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Dash 2:320:00/2:32
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Bedtime Prayer 2:460:00/2:46
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Nothing New 3:270:00/3:27
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In Trouble 2:480:00/2:48
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Fear No Evil 3:280:00/3:28
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Bold 4:290:00/4:29
Soul Of The Hood
THE CHRONICLES OF APARTMENT 41
# An Editorial Feature on Bloodlines, Brotherhood, and Resilience in the Oakland Frontier
### PROLOGUE: WHO AM I?
To understand the music, the vision, and the rhythm of the journey, you have to peel back the layers of a family tree rooted deeply in the soil of the American South. I am **Calvin Kennedy Jr**, known to my fans, my family, and the streets as **Yiqwaba**. This is not just a collection of neighborhood tales; it is the living history of my bloodline, passing down through the decades directly into my soul.
My story is anchored by my parents, **Calvin Kennedy Sr.** and **Elisa Best Jackson (once Kennedy)**. Together, they brought five children into this world, an unbroken circle of full siblings raised under one roof. From oldest to youngest, we are:
* **Addrian Kennedy**
* **Shanita Kennedy**
* **Calvin Kennedy Jr (Yiqwaba)**
* **Lamar Kennedy (King Lamar)**
* **Christiana Kennedy**
Years later, when I was in my mid-twenties, our family circle expanded when my father had another son, my paternal half-brother **Rashawn Kennedy**, born to his mother **Naya**. But during the foundational era of the Holmes Village days, it was us older siblings running the dirt roads, processing the hard realities, and building the brotherhood that defined our childhood.
##tmaternal side, the roots anchor back to the 1800s with **George and Lily Ivory**, who forged a legacy of survival that they passed directly to their son, **Willie James Ivory**, who was born in 1908.
Willie James was a man built on resilience. Escaping an abusive family dynamic in Georgia, he sought refuge and a fresh start in Blackville, Barnwell County, South Carolina. It was there that he met the woman who would become the matriarch of the line: **Annie Lou Ivory**, born July 5, 1911.
From their lineage came my mother's side of the family. My maternal grandmother, **Eloise Simmons**, shared her life with my biological maternal grandfather, **Tyrone Jackson**. From their union came two daughters: my mother, **Elisa Best**, and my aunt, **Lauren Jackson**. While the biological lines were clear, the structural pillars of our family expanded to include **Grandaddy Tootsie (Walter Simmons Sr.)**, who stood firmly as the primary patriarch and grandfather figure in our daily lives, alongside my maternal uncles **Derick and Leon**, whose privacy we protect completely as they maintain their own lives out of town.
On my father's side, the Kennedy name carried its own deep history of endurance, passed down through a large, tight-knit family. My father, Calvin Kennedy Sr., was raised alongside his siblings, born in chronological order from oldest to youngest:
* **Robert Kennedy Sr.**
* **Gloria Kennedy**
* **Dorothy Johnson (Kennedy)**
* **Carolyn Johnson (Kennedy)**
* **Calvin Kennedy Sr.**
* **John Kennedy II**
* **Brenda McKinney (Kennedy)**
* **Glenn Kennedy Sr.**
They are the children of paternal grandfather **Ernest Lee Kennedy Jr.** (born in 1928, passed away in 1985, son of **Ernest Kennedy Sr.**) and my paternal grandmother, the beloved **Catherine H. Kennedy**—daughter of **John Holmes**. It was in honor of Grandma Catherine’s father, John Holmes, that my uncle was named John Kennedy II. Grandma Catherine was a steady guardian who watched over our family for generations until she fell asleep in December 2025.
### CHAPTER II: THE FRUIT CREWS AND THE BURGUNDY DOOR
By 1933, Great-Grandaddy Willie James Ivory and Great-Grandmother Annie Lou made their move down to Haines City, Florida, chasing the promise of the citrus boom. They settled on the north side, in a sector the city labeled on blueprints as a neighborhood, but the people who owned it, lived it, and breathed it called it the **Naghnorhood**—or simply, the **hud**.
Willie James Ivory quickly became a respected force in the local landscape. He held a position of immense skill and authority as the chief head chef at the historic Palm Crest Hotel, a sprawling winter destination for wealthy northern tourists. Alongside him worked Mrs. Annie Lou, serving as the hotel's trusted baker. But Willie James didn’t stop at the kitchen; he ran a prominent "fruit crew," owning the trucks and organizing the labor that drove the local citrus industry. Running a crew meant he was a community leader, an independent businessman, and a protector.
