I’ve had the blues for a few months now — ever since I woke up one morning in early spring and discovered that the body of water that drew me to this Northwest Baltimore area was receding. It kept disappearing until all I saw was a big mud puddle where once had been a century-old reservoir surrounded by Hanlon Park and known grandly as Lake Ashburton.

What my eyes — and scores of others sets of eyes in the area — were seeing was especially alarming when we remembered the city’s Department of Public Works annoucing back in December that the project had been completed, yet the hole was still there. If this is what completion looks like, have we been screwed or what?

When no explanations were easily found, people started imagining the worst: A new athletic field, perhaps a football field, was being built. Or maybe this was some kind of stealth gentrification ploy. The basin would be drained. Nearby homes devalued. Black folks would move out. White folks would move in. The water would be restored.

The situation tapped into the insecurities of a sizeable number of Black Baltimoreans, especially homeowners, who cling to the neighborhoods of well-maintained houses and lawns as badges of status as much as havens in a chaotic city. They or their parents worked hard to gain access during blatant, officially-condoned segregation. They recall stories about when the only Black folks you’d see in these parts were workers, like those who built the reservoir, or domestic help — including a few live-in maids who were counted in the 1950 census.

It’s not that Black people did not appreciate the suburban-like setting that includes the 100-acre Hanlon Park. They just weren’t permitted to partake because of restrictive covenants. They were confined to particular parts of the city as Baltimore’s own apartheid prevailed by law enforced through the years by such entities as the Baltimore Committee on Segregation — and by tradition. What U.S. Supreme Court decisions failed to halt in 1917 and 1948 finally began to unravel after passage of the 1968 Fair Housing Act.

Construction of the reservoir took place between July 1908 and November 1910 — around the time that Mayor J. Barry Mahool was urging the quarantine of Blacks in isolated slums to, in his words, avoid civil disturbance, prevent the spread of communicable disease into white neighborhoods, and protect white property values. The engineering and technological advances that went into building the reservoir with record speed, compared with Lake Montebello, Druid Lake and other reservoir projects, led the Baltimore Sun to feature it on Nov. 21, 1909, in a two-page Sunday spread.

This passage caught my eye:

“In removing the topsoil and redistributing earth that does not contain rocks, the humble and useful mule, the negro and the scraper [a type of mechanical shovel] have been found valuable. … Notwithstanding the remarkable lack of affection known of old to exist between negroes and mules, this class of laborers has been found the best to work scrapers. White men don’t seem to take kindly to the task, but a negro will go along, riding contentedly on his chariot, singing songs as if sitting in a rocking chair and hushing the baby to sleep.”

Black people were a step above mules and at least one step below white men in their contribution to making America what we’re all told it is.

When Black people did begin to move into the area in trickles in the late 1940s and then in waves by the 1960s, Lake Ashburton was a jewel in the crown. And homeowners vowed to keep this part of Baltimore that way. Neighborhood associations, gardening societies and social clubs staved off threats of the kind of not-in-my-backyard infrastructure projects that didn’t threaten certain other neighborhoods.

They are doing that now. Since May 1 residents from Ashburton, Forest Park and Hanlon have gathered several times to listen to city officials address their concerns. City officials have offered reassurances that water will once again fill the basin in Lake Ashburton for recreational and aesthetic purposes, while t drinking water will be stored underground in tanks. They haven’t said when with any level of certainty.

Though we know that demographically this is a predominantly-Black city run by Black hands for some decades now, officialdom fails to understand the pervasive fear among the people that an all-powerful “they” call the shots. The aim of this “they” is to undermine whatever would benefit those who live in the city now and would entice a different demographic to reclaim the city.

Two things must happen. First, the city must do a better job of notifying residents about what’s happening. Not just those who participate in neighborhood associations, but everyone. Posting information on the internet is not enough because many lack access. DPW communications specialists point to information on their website, now better than even a few months ago. But one still needs some skills to navigate to the Ashburton Tanks Project part.

Knowing that DPW will cede the stage to the Department of Recreation and Parks for the restoration and maintenance of the park that surrounds the reservoir has sparked other anxieties. Some community folks are in regular contact with the head of recreation and parks. But that department needs to learn from the communication snafus between residents and DPW and assure that they try and reach every stakeholder.

At the same time, people must find ways to stay informed. That could mean becoming involved in neighborhood associations, advocacy groups for parks and the environment, and youth programs. Join the mailing lists of key city governmental agencies and bombard elected officials with questions. Attend monthly meetings for reports on progress in combating crime that matters to you. Sign up for free classes, such as those offered by the Department of City Planning to learn more about the processes and begin to understand that the all-knowing but invisible “they” is generally just a better informed and strategically-savvy “we”.

But while my weary blues linger as I look out upon the wasteland, there’s less dread about the future Lake Ashburton. We’ve come to realize that in Baltimore it’s not always who you know that determines an outcome, but also what you know and how you use that knowledge. Still, my neighbors and I have months to go before we will know for sure whether we’ve been had.

E.R. Shipp, a Balltimore Banner Creatives in Residence, is a veteran journalist and Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist. She is also an associate professor at Morgan State University.

ER.shipp@thebaltimorebanner.com