Vinegar Hill Magazine | Winter 2022

When do you need to think about colorectal cancer screening?

It could be sooner than you think.

People without a family history of colorectal cancer should begin screening at age 45. If you have a family history, you may need to start screening sooner. There are many options for screening, including lower-cost at-home tests.

Talk with your healthcare provider about when to start screening and the best screening option for you.

Learn more at uvahealth.com/colonscreen or email your questions to crcscreening@virginia.edu.

INSIDE

4 A NEW NARRATIVE

The United Way of Greater Charlottesville unviels a mural on 2nd Street commemorating the ENVSION campaian.

18 CHARLEY BURTON

Charley Burtion talks about his new book and having to sneak into the local library to find out more about his community.

24 ACCESSIBILITY

India Sims wants Charlottesville to make accessibility an everyday reality.

32 KRISTAL FARMER GRADY

Katrina Spencer talks to hairstylist and visual artist Kristal Farmer Grady about the work of her her hands. Original artwork by Kristal Farmer Grady on page 34.

Vinegar Hill Magazine™ is a space that is designed to support and project a more inclusive social narrative, to promote entrepreneurship, and to be a beacon for art, culture, and politics in the Central Virginia region. Editor & Content Manager Katrina Spencer Advertising and Sales Manager(s) SteppeMedia Publisher Eddie Harris COO Sarad Davenport © 2022-2023 Vinegar Hill Magazine™. All rights reserved.

Lance Blakey discusses how his life experience led him to become the first Black battalion chief in Charlottesville history.

A New Narrative

Charlottesville has had a history of inequity and piercing poverty considering the wealth and resources of the region. The United Way of Greater Charlottesville has been doing a lot of listening in recent years and is taking a comprehensive approach to listening and community building in an effort to alleviate poverty in Charlottesville. As a way to push this work forward, United Way is tapping into the agency of a community that has not only been marginalized economically but also in storytelling and the local narrative.

Photo of Jae Johnson, muralist. All Photos

CEO of United Way of Greater Charlottessville, Ravi Respeto

The overall campaign is called Envision and part of the storytelling aspect of this campaign is a mural that was unveiled in September. Designed and painted by local artist Jae Johnson on behalf of the United Way of Greater Charlottesville, this mural, titled A New Narrative, represents the journey towards a more equitable community.

Intentionally located on 2nd street next to the Haven, the purpose of this piece is to bring into sharp focus the hope and joy for what Charlottesville can be, juxtaposed against the lived experience of over 10,000 of its residents.

Recent data shows that with rising rent and childcare costs, over 10,000 families

experiencing poverty in our community face the harsh reality of being left with around $76 or less a month after these expenses are paid. Of that population, a disproportionate percentage are people of color. That $76 is meant to cover a lengthy list of necessities including diapers & wipes, utilities, food, cell phone, car payment, and more.

Photos in this article by Derrick Waller

“A New Narrative” aims to capture this lived experience but also the hope for what our community can be if together, we commit to breaking down historical and systemic barriers to opportunity and access.

United Way of Greater Charlottesville, Board Marketing Chair, Sarad Davenport

God, Family, Service: Lance Blakey Discusses Becoming the First Black Battalion Chief In Charlottesville History

by Sarad Davenport

When Lance moved back to Charlottesville in 2003 after finishing his degree at East Tennessee State University in Johnson City, Tennessee, he found a job working at the Atlantic Coast Athletic Club (ACAC). He was just a young man trying to find his way in his hometown and make sense of life in the place he called home after what seemed like a long journey—already.

Lance recalls, “My road to college was not the traditional route. I went to Piedmont [PVCC] for a year, then I transferred to East Tennessee State University.” Lance went on to say that when he got there, he didn’t have any money and no plan to pay for college. “I just showed up,” he said. Without any initial guidance on financial aid or being away from home, Lance decided to tap into what he knew best—his faith.

“It was either give up, turn around or either stay there and figure it out, and I decided to stay,” he said. There he stood with no financial aid or funding for school. Lance’s classes were dropped, but he was determined to finish what he started.

This strong sense of determination was ingrained in him from the earliest years of his life. Speaking of his mother, Lance said, “People knew my mom for walking. My mom doesn’t drive, so she walked everywhere in the city and people knew her—and they knew me because I walked with her.”