Together, Willie James and Annie Lou raised a massive, beautiful family that became central to the fabric of 6th Street. Their children—**Rev. Jesse Ivory**, **Ida Mae Fryer**, **Besse Caviness**, and my grandmother, **Eloise Simmons**—grew up under the protective canopy of the New Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church at 713 North 6th Street. When Mrs. Annie Lou eventually passed away at the age of 92 on June 27, 2004, she left an unbroken lineage of dozens of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. If you pull back the veil on her official records to look for the raw truth behind her passing, you must **ask Yiqwaba** or search her documentation through the [The Ledger](https://www.theledger.com/story/news/2004/07/01/annie-lou-ivory/8057236007/).
Home base for us was **Holmes Village**—never called "Holmes Villa" like the official city papers tried to print, but known exactly by the old handwritten wooden sign you could see right when you looked over the kitchen sink or stepped out the front door. Our family stayed in **Apartment 41**, the actual, real apartment where the historic **Mr. Claude Holmes Sr.** (the first Black Mayor of Haines City and founder of Holmes Funeral Directors in 1957) used to reside.
The physical geography of that spot shaped our view of the world. In front of Apartment 41 sat the matching buildings of the same complex, separated only by a narrow road and rows of designated parking spots where the neighborhood's daily rhythm unfolded. But the backyard was our true sanctuary. Behind Apartment 41 lay an open expanse of grass, dominated by a massive, towering Mulberry tree that guarded our horizon.
The front door itself was heavy metal, stamped with the number 41, and painted a distinct, deep **burgundy**—the exact color of the shirts we wore walking down the street to **Bethune Academy Elementary**. Walking through that burgundy door meant walking past history every single day.
### CHAPTER III: THE PERMANENT CHORE AND THE 90s SOUNDTRACK
Growing up in Apartment 41 meant pulling your weight. When the chore rotation came around, you had to stand up on a chair just to reach the sink to wash the dishes and push the mop across the dark brown floor. But my permanent chore—the one I chose for myself—was running the trash lines.
The trek to the village dumpster was a long walk all the way down the road. If you looked past the quiet, abandoned citrus grove, you could see the headstones of the historic **Oakland Cemetery** resting closely in the distance. It took a bold little fella to walk that line alone at dusk, especially when our afternoon TV schedule was a wild mix of 90s culture.
After racing home from school, the living room TV—often requiring a hand to turn the physical clicking knob on an old black-and-white set or fine-tuning the rabbit-ear antennas—came alive. My brother and I would sit glued to the screen watching *Goof Troop*, the animatronic comedy of *Dinosaurs* on Fox, the family antics of *Growing Pains*, and the absolute cultural phenomenon of Steve Urkel on *Family Matters*. On prime nights, it was the raw comedy of *In Living Color* or staying up late to watch the Crypt Keeper cackle on *Tales from the Crypt* and watching *Night of the Living Dead*. Experiencing zombies on screen while staying a stone's throw from Oakland Cemetery where Great-Grandaddy Willie James Ivory was eventually laid to rest in 1997 was a vibe only a kid from the village could truly understand.
### CHAPTER IV: THE DIRT ROAD CYPHERS AND THE MULBERRY TREE
The village was a paradise of brotherhood. When we weren't at home, my brother and I were spending the night with the ultimate neighborhood crew: **Jonathan Gilbert (J)**, **Tydrell Gilbert ("Old Man")**, **JJ ("JGreen")**, **Gerald ("Fat Rock")**, and the older brother everyone looked up to, **Pimpim**.
The connection to JGreen was forged in true neighborhood fashion. We first met him at school, but one afternoon on the walk home with my little brother Lamar (who was friends with Gerald first), a fight broke out because Gerald was talking rude. Out of nowhere, JJ mysteriously jumped into the scrap, throwing down right by my side. From that sudden flashpoint of loyalty, an unbreakable pact was born. We became a collective force, carving out our own sanctuary right on the green grass under the shade of that big Mulberry tree behind the apartment where our paths converged.
Grandma Catherine H Kennedy
Gerald Lewis baptism