By Von C. Howard
I invite you to a journey of remembrance, to a time often labeled as simpler. Some might dismiss it as a time lost to idleness, but for those who lived it or observed it, it was a golden era of joy, connection, and community.
Let me take you back to Fort Lauderdale in the early 1980s, to a specific spot along Sistrunk Boulevard. On the southeast corner of NW 9th Avenue, directly across from the 6th Street Pharmacy, stood a mighty oak tree. Its sturdy branches provided shelter from the sun, its roots dug deep into the soil of a community rich with resilience and pride.
After long, hard days of work, the men of the neighborhood gathered under that tree. They weren’t in a rush, and they weren’t looking for anything fancy—just a place to sit, share, and connect. Some leaned back on benches or rested on milk crates. Others huddled over checkerboards perched on overturned buckets, strategizing their next move like generals at war.
There was always something in the air—a mix of cigarette smoke, laughter, and the occasional waft of fried fish or barbecue from a nearby home. On especially hot days, someone might pass around a cold beer or, for the bold, a little “nottyhead”—Seagram’s Gin straight out of a brown bag.
But it wasn’t just about the beer or the games. These men came to this spot for something deeper: community. The conversations under that tree were rich and real. Elders shared lessons on life and love, often in the form of stories that started with “Back in my day…” Younger men soaked it all in, asking questions about fatherhood or the struggles of keeping a roof over their heads.
Every now and then, the debates would fire up. Politics, sports, and neighborhood gossip became lively exchanges, with voices rising and falling like a symphony. On a typical evening, you might hear someone arguing why Magic Johnson would absolutely destroy Larry Bird in the next game, while another voiced strong opinion about who had the best rib “sammich” on Sistrunk.
The significance of the old man and the tree lies in the bonds forged beneath its shade. Brotherhoods that transcended time and evolved into family ties were built here. That oak tree was more than a backdrop; it was a part of the fabric of the neighborhood. It stood tall and steady, offering its shade to anyone who needed it. It never judged, never asked questions, and always kept the secrets of those who sat beneath it.
But as the years passed, things began to change. The oak tree came down, a casualty of time and progress. The pharmacy across the street closed its doors, and new developments began to reshape the landscape. With these changes, the gathering place—and the spirit of connection it fostered—slowly faded away.
Today, these trees are few and far between, and the men who once gathered beneath them are now part of the echoes of history. The boisterous conversations have become whispers in the wind, and the once-unbreakable bonds have loosened as life marched forward. The oak trees that once symbolized protection and unity have been cut down, replaced by an ever-changing landscape.
But hope remains. We have the power to bring back the essence of what that tree represented. If we take the time to create spaces where people can come together—whether it’s under a new tree, on a porch, or at a community event—we can revive the sense of unity that once defined us.
Imagine young men, now older, reclaiming their pride in community and camaraderie. Reimagined conversations about relationships and parenting. New business collaborations. Strategic discussions about the future of leadership. Spades games filled with laughter. Even spirited debates about basketball’s GOAT—Jordan, Kobe, or LeBron—could echo once more. And, yes, there might even be a sip of someone’s favorite “feel good juice.”
The Old Man and the Tree is more than just a memory —it was a way of life. It reminds us of what’s possible when we slow down, make space for each other, and let the roots of community grow deep. It represents the very essence of what community—especially the Black community—truly is. Let’s bring it back. Let’s find our tree again, one root at a time.