Among the places that Lance and his mother walked to on a regular basis was church. “We had a foundation with God. We went to church all the time. We had a Wednesday night Bible Study, we would walk to Commerce Street right next to Jefferson School. We had prayer on

Friday and of course church on Sunday.” Lance remembers this being his weekly routine of walking to church on Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday with his mother since he was eight years old. Holding back tears and remembering the moral and ethical framework his mother gave him, he said, “She just taught me how to treat people right.”

Lane at his childhood park and playground Booker T. Washington Park.[/caption] In full disclosure, I’ve known Lance, as a young man who also grew up in Charlottesville, and I can tell you that the values that his mother instilled in him have been consistent as long as I’ve known him. Lance was the captain of our football team at Charlottesville High School and I can tell you, from a character perspective, he was the best among us—then and now.

To make things work out in Johnson City, Lance had to pick up a job. Before going off to school, Lance spent many years working various positions at the Omni Hotel in Charlottesville to include being a bellhop. He emphasized how the training in customer service helps him even today as a firefighter but how it also helped him find gainful employment when in Tennessee. “While I was in college, I worked at the Carnegie Hotel in Johnson City. I worked my way through college, you know, because I just didn’t have any money.” Lance’s college experience as a young man who came from a low-income family was much different and required him to dig into his experience and strength to work full-time and attend school full-time while miles away from his family and support.

While adjusting back to life in Charlottesville and working at ACAC, Lance had an experience that would change his life forever. At work one day, Lance recognized a friend from high school suited and decorated in a firefighter uniform. Lance remembered, “He came in and he was so happy he had his uniform on. So, I asked him, ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ He said he was a firefighter and that resonated with me.” Lance went on to say how he was intrigued because his friend seemed so happy and excited about his career. That friend mentioned to Lance that the fire department was hiring and that he should apply. That’s when everything changed according to Lance. “I applied and I eventually got the job.” That was 18 years ago.

Becoming a Firefighter

Becoming a firefighter wasn’t as smooth for Lance as it may have seemed. Not only do firefighters have to take a written exam, take a polygraph/lie detector test, there are extreme physical requirements that must be met. Lance remembers, “I had to jump through a simulated window and climb a ladder truck. There was lots of walking and running up and down stairs. I wanted the job so badly, so I ran the stairs.”

In a more sobering tone, Lance revealed, “At first, I initially didn’t get hired.” He only learned a few years ago that a former firefighter advocated for the search to be expanded. If that hadn’t happened, this moment of becoming the first Black battalion chief may never have come..

“If the chief didn’t broaden the search, I probably would have never been hired and promoted to this day. This person encouraged the chief to hire me, a local kid that grew up in the city that deserved a chance.”

A Day In the Life

I wanted to really understand the life of a firefighter, so I asked Lance what a day or shift could look like. The first thing I learned is that firefighters typically work three 24 hour days. There is typically a day between these shifts and the expectation is that there are ten 24 hour days of work per month. (I got stressed as he explained it.) In extreme cases, firefighters can work up to 72 hours straight depending on the needs of the community. At this point, I have a whole new appreciation for first responders.

On these shifts, while at the same time being responsive to community calls at a moments notice, there is structure to the day. Being a firefighter from what I gathered, is a sacred community and much is built on relationships. After a 7:00 am roll call and assignments given, methodical checks and maintenance of the equipment is done. There is also cooperative physical training or PT done. Lance went on to state that first responders and firefighters in particular are suffering from cancer and heart attacks at high rates and being holistically healthy is a major emphasis. Firefighters have meals together and when they are not on service calls they are showing up at events and schools educating the community on ways to prevent fires and to stay safe.

It’s a lot. It’s a lot for one person but also a lot for the families that sacrifice by sharing these critical servants with us.

Work Life Balance

Things were different for Lance when he was a single man and moving up the ranks as a firefighter in Charlottesville. But things changed tremendously when he got married to his wife Shelley and they began a family. “When the twins (Landon and Olivia, now 13 years old)

came, it became very difficult to have twins and two parents with demanding schedules.” Lance’s wife Shelley is an athletic trainer for UVA Athletics Department and it was very important to have an extended family who could be counted on to support when the kids were younger. Lance credits his mom, Jennifer Blakey, with a lot of support, “Definitely my mom has been helpful in supporting us through the years.”

