[URBAN NOTE] Edward Hertrich of the Walrus on life in Regent Park

[rfmcdonald]

In his recent essay in The Walrus, "My Misspent Youth", Edward Hertrich describes his experience and that of others growing up in the well-known--some might say "notorious"--Toronto neighbourhood of Regent Park. This is a compelling, sad read, very strongly recommended.

Regent Park is Canada’s first social welfare housing project, located two kilometres east of the city’s downtown core. Four blocks wide, by four blocks deep. Established in the late 1940s, it provided low-income families with “affordable” housing. Based on their number of members, families were either placed in row houses, an apartment in one of the many three-and-six-storey buildings, or in one of five high-rise towers. The infrastructure of brick and concrete left no illusion that this neighbourhood was anything but a project. From the onset, Regent Park was regarded as a high crime area, with the highest rates, nearly every year, in the city. Notorious for violence, renowned for illegal substances—outsiders ventured in with great trepidation.

In the summer of 1956, my family took up residence in a row house. I spent the first sixteen years of my life in south Regent Park. Considering the hardships each family endured within their own lives, the neighbours were generally friendly, but aloof. Those more familiar to one another, whether by proximity or social ties, would often converse. People respected each other’s privacy, unless action dictated otherwise; child endangerment definitely prompted intervention. Otherwise, interloping was regarded with disdain.

Men, fathers, were rarely seen. They worked long hours, had died, or were divorced of families who lived in Regent. Children attended one of two elementary schools within the project. The women busied themselves maintaining households while nurturing their young. Like my mother, who raised eleven children, their lives were strenuous. But as a child, ignorant of the outside world or its responsibilities, life was good.

I grew up and spent thirty years in federal custody. Looking back on my past, I hope readers will contemplate my life, and their own mistakes. I hope they also look toward their charges, for the young deserve our interest and attention; they deserve our assistance when they become confused about their life choices. They deserve care, proper direction, and guidance; and intervention when negative influences arise. Everyone knows that children will err. We all were young once, and who among us has never made a mistake in life? Some are just fortunate not to have been noticed. Some are just fortunate to grow up in the right place. It is incumbent to restore a youth upon a proper path, with his or her dignity and self-esteem intact. To do otherwise would be to fail. To do otherwise would be to help create the monsters and demons that lurk in our society.

This is a chronicle of my early life. While much can be supported by government records, these are memories—my memories—and as such, are fact to me. Nothing is meant to glamourize the violence and drug subculture that I experienced. There was no glamour. Every violent act involved some degree of concern and fear. Every high was simply that: an aberration from reality. And every contact with law enforcement was met with deep consternation, and now, deep regret.