Photograph by Jason Gray
St. Augustine facing Lismore Street
Ownership. It’s a word that seemingly has a simple definition. Certainly, when it comes to legal definitions of ownership, someone’s name is attached to every piece of property in the City of St. Louis. But when the discussion turns to a figurative or spiritual sense of ownership, particularly when that property was a sacred space—a church—for over a century, the conversation becomes complicated. Are the neighbors across the street stakeholders in what happens to that property? What about the opinion of people who live miles away from the church?
I thought about those questions recently when I met up with Brittany Gloyd, the head of Project Augustine. Project Augustine is working to renovate the former Roman Catholic parish of St. Augustine on the western edge of the St. Louis Place neighborhood of the North Side. It is also working to implement a food pantry, community garden, job skills workshops, and arts workshops.
A lot has changed since I last featured Project Augustine: Gloyd is now six months pregnant, a pandemic hit, work began on the nearby National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency. The needs of a neighborhood and its long-abandoned landmark church are greater than ever. As expected, the learning curve for Gloyd and her husband, Chris, has been steep. They've also been bearing the brunt of unexpected criticism from people living far outside the neighborhood.
Photograph by Chris Naffziger
2800 block of St. Louis Avenue, September 2019
Gloyd and I didn’t begin our visit at the old St. Augustine, but rather standing in front of a vacant lot in the 2800 block of St. Louis Avenue, which, up until last year, was a favorite subject of photographers. Two houses—one half demolished by brick thieves—bore the famous graffiti “Potential is just ½.” They appeared in countless photos on Instagram and other social media sites. Now, all of the houses on the north side of the street have been demolished, and Gloyd is finalizing the acquisition of the land for a community garden. It is a surreal landscape to survey, particularly because I remember when people still lived in some of the now-vanished houses. I asked Gloyd what the graffiti meant to her.
“The message behind the street art always resonated with us," she says. "You can have all the potential in the world, but you have to actually put the effort forward to make something come of it, which is what we’ve always strived for with Project Augustine. Like a lot of people, we were upset to see them demolished. We were hoping to jump on the opportunity to turn the plot into a community garden.”
I also challenged Gloyd on how removing a dangerous, partially collapsed building could be seen as beneficial to the neighborhood, despite the popularity of the graffiti to people who live outside the community.
“I agree from a safety perspective…for us, it was more of a disappointment that there are not better avenues for people who see buildings like that to do something about them," she says. "There are many people in North St. Louis who don’t know what their options are and how to work the system.”
Ultimately, Gloyd’s plans for the land are a community garden where 80 percent of the produce will be available for free to anyone in the neighborhood who needs it. It will help supplement their food pantry program, as well. There will also be a stage under the tree left behind after the demolitions where there will be live music and cooking demonstrations.
It was also obvious that someone else had their own plans for the land. While surrounding vacant lots had the typical tall grass, it was impossible not to notice that there was a large number of wildflowers and sunflowers growing where the demolished houses once stood. Questions about ownership again arose in my head as we then headed over to St. Augustine.
“The community owns this place," Gloyd says. "I get a question a lot: ‘Aren’t you afraid people are going to steal the food?’ The answer is a resounding no: If someone is taking it, they need it more than us.”
Most of the vacant land around the church is owned by Paul McKee—hence the need to locate the community garden elsewhere—but the north side of Hebert is still occupied by a row of houses and two large, well-maintained apartment buildings. There is a community here, and Gloyd has gotten to know the people who call this corner of North St. Louis home.
Perhaps one of the most successful programs that has grown out of Project Augustine has been the outreach to neighbors who are not able to drive to the grocery store. The area around the church is a food desert, meaning that fresh and affordable healthy food is not available within a reasonable distance for residents. One day, an elderly woman with a shopping cart filled with groceries walking by St. Augustine started a conversation with Gloyd. She learned that by the time the woman would arrive home, many of her groceries would spoil. Project Augustine now delivers free groceries to 30 individuals and households in the neighborhood.
The grocery delivery initiative grew out of ties with her neighbors on Hebert Street in more than one way. Initially, Gloyd was distributing food from the front door of St. Augustine, until nearby residents warned her that some recipients were visiting multiple food pantries in the area and selling the free groceries in the neighborhood. Gloyd considers these ties with her neighbors one of the most important assets and links to Project Augustine.
Photograph by Jason Gray
Detail of the now-collapsed apse of St. Augustine
Challenges continue with the actual structure of the church. Damage from scrappers who stripped the copper gutters includes water permeation. Perhaps the most noticeable change in condition was the sad collapse of the beautiful star vaulting in the apse, which was still intact during my first visit, but unfortunately not able to survive years of being open to the elements. Already, Gloyd and her team have taken five full-sized construction dumpsters full of debris out of the church and rectory. Also, there is the continued threat and destruction from vandals who break into the church and damage the historic structure. The little free library was ripped out of the ground and deposited inside the church.
Ultimately, Gloyd makes no apologies for purchasing St. Augustine from its final congregation. Its other potential buyer: Paul McKee, who also owns the majority of the vacant lots surrounding the church.
I'm brought back to that question of ownership: Many people, far from the realities and needs of the people who live in the shadow of St. Augustine, seem to claim ownership of places they rarely see, and rarely visit, and certainly do not live.
“The actual neighbors are ecstatic,” Gloyd says. “Not only of what we want to do, but of our vision.”
Not everyone has been initially supportive, and she’s even received calls from critics questioning her motives and intentions for the church. One woman accused her of planning to convert St. Augustine into condominiums. After talking with her and explaining her real plans, Gloyd was able to change the woman’s opinion of Project Augustine. But those fears are valid, as many historic churches have been converted into luxury condos throughout St. Louis.
“People do have questions when they first see us out here, wondering what we’re doing,” says Gloyd, acknowledging the woman’s concerns. “It is a valid concern, it is a valid question—'What are you doing?' A good neighbor is going to ask what you are doing.”
Addressing some of her distant critics, Gloyd responds: “This is a labor of love…one of the questions I always ask is, 'If we are not doing enough for you, what should we be doing—what are you doing? What are your projects that you’ve done [for North St. Louis] that are so much better than ours?'”
I also asked her about accusations of being afflicted with a “White Savior Complex.”
“This is not about coming in and saying ‘Look at what we did.’ We don’t do this to earn a gold star or put this on our résumé," Gloyd says. "We drove by and wanted to learn the back story. And then we learned about the people who lived here.”