Service

Becoming the Battalion Chief and leading all things administrative to include hiring, promotions, and professional development, this is a watershed moment in the history of Charlottesville. In a series of firsts like Celia Thompson becoming the first Black woman firefighter and the first to retire from CFD, this is another significant moment. Among other battalion chiefs, Lance is the first in the 166 year history to be Black. A Black person has never made the second promotional step. It has not always been an inclusive environment for people of color and women, so this is monumental and Lance understands that he stands on the shoulders of others who came before him.

Photo Credit: Kori Price

He used to sneak to the back of the library to learn about who he was now this trans advocate has his

own book

by Charley Burton

This story was published as a part of Charlottesville Inclusive Media’s First Person Charlottesville project

There aren’t many trans elders my age in Virginia, let alone in Charlottesville. As 62-year-old Black trans man, my path narrows — and it can sometimes be a lonely one.

When the pandemic hit, the trans community, like many others, searched for how to stay connected. Many of us were no strangers to meeting online. We have used apps to meet the loves of our lives. Now, we were also using online platforms to connect on a Friday night — 20 Black trans men from all over the country on Facebook video just shooting the shit.

Age didn’t matter. Being a trans man of color was what mattered. Any given Friday, there would be 20-years-olds schooling us who are in our 60s. Then it would be time for the elders to drop some knowledge of life to the youngsters. The Uncs were walking the Nephews on the life of being an old trans guy.

The younger trans crowd is proud of who they are; they express themselves through their existence as trans-loving-men, trans-loving-trans and trans-loving-women. Their pronouns are he/them/they. They rock beards with fingernail polish.

I am excited to be a part of their world. They are living their authentic selves, letting the world know they belong. As they claim their space, though, they still want to connect with their elders. They want to learn how I have walked this path, too.

When I was 18, I was afraid to speak up because I was a lesbian. Living in Charlottesville was tough; living in Charlottesville while Black was even more challenging. The hub of life for Black people in

Charlottesville is the church. I grew up in a rural area called North Garden and the church was where everything happened: food, fellowship, summer vacation, Bible school. I didn’t have a clue about being gay, let alone trans. But I knew I was a little boy, and I knew I would get in trouble for saying so.

The only thing I knew about gay life in Charlottesville was from the books I would sneak off and read at the Gordon Avenue Library. When I was around 10 years old, I climbed those brick steps into a world of adventure. I looked for books about gay people — I didn’t know about trans people then — and I would go all the way to back where the health books were. I snaked my way through and chose books off the shelf, carrying them around the library. Sometimes I was so depressed, I looked for books about suicide. My heart would pound and I had sweaty hands just knowing I could slip away into all those words and find out about subjects that were taboo in my community. Even as I got older, it felt as if I was doing something wrong.

I didn’t know the word trans until I was an adult in my 50s, in a relationship with my last partner who went to a progressive church in Virginia Beach. I was struggling with being a lesbian. There, I saw, for the first time, a trans person. I couldn’t take my eyes off this guy.

I started to study trans men like they were a science project. I was confused because I was attracted to, and still am attracted to feminine women. So why was I watching these trans men with such curiosity? It was because that trans man in church was exactly who I am. And that showed me more than any book.

Now I know, I wasn’t a lesbian. I was a man trapped in a body that didn’t match who I am. But how does one leave a body? It took several more years to accept, learn and understand I am a trans man.

When I began to transition, things changed. Charley began to find his voice. I became more comfortable in my skin. I became an advocate for my people. I introduced Charlottesville and my friends and family to what a Black trans man looks like. But we have a long way to go.

We still struggle with health care, and there are places in the African American community that don’t want someone like me in their circle.

I love my Charlottesville community, and this community overall has been good to me. Sometimes though, I need to be with people like me. People who look like me, people who speak my language. Sometimes it’s just comfortable to be with the Black LGBTQ community because, for so long, I didn’t have this. I often travel to Richmond to be with trans people of color.

As a butch woman, I had a difficult time in Charlottesville finding a decent job. I struggled a lot financially. Today, as a man, I have a great job, and I am respected at my place of employment. Sometimes I have to wonder, did I suffer because of what I was putting out to the universe? As I gained confidence as a Black man, I also gained respect for who I am. I am finding my strength, finding my voice.

