When I was a kid, my mom and I often stayed with my grandparents in El Paso, Texas. My dad was in the Air Force and was often overseas.
The neighborhood was nice, not affluent, but well kept and clean. The houses were well maintained, and the yards were beautiful. It was a friendly place with a lot of kids my age.
When I returned to El Paso on a business trip, I decided to stop by the old place. I had not been there since 1968, and I was anxious to visit and take some pictures for my mom.
When I drove my rental car onto the street where my grandparents lived, I was shocked.
Every house was run down. Almost all of the trees were dead. Not a blade of grass was to be seen among the formerly emaculate lawns. It was nasty, squalid, and downright ugly. Paint peeled from the houses and shingles dangled from the roofs.
It was a disaster zone.
White flight, baby. I guess it was the fault of the white people who ran away from the neighborhood.