May 2001

Whatever Happened
to Whiskey Gulch?

by Jennie Rothenberg

I. The Construction Site

Phil Roberson, a homeless 40-year-old man, is leaning against a wooden post in the city of East Palo Alto. From this small green park, he can see the skeletons of rising office buildings across Highway 101. "All I can say is they'd better have some good security in there," he says. "Because putting those up is like waving a carrot in front of people, and someone's going to vandalize them." He pauses. "I'm not saying it's going to be me." But he's not saying it isn't.

Roberson has spent his entire life with a view of Palo Alto-home of Stanford University, Hewlett-Packard, and some of the most concentrated wealth in America. But put an "East" in front of the city's name, and that wealth may as well be a thousand miles away. University Avenue, a street lined with Palo Alto's trendiest shops, turns grimy at the East Palo Alto border like a polluted river. Until recently, that crossover was marked by an area called Whiskey Gulch. The Gulch was home to some unique institutions: African barbers, local record vendors, the man selling fish and fries. But it was better known for its plentiful liquor stores. In the 1980's, the area's gambling, drug dealing, and gang violence earned East Palo Alto its reputation as "Murder Capitol of America."

In 1999, Whiskey Gulch was flattened to make room for a new high-level business development. Many residents are pleased with the change. "I think it's time, that's all," says Jim Carter, a middle-aged homeowner. "We been through all kinds of eras. Now it's 2001. Why should we miss out on what everybody else all around here is getting to have?" But others are apprehensive. They envision a near future where homeowners relocate, local businesses close down, and the city becomes a glossy, unfamiliar version of its former self.

II. Blueprints

In his University Avenue office, Jon Bassman is looking at a map of the new East Palo Alto. Bassman is planning division manager in the city's public works department. He has a round face with earnest green eyes. His skin turns pink when he is excited about the new projects and red when the wrong question is asked. This afternoon, the wrong question is asked almost right away.

When was Whiskey Gulch 'destroyed'?" he repeats sharply. "I don't know that I'd use that word. Whiskey Gulch was a run-down district with an off-ramp running through it. The city decided the whole area needed rehabilitation. Renovation. No, you know what the word is? Redevelopment."

East Palo Alto's redevelopment plan involves not one but two new business districts. The first will be a cluster of upscale offices, residences, and Internet cafes. The second will fill a currently vacant lot with a homey town square. The San Francisco architecture firm Freedman, Tung & Bottomley has been chosen to design both projects. According to architect Michael Freedman, the new East Palo Alto will be a model city for the new economy. "For the past hundred years, industry has been kept separate from the rest of the city," he says. "Today, people want to be near each other and exchange ideas. Our business district will have residences, cafes and a wonderful place to hang out in the middle of it all." What's more, the economic boost from this project means that East Palo Alto can finally build itself a town square, complete with post office, deli, and shoe repair shop. "Every piece of this development will benefit the local residents," Freedman says.

It's a vision city officials are welcoming with open arms and flushed pink faces. "We've designed everything with the input of the local people," Bassman says. "They're as excited as we are. The tide is going to lift all their boats."

What will happen to the boats of low-income renters and small business owners? "I'll say we are minimizing displacement," Bassman says carefully. "Some may occur, but it is looked at with great consternation." He lowers his voice, as though the subject might be touchy even within the office. "Look," he says. "It's true Whiskey Gulch was home to a certain socio-economic group of businesses. And it's true a different group of businesses will come into these new buildings." He leans forward and looks me in the eyes. "The question is this: Who benefited from what was there? And who is going to benefit now?"

III. Plugged In

Armando Arroyo, a soft-spoken 25-year-old in a baseball cap, never expected to benefit from the area's high tech boom. When his parents came up from Mexico with him in the womb, they were not seeking high tech employment. They were simply moving to East Palo Alto to create a decent life. As a child, Armando Arroyo had no interest in computers, and he never thought he'd cross the invisible line that separated his 2500-acre town from Silicon Valley. But then something unexpected happened. Silicon Valley came to East Palo Alto.

"I was in high school, and I needed to print out a paper," Arroyo says. "Someone told me there was a place I could go and use computers for free." The place was Plugged In, a non-profit founded in 1992 to help East Palo Alto join the information revolution. Plugged In offered the use of Macs, PC's, and Internet connections, along with computer classes taught by Silicon Valley experts. Arroyo returned to Plugged In again. And again. He learned HTML and JavaScript. He asked questions. He began helping other visitors, especially Spanish speakers.

Six years later, Arroyo is manager of Plugged In's studio, a small but highly wired building tucked behind a medical center. He oversees all programs-teen web design classes, adult workshops, and a rambunctious after-school program called "The Greenhouse." "The kids are making a movie today," he says as a dozen squealing children run through the room. "They're going to film it themselves and edit it on the iMac computers."