As I write this, we have a governor who believes that trans children in school should not have the right to live as their authentic selves in the environment where they spend most of their lives. Gov. Glenn Youngkin’s model policies for schools would require teachers to tell parents about students’ gender identities, among other rollbacks of transgender rights. For many young trans people, though, school might be the only place where they can freely be themselves.

With these kinds of policies, those children could be back in the stacks of the library, in a scary place like I was. The proposal could be put in place by the end of November.

Our state leaders are making a decision that could cost a child their mental and physical safety. Not every home is accepting of their child being trans. Trans children sometimes experience abuse, physical and mental, at home. The mental toll for anyone whose family or community does not accept them is costly, even more so for a child. As a trans child, one should freely play a sport that matches their preferred gender. In school, any child, including a trans child, should feel safe. Even beyond politics and policies, we all need to be more understanding and accepting of the diversity of the trans community.

In those Friday nights on Facebook, I too learned that being trans does not mean I know everything about my community. I learned how hard it is for trans people, especially trans women who are transitioning, to get a job. I learned about sex trafficking in the trans world. In other online groups’ Zooms and Facebook chats, I learned what it means to be non-binary, not masculine or feminine and comfortable just living who they are each day.

Our state leaders are making a decision that could cost a child their mental and physical safety.

—Charley Burton on policies about trans students in Virginia

I am continuing to tell my story, too, this time in my own book that I hope trans children will find. At 61, I went back to school. I attend Morehouse College where I am meeting Black men who are showing me how to be a Black man in a world where Black men are feared. I walk with pride. I hold my head up high and know that I have the resilient spirit that a lot of trans people have. I love the body I am in, and I share that love with others.

I didn’t transition as a child. I wish I could have, and would have been able to eliminate a lot of pain in my life. But I am grateful that I lived it and I am alive to help others. By speaking out, I am simply paying it forward. Not speaking

out, especially now, could put people’s lives in danger.

And it’s very important for others to speak out as well. One way trans people, especially trans people of color, can help is to take the 2022 U.S. Trans Survey, which is like a Census for trans people. Getting data about homelessness, discrimination and the lives of trans people, is important so we know exactly what we are going through.

Unless we have a place to tell our stories, no one is going to hear.

India Sims can do everything you can do just sitting down

by India Sims : India Sims wants Charlottesville to make itself accessible — and understand that wheelchair accessibility should just be an everyday reality. Photos by Kori Price | Originally published on Charlottesville Tomorrow

Igot a call from Ryan Homes in the summer of 2019. My family and I were qualified to purchase a home in Glenmore, a gated community in Albemarle County. The agent told us to visit the model homes the next day.

I was excited and called my husband; we decided I would go see the homes while he was at work. When I pulled up to the side of the house, I noticed there were steps to the front, side and back doors. I called the sales consultant — no answer. The garage door was open and there was an open house sign, so I blew my horn. No one came out.

Finally, I called my husband and told him that there was no one there. Someone came outside and asked if they could help. I told them I had an appointment to see a home that I am potentially purchasing. “India? Come on inside.”

I asked if there was a ramp anywhere on the house, so I could get inside. She brought a

manager who said no, we do not build ramps.

Several months after my visit to Glenmore, the company told me they have no accessible models in Charlottesville and I’d have to go to Williamsburg, almost two hours away, to see the only model home that they could show me that had a ramp.

(Editor’s note: The person who handles Ryan Homes’ media relations, Curt McKay, told Charlottesville Tomorrow that the company does not comment to the press as a matter of policy. The events in this essay were documented in emails with Ryan Homes employees in 2019. Ryan Homes’ parent

company, Virginia-based NVR Inc., is one of the largest home builders in the country and operates in 15 states.)

We went to look at multiple houses in different places that summer; none of the companies we tried to work with had made accessible entryways for people who have disabilities. Over the next few years, we stopped looking for a home to buy around Charlottesville.

And that’s not fair.

In Charlottesville, racism is recognized as needing action to change. Discrimination against those who are disabled, though, might be seen as wrong, but our community does not want to do anything to fix it.

In Charlottesville, many places aren’t accessible. The Downtown Mall has bricks and small entryways to stores. Many stores have a step to get in. It’s a historic place but it doesn’t mean that it cannot accommodate everyone. If you can put up a handicapped parking sign, you can make the city accessible to all.

