A City, Its Birth, Life And Death James L. Cowles (c) Copyright 2025 by James L. Cowles

Photo courtesy of the author.

The railroad brought many young families to Highland Park, including my grandfather, Jesse Cowles, who moved from Edmonson County, Kentucky, near Mammoth Cave, to take a job on the railroad. That was in the early 20s. For the time being, my father, Aubrey, stayed behind, living with his Uncle and Aunt, to finish his schooling. Several years later, he and my mother, Erma, were married, and with my grandfather’s help, bought a home in Highland Park. My father, like his father, got a job on the railroad, and my sisters and I were born and grew up in that close-knit little community, where many fathers worked for the railroad.

The neighborhood was a wonderful place to grow up, perhaps because of the common thread of railroad employment. The little city grew quickly throughout the 1900s, and children filled every house on every street. It was as if the entire 24 blocks were one big family. 

The southwest corner of Highland Park became the Catholic area, where the Church of Saint Leo was erected, a place of worship, and also an elementary school for the many Catholic families in that area. And on the southeast side of the city, the public elementary school of James Russell Lowell, a renowned American poet and diplomat, was built, a place I loved dearly. Most Highland Park families were Baptist or Methodist, but there were many other Christian churches throughout the small city. More importantly, almost every family attended one of the ten or twelve churches throughout the community. Highland Parkers were mostly Christian. You would see Prayer Service attendees heading out to church every Wednesday night, and Sunday was always dress-up time for children and parents alike, to attend the church of their choice. The little city of Highland Park was full of churchgoers.

Over the years, the city grew, as it became one of Louisville's great neighborhoods. In addition to the schools, the city had a post office, library, many drugstores, eateries, a movie theater, fire department, Masonic Hall, barber shops, service stations, groceries, hardware stores, and several Department Stores, including Five & Dime. The city even had its own small newspaper for a time. Lest I forget, there were also several doctors and dentists throughout the city. In other words, Highland Park had everything its citizens needed to live a good, healthy life.

It's true, many people who grew up in the 1940s & 50s felt much the same as Highland Parkers, in that they had a great love for their neighborhoods and communities. There may be a good explanation for that. Those who were fortunate to live during that time know that the children played outside, and with each other, rather than playing games on a computer. We knew and liked each other (most of the time). In summer, our parents relaxed outdoors, chatting with neighbors on front porches.  I remember sitting with mom on the front porch swing, a cool, shady nook during hot summers. No AC in our neighborhood; it was hot in the summer. My father, who walked everywhere in Highland Park, knew practically everyone living there by first name. Of course, he would normally address someone as missus or mister first, then later by their first name. In those days, children would never call adults by their first name. We knew our place.  I can also attest to the fact that neighbors were like surrogate parents, in that they would call kids down if they were doing something wrong or dangerous. And we kids would mind them; there was respect for grown-ups. In fact, it added to the comfort of the community, something that no longer exists. Incidentally, I may be wrong about that, and I really hope I am. It seems to me that the respect we kids once had for adults no longer exists.

That little community of Highland Park was like a magnet, resulting in children growing up and staying, or returning to the place they loved. Of course, the city of Louisville absorbed Highland Park during the first quarter of the twentieth century, just as it did several other cities outside its border. When the city needed a place for its airport, the mayor and city council members selected the outskirts of Highland Park, and soon DC-3s were flying in and out of the city. And when the old Kentucky State Fairgrounds became too small for the annual state fair, it was the open farmland next to Highland Park that became its new home.

The people of Highland Park did not see all these events as they occurred, or at least were not aware of how the city leaders viewed them over the many years. Highland Park was never filled with the wealthy. The citizens of Highland Park were blue-collar. They were mostly laborers, hard workers. They had to keep their nose to the grindstone, making a living to feed their families. They didn't have time to worry about city problems. Some may have noticed that leaders in the city knew it would be easy to build projects in or near the “Park.” In fact, those with fewer resources could not, would not fight the city, regardless of what they wanted to do. Highland Parker’s were blindsided. They did not see it coming; the city needed to expand the airport, or build a new one further from town, but the Mayor liked the idea of keeping the airport in place and finding a way to expand it by taking certain areas near its current location.

There was a fight, but the Mayor and council members knew they would win. The pain is inexplicable. Generations of families faced a time that was as bad as the death of a loved one. After all, they had come to love their neighbors. Residents in the community often borrowed sugar from neighbors, and the sweets and baked goods made with it were subsequently shared with those neighbors.  The most pain came for the elderly. Not only were they going to lose their small abode, now entirely theirs after long, hard years of payment, they were going to lose neighbors whom they dearly loved. Their world was shattered, and the compensation from the city for their house would not cover rebuilding what they had created over the years.

A friend of mine said, “This is what cities do, after all, progress is what they call it, and we're all in favor of it, aren’t we?” This outcome may have been unavoidable, but its necessity is unclear. Does the outcome itself answer the question? Here is the sad, sad story: Highland Park was torn down in 1990, houses, businesses, play parks, even the trees and bushes where my friends and I would hide when playing hide and seek. But today, after so much pain, it sits empty, undeveloped, fenced so no one can even drive or walk the old streets, the ones named for American Indian Tribes. Chicopee, Huron, Mohawk. The former Mayor says, “The only thing I regret during my public life is the destruction of Highland Park.” Too late, Mr. Mayor. Much too late.

I think about it most every day, knowing that some of the older folks could not take the horrible outcome. I was visiting my doctor in Highland Park one Saturday before they razed his building, and I overheard a phone conversation. He was talking with the wife of a patient whom I knew, and in fact, it so happened to be my old next-door neighbor, whom I knew well when I was young. He was a fine man and was having quite a difficult time with the thought of losing his home. I should not have listened, but I couldn't help myself. I heard the doctor say, “Tell him I am having a grim time myself. I'm sending him the same medication I'm taking. Just be sure to tell him, I understand, and that I care.”

That was Highland Park, where it seemed we all cared. There was real love for each other in Highland Park. It is one of the greatest losses of my lifetime. Now, like so many of my former neighbors, I can never go home.