Tandem Arts Radio

This is the full piece, At Home, by Ben Adair At Home explores ideas of memory, home and place through a lens particular to Southern California, Los Angeles and greater Silver Lake. Voices of longtime residents, newcomers and those who have come and gone show how even a relatively young city like L.A. makes and re-makes itself in its own unique way. What's left after we've moved on? How do we preserve unwritten histories? Which parts, if any, of those histories should be preserved, and why?...

"When I was a girl, I imagined the United States being shiny and that there were blocks of ice, everywhere. I don't know why I thought that. Maybe because my country was so hot and people said the United States was so cold? I imagined people working, just hitting the blocks of ice with shovels. And I thought that's what I was going to come do too."

"It wasn't like, 'Oh, the guy's here to do the foundation.' It was like, 'Our friend Leonard's coming to help us and we're going to make dinner for him and talk about what his life was like in the Philippines.' We were all immigrants from all over the world and we all felt kind of homeless. And this house became a home because of those people coming and loving us."

"There was a lot of laughter here but to say it was a happy place wouldn't capture the whole reality. There was singing and shouting and sadness, sometimes bitterness, anger, resentment—'What the fuck's going on?' There was tremendous joy and happiness, particularly when people were freed from their isolation and loneliness. But people were always getting sicker."

"Do you see the tree that's clear of bark? And right next to it, the back of a glider? That's my glider! I thought, I'll just put it out there and someone will take it but the next day, they put this yellow caution tape and now, we're not allowed to go in. It's been at least two months or three months so I'm just wondering how long it's going to be there."

"There are two different kinds of people going over that hill—the people who slow down at the top and think that'll make it safer. But they're wrong. What you need to get over that hill is some momentum and some trust. And that's what the Baxter hills have taught me."

"Nobody's gonna be like me and nobody's gonna keep everything clean like I want it to be kept clean. I've pretty much given up on that. But everybody here is like family. And that's how family is—you have your ups and downs. We all get together when it's time."

"After my son Dillion was hit by a car right off the bridge, I was like, 'It's really important that we conquer this fear and make this a place like it was in the beginning—a place of awe and joy.' We'd take these walks and we'd cross the bridge together and it would feel really good. Like we were conquering our fears."

"I felt like I was asleep my whole life. And when I first moved here, I felt like I woke up. I didn't know anybody here and I found myself and I fell in love with being myself because I could be anybody that I wanted to be. It was like, in a way, being reborn."