I’ve been through the same pattern of being overlooked or discriminated against in other parts of my life. People just don’t accept who I am as a woman in a wheelchair and they can’t accept the fact that I can do everything the same as them — just sitting down.

An employee at an amusement park a few years ago told my husband that I shouldn’t get on a ride. I put up my hand and said, “I’m down here. My husband doesn’t talk for me, I talk for myself.”

I asked him, “When I’m talking to you, are you looking at my physical appearance or are you listening to me?”

He said, frankly, “I am not listening to you. I am looking at your physical appearance.”

I said, “Why?”

He said, “I never imagined an individual in a wheelchair that could talk and ask questions the way that you do. Normally, people in chairs have someone speaking for them.”

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I said to him the reason why is because the people who are disabled are afraid to speak out because of what I am experiencing today. I finally got on the ride.

In the workplace, people aren’t usually so direct because they don’t want to get sued. They just be rude. I have to go through versions of this educating people and fighting discrimination when I apply for jobs as a beauty specialist, go to a restaurant just to eat, shopping — people are overly cautious instead of letting me be normal.

I am speaking, I am talking, I am showing, but no one is listening. It feels like I am placed in the back of the bus, but like Rosa Parks, I want to sit in the front. I want to sit where I want, be who I want, and I want Charlottesville and the surrounding areas to not just understand — or be inspired — but change something about how inaccessible we’ve made our neighborhoods.

It’s a historic place but it doesn’t mean that it cannot accommodate everyone,

“ “

—India Sims

We are seeking people of all backgrounds and beliefs from the Charlottesville area to take part in One Small Step, a collaboration between UVA and StoryCorps. It’s a chance to meet someone new with a different political view and get to know their story.

The Right to be Misunderstood: Work As A Place to Actualize

by Sarad Davenport

George S. Clason wrote in his classic book, The Richest Man in Babylon, among many platitudes, that, “Hard work is the best friend I’ve ever had.”

As a young person, more than 20 years ago, I devoured this book and applied this framework to my life. I was convinced for most of my life that work in and of itself was the answer to all of life’s problems. I believed work would help me to achieve the economic mobility that many Black men growing up in poverty sought after.

I applied this formula and was relatively successful, yet it seemed at every advance, at every elevation, I was asked, seemingly by inference, to shed some of who I was — parts of my core identity. I became a master of morphing myself into something that was safe and palatable and offered comfort to people who certainly could not fathom the situational awareness required to escape dire and often

dangerous social circumstances.

I became culturally bi-lingual, by necessity, believing that sacrificing the full presentation of myself at work was a means that justified the end. I operated in what W.E.B DuBois called double-consciousness and as he described it further, “Always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others.” What work often requires Black people to do is build strength in order to carry the load of existing in a reality where we are permanent outsiders with a veneer of inclusivity. It’s heavy.

It all worked perfectly though. We were so busy working and believing that effort and merit would ensure our mobility, not realizing how much of ourselves we were losing and sacrificing along the way. Then came the pandemic.

In the tragedy that the pandemic was and is, there is also an undeniable collective introspection and reflection that is taking place. As many of us wrestled with questions of mortality in a real way, we also wrestled with and looked with clear eyes at our relationships with persons, places, things, and also work. I had suspicions prior to the COVID-19 pandemic that I had an unhealthy relationship with work. The pandemic only confirmed those suspicions.

Work was never a place where I felt I had license to be misunderstood. There was a constant tension as revealed in the words of Nina Simone when she sang, “O’ Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood.’ I had to pretend—but with clarity. It’s how you survived. But the pandemic made it clear to me that I no longer wanted to just survive. I wanted the right to be misunderstood. I was going to redefine reality in such a way that my orientation and ways of being were going to be honored if only by myself.

Where I am now, I hold no contempt for those who have employed me in the past. At the outset, I said that my own beliefs led me to this unhealthy and unsustainable worship of work. I now define work as conscious co-creation. I have a futurist outlook on reality and believe that co-creation in and of itself can be a liberating and actualizing effort that sets us free.

