swabs, some baby oil, diapers, and perhaps three plastic bottles of foot powder. In addition to this was a very small selection of Arabic incense (“ud” or scented wood). A passer-by would notice an Arabic man sitting behind a small cash register all day. Never a customer. Never. And what a pathetic excuse for a shop display.

If you need an FBI agent to tell you this was a store-front for Al-Queda, then you need glasses. I can’t imagine the FBI didn’t know about it.

Seriously. On the left was a Greek breakfast diner that was hopping with business and its employees slaving away to keep the customers happy. On the right was an authentic chain drugstore, with a massive window display and four cash registers humming.

How do you pay for that real estate with a pathetic window display and one slumbering checkout “octogenarian?”

I don’t know if readers are aware of it, but our country is, in the words of the Wall Street types, “in play.”

Our credit rating is down, the economy is in the toilet, and Muslim agents from the Middle East ply their trade in broad daylight.

I am, at 52 years of age, utterly aghast at what the country of my birth has become.

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