For many, Cleveland might be a city defined by its landmarks or downtown bustle. But for me, and perhaps for many others, the essence of Cleveland, the true flavor of life, can be distilled down to a single street. My street: East 116th Street. This is where my adolescent years unfolded, a formative chapter etched into the sidewalks and storefronts of this Cleveland artery. From my birth on Hamlen Avenue to our move to Dove Avenue at thirteen, East 116th Street was the stage for my coming-of-age story.
Growing up in the 1990s feels like a different era now, a pre-internet, pre-cell phone world. Entertainment was simpler, more tangible. We had broadcast TV, finally cable in my later teens, a radio, a record player, and a VCR. If we wanted more, we had to create it ourselves. Summers were spent outdoors, a vibrant tapestry of neighborhood kids, tree climbing adventures in backyards, makeshift clubhouses built from sticks and stones, bike rides that stretched for blocks, bee chases, and the twice-daily ritual of flagging down the ice cream truck. A short walk to Drug World on Larchmere Boulevard was the gateway to twenty-five-cent chips and juice, and for the ambitious, Kussuth Park on Shaker Boulevard offered a wider expanse of green space. As soon as the streetlights flickered on, it was an unspoken curfew – time to head home.
It was after moving to Dove Avenue that my exploration of East 116th Street truly expanded. But even before that, the streets were my classroom, and every walk was an opportunity to meet new faces. As a latchkey kid, I navigated the world independently. Mornings were a rush of getting ready, locking up, and the long walk to the bus stop at the end of what felt like the world’s longest street, all before 6:30 a.m. After school meant another trek from Hamlen to Parkview Avenue to reach the babysitter. My mom’s working hours meant our time together was squeezed into early mornings, late nights, and weekends often punctuated by her much-needed sleep.
East 116th Street molded my childhood in countless ways. Those extended walks to Parkview after school were often detours into exploration, sometimes leading to friendly encounters with the local police. I learned the street’s language – every tree, every landmark, every familiar sound became a navigational tool. Hamlen Avenue holds both shadows and light; it’s where my brother protected me from two terrifying incidents. The Rice Branch Library became my sanctuary, filled with worlds waiting to be discovered within its pages. There were tougher lessons learned on Browning Avenue and near East 115th and Woodland Avenue, where peer groups could turn confrontational. Yet, there were also comforting routines, like getting my hair styled at the beauty parlor at East 116th and Buckeye, across from the Finast shopping center. Even the unsettling scenes – neighbors embroiled in street fights after dark, spilling over from Morris Black, only to be met by others defending our block – became part of the street’s raw, unfiltered narrative. My education also unfolded along East 116th, starting with kindergarten at Harvey Rice and continuing at Cleveland School of the Arts from 1990 until my graduation in 1999, spanning fourth through twelfth grade.
Food was another defining feature of East 116th Street, especially since home-cooked meals weren’t a staple in our house. Buckeye and East 116th was our culinary epicenter. Snapps and Wendy’s stood across from Harvey Rice, and a little further down towards MLK Boulevard was McDonald’s – a frequent treat. Closer to home, there was KFC off 125th and Buckeye, and Geppetto’s Pizzeria on Turney Road, next to Blockbuster Video, our Saturday night ritual twice a month.
But beyond the landmarks and experiences, what truly defined East 116th Street was its sense of community. Family was crucial, but so were the people living just doors away. Every block along East 116th held familiar faces. Our kids grew up together, attended the same schools, rode the same buses – both school buses and the #50 public bus navigating the street’s winding route. We collectively watched the speed of cars on Shaker Boulevard, frequented the same local stores, and shared similar meals. There was a quiet pride in our specific corners of East 116th, a sense of belonging without being exclusionary. Preferences existed – Cromwell residents might have favored their block over Browning, Forest Avenue held a certain mystique, while Shaker Boulevard felt like an extension of home. East 116th Street wasn’t just a location; it was my universe.
The stories of East 116th are endless, each landmark holding layers of personal meaning. This street is woven into the fabric of who I am. East 116th Street revealed life in its entirety – the nostalgic sweetness, the joyful moments, the difficult realities, and the occasional harshness. While my connection to my roots remains strong, I yearned for a wider perspective. I didn’t want East 116th Street to be my only viewpoint. It is my foundation, my starting point, but not my final destination.