Employers are now faced with people who have had time for deep reflection about how they want to engage with the world and what quality of life means. People have found ways to create realities where their full selves not only survive but flourish. The task for employers is to intentionally design environments that have more than the veneer of inclusivity and work is not worshiped, but people are supported in their effort to fully actualize.

The Beautiful Work of Her Hands

By Katrina Spencer

Kristal Farmer Grady can do it all. Locs, weaves, bantu knots, wigs, cornrows, relaxer, protective styles, twistouts, braidouts, color, trim. “You name it!” as gospel icon Shirley Caesar once famously said. Following 15 years of wide ranging work experience and training with Hair Cuttery, there is little left on this veteran hairstylist’s coiffure bucket list. For just over five years now she has been offering her services at Ebony Images at Seminole Court where her clients book her services through Style Seat (https://www.styleseat.com/m/v/kristalfarmer). There she and five other stylists rent chairs where clients can get a short pixie cut like Halle Berry’s classic look, tapered close at the neck, or get locs installed, tightened, or reddened like songstress Halle Bailey of 2023’s The Little Mermaid. If you ask Kristal what her favorite styling technique is, she doesn’t hesitate: it’s color. She loves to apply vibrant hues to her clients’ tresses and acknowledges that in her profession, “It is not an option to be less than perfect.” She takes a great deal of pride in her work, deftly managing heat, dyes, synthetic materials-- truly “the whole 9.” Her least favorite style? Any individual microbraids, which consume a good deal of time and leave her and customers with little to talk about after the 8-hour sessions the style requires.

This Virginian grew up in Louisa with a mother who was a minister and a father who was a taxicab driver for over 30 years. With her mother’s vocation, it was not uncommon for Kristal to spend three or four nights a week in church. It was then that Kristal was first handed a comb to keep her busy throughout the many Baptist services. She got much practice, too, being a

barber to her five brothers. While at least six years of her education were directed through homeschooling, by the time she was formally training at the Charlottesville-Albemarle Technical Education Center for her license in cosmetology, she had already delved deep into a diverse body of experimentation. Her clients today come in all colors and include men, women, and children. With all she’s done and seen, she has some clear preferences about useful products and reliable tools that help her to manage her craft. Peep these tips: best brand of loc twisting gel? Bellatique. Fantastic flat irons? Go with Baby Bliss. Scalp stimulator? Rosemary mint oil is the way to go.

Some of Kristal’s skills can only be won with time. For example, in a service position like her own, she has learned to read the energy of a broad spectrum of people and can engage most anyone. As with every hairstylist, a few burns, nicks, and cuts along the way are part of her story, too, a natural job hazard for someone who relies on her hands-but nothing serious enough to turn her off from the calling that she loves. Kristal’s goal now is to whittle her services down to a smaller subset, likely in service to the natural hair community, which has been burgeoning over the past 15 years. Many clients are choosing to avoid certain styles that require harsh chemical processing of the hair, and stylists are taking heed, expanding their repertoires further to create styles like Lupita N’yongo’s and Letitia Wright’s in Black Panther and Wakanda Forever, Issa Rae’s in Insecure, and Tracee Ellis Ross’ on almost every red carpet she graces. The famous folks and others, too, are getting to know their curl patterns and embracing what their roots produce naturally.

While Kristal’s work is as likely to be featured in a hairshow run by University of Virginia students or out of town in weddings amidst couples sharing their vows, the work of her hands is versatile enough to go beyond hair and scalps, razors and scissors, creams and balms. She loves to create in all forms and along with her husband, Larry Grady, the rapper known as “Legend tha God,”, the two have created Grade-A Kont3nt (https://www.facebook.com/gradeakont3nt), an artistic pairing that works with a variety of materials-- resins, acrylic, fabric, styrofoam, oils, putty, rope, and more-- to produce arresting works that can adorn your home, office, and/or other spaces of your choosing. The mixed media provide indefinite possibilities for products that are both decorative and practical for use. Kristal and Larry’s work has been featured at the Jefferson School for African American Heritage Center and sold at local craft fairs at IX Park. No matter the medium, Kristal will be conjuring up something new for us to admire. To find her in action, visit Ebony Images at 153 Seminole Court in Charlottesville; book an appointment through Style Seat; follow Grade-A Kont3nt on Facebook; or call 434-227-3138 for a consultation on the next hairstyle you want, or the craft you want to commission!

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