Last week I parked my car at a meter near a place I used to spend time at as a kid.

This sitting park and memorial was the unofficial border between the white side of Queens Village and the black side. 

I used to commute to this spot often then. I would help out at my mother’s clothing store. 

Returning as an adult, I could see that most of the names and facades and a majority of businesses had changed.

Gone was the florist I used to deliver for during the summer, the vacuum cleaner store that kept our machines humming, the bakery that kept me at least five to ten pounds over weight in the winter, and the discount store with the toys and gadgets that kept me and my parents lighter in the wallet. 

On this most recent occasion, I was brought to the spot because the Elmore Blackbourne Democratic Club chose to honor me with a community service award for journalism. 

My first reaction whenever I get any of these calls is to ask, “Why would they pick me?”  I’m still a virtual baby in the field.

But then I considered the fact that there are so few of us in this job, and even fewer who know the streets, politics, names and faces of our community. 

I felt that as a son of the neighborhood it was good for me to be a part of the ceremony and recognition taking place.

In this room, I saw a mix of people who came from all kinds of backgrounds. 

They each had found their own niche worth fighting for and apparently weren’t strangers to the others in the room. 

They were honored for fighting to improve the quality of life for their community. 

Some had chosen the obvious issues like education but others fought for lesser-ballyhooed causes like, water, air, and pollution. 

These men and women, for no other purpose than to make things right, wedged in phone calls, letters and meetings into their lives.

They resisted the urge to simply fall back on their accomplishments and live out their lives in relative comfort in the better house, driving their better cars or wearing their nicer clothing.

These foot soldiers in the ongoing war for parity and equality have not fallen victim to the sour fruit of success called apathy.

As I sat down and looked around and saw our Deputy Mayor Denis Walcott, an African American who lives in the community and who was, for a time, an outsider to the establishment; Queens Borough President Helen Marshall who arrived driving her own car like an ordinary citizen and a white paramedic who is proof positive that honor is color blind. 

There was former Councilman Archie Spigner, a virtual living monument to politics in Southeast Queens, who sat along with a more recent representative of power in the form Congressman Gregory Meeks.

Despite what folks said was a rousing and inspiring speech, I still felt much less significant in that room at the end of the event. 

Relating history is still no match for making it.  

The people in that room have done just that – made history. And they’ll go on, adding to the history books.

I cannot speak for all of their intentions, since some people get into the fight for their own reasons — some you might consider self-serving.  

But getting involved usually is a result of something that bothers us.  

What we forget is that if things bother us, they most likely bother others as well. 

If there is something bothering you about your community you are probably not alone.

You don’t have to just take it or accept the problem that bothers you. 

You can get into fight and not stand on the sidelines. 

You may win some you may lose some. 

But you won’t be alone and more importantly you’ll widen the scope and perimeter of an effort destined to make living in America a better proposition for those who come this way after us.

— Gary Anthony Ramsay is a weekend anchor
and journalist on the all-news
cable station NY1 and along-time resident of Queens.