Nature takes wood in one of two ways: either fire burns it or water rots it away. If that wood forms the walls of a building, the way it happens can make all the difference in the world.
So it is with the Cotton Club here in Gainesville. Don't feel bad if you've never heard of it - neither had I until recently. The Cotton Club was the name of an old one-room hall in the 1950s that now sits falling apart on Southeast Seventh Avenue.
Originally built at Camp Blanding in Starke as a military post warehouse, it was sold, taken apart and moved board-for-board to Gainesville after the war in 1946.
Five years later, the room that once housed mail was filled with jazz music. The Cotton Club joined what came to be called the Chitlin' Circuit, a group of venues black musicians could play at as racist segregation raged. It hosted greats like James Brown, B.B. King and Brook Benton. It was very successful, but the city refused to renew its license - too many impressionable white UF students were going there.
By 1953, the music had stopped.
Well, 55 years later, a movement was created to restore the Cotton Club to the way it looked in its heyday. But if you think the entire black community in the neighborhood around it is a fan of the idea, think again.
A friend of mine who volunteers with the Powell Center for Sustainability had a conversation with an African American local during his site survey. With great respect, he let my friend know that he and most of the black community he knew would prefer to see the building burned down.
To avoid misinterpretation, he was not speaking literally. He just meant that he didn't want to preserve a painful reminder from a time when poor black citizens' deaths did not even warrant acknowledgement in The Gainesville Sun's obituaries.
I disagree with him, but can I blame him? Of course not.
This is where painful history really does toy with us. There is no universal way to grieve. One girl needs to destroy every memento from a relationship after a devastating break up. Another girl can listen to 'their song' on the mix CD the ex-boyfriend made for her without it causing any pain at all. I have yet to detect any common rhyme or reason in coping with sorrow, and from what I can tell, neither have psychologists.
I should point out that the random pedestrian my friend spoke to was ultimately speaking for himself - he may have been misrepresenting the sentiment of the majority of the neighborhood. Even if that were the case though, I still can't deem his feelings illegitimate. The problem is still there.
So what should be done with the Cotton Club? Honestly, I don't think there is a "should" there. The question is what will we do?
Pain, like wood, always goes away with some combination of fire and water: anger and tears. There is no moral dimension there.
If the hall where James Brown clutched his heart and then motioned as if dealing it out like poker cards is made into a museum, for some it will be an ugly reminder of a dark past made permanent. If the building is demolished, many will feel an important reminder of a rich history will be lost, and they will be upset.
Whatever the scenario, each side needs to extend compassion to the other. This is the case where sympathy must eclipse misunderstanding. As Mr. Brown bellowed melodically, "Please, please, please!"
Gerald Liles is a history and religion senior. His column appears on Tuesdays.