When Arroyo first visited Plugged In, its studio was in Whiskey Gulch. Most visitors came literally off the streets, from nearby shops and apartments, even from teenage gangs. "I had one kid come in and say, 'I want to change my life,'" says Arroyo. "It was like a whole new world opened up to him. But then two weeks later, he was shot dead, there in Whiskey Gulch." Since then, Arroyo has helped change East Palo Alto's lot and, in the process, his own. His work is funded by the same Silicon Valley presence that replaced Whiskey Gulch. Intel, Cisco, HP and Sun Microsystems are all among Plugged In's largest sponsors. Arroyo himself has a good chance landing a job at any one of those companies.

But when he sees the rising office buildings, Arroyo has mixed feelings. "Whiskey Gulch had all kinds of stores you couldn't find anywhere else," he says. "When I wanted a giant cubic zirconium earring, I knew where to go. When I wanted a tape by a local rapper, I could go to the record store there." The new East Palo Alto will be more "bourgeois," he says, "people getting coffee in suits and ties. Whiskey Gulch had its own vibe. It was East Palo Alto. Nothing will be able to replace that."

IV. African City

Pete Evans is angry. It's not the kind of anger that flares up in a rage. It's the kind of anger that allows someone to speak calmly, even smiling, while simmering below the surface. It's an anger that goes back years. Evans would say centuries. "Nkruma Kwame put it best," he says. "He was President of the Gold Coast, the first African nation to get freedom from the European oppressors. Kwame said, 'It's far better to be misgoverned than to be governed by invaders.' East Palo Alto is better not developed than it is now."

Evans has never been to Africa, but he's surrounded by it every day. He and his wife Keisha own African City Alive!, a shop on Palo Alto's eastern edge, filled with carved giraffes, ebony masks, and ethnic clothing. It's also one of the Bay Area's favorite spots for hair braiding. Evans stands behind the counter, wearing a colorful skullcap and flowing shirt. An Egyptian ankh hangs below his gray beard.

Evans has lived in East Palo Alto for four decades, and he has long been known as a pillar in community. He started a Stanford class on Environmental Racism out of his living room. He's on the board of directors of the Ujima Security Council, a group that looks out for invaders in East Palo Alto. And Evans has seen plenty of them. There was the high tech firm that tried to buy out local businesses, assuring the "black folks" they would gain work as janitors and night watchmen. There was the chemical recycling plant that convinced the city to exempt it from environmental laws. More recently, there were the people who took over public land with a Boys' and Girls' Club—a Boys' and Girls' Club?

"Look," he says patiently. "I know they say they're here to help the community. But where do you think they get all their money? Sears & Robucks, ITT-all basically racist European organizations. They've come in to control us, control our land, control the way our children think as they grow up."

Evans speaks of every major American corporation as "European," whatever the race of its founders or employees. To him, their presence is another chapter in the story of European colonization. After hearing his stories, it's easy to see why Evans is wary. But it's less easy to pin down alternatives. "We just want good education, nice parks, all the things they have in every community around here," he says. It's only reasonable, except those other communities run on Silicon Valley money, the force Evans wants to banish from his city.

From behind the counter, Evans pulls out a December issue of The Mountain View Times. His photo is featured in a story about Kwanzaa, the African-American winter celebration. "Kwanzaa is when we deify ourselves as a people," he tells me. "In Africa, we lived Kwanzaa every day of the year." It may be an idealized vision of Africa. But in African City Alive!, every day is indeed an ethnic celebration. Whether that dream city can find a place in the new East Palo Alto remains to be seen.

V. A Game of Dominos

Phil Roberson is content today. He's watching a group of older black men playing dominos at a picnic table. "This is a community, you know?" he says. "When you're a kid, you see the grown-ups playing dominos, getting along with each other. That's the stuff that makes you happy." Those days were a long time ago. Now Roberson is 40. He wears short dreadlocks, a black tank top, and a string of small beads. He hasn't slept in a real bed for many nights. He smells as though he hasn't had a shower for a while either. If his mother hadn't lost her house to a drug addiction in 1986, he might have a place to live now. Instead he has trouble even renting an apartment. "My credit's all gone to hell," he says. "I was put away for a few robberies. I got to do some more time soon, maybe 30 days. Then I'll figure out what to do next."

A well-built man walks by in a striped polo shirt. Roberson says he's a plain-clothes policeman. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," the visitor says. Roberson pulls a long knife out of his belt loops and pretends to clean his fingernails until the man passes.

I ask Roberson if he wants to live in East Palo Alto for the rest of his life. "You mean if I could live anywhere?" he asks, like a boy choosing a Christmas present. "Well…I'd like to live in Jamaica. Or maybe the Philippines." It wasn't the kind of answer I'd had in mind, but it's a nice thought, and I leave him dreaming about it.

I'm halfway to my car when I hear a low whistle across the grass. It's another policeman, this one in uniform. "Everything all right?" he asks. He notices that I'm heading toward my white Honda Accord and looks relieved. "I'm glad to see you're leaving," he says. "You don't read about it much, but…well, it's still pretty hairy around here." I ask him whether East Palo Alto is improving. His face relaxes. "Oh yeah, there's no question," he says. "But it's going to take time. You know. We can't just make all this go away."

He glances toward the park where Roberson is still leaning against his post, watching the men play dominos in the sunshine.