Today, it looks like any other Midwestern town. There are fast food restaurants, auto shops, drug stores, a laundromat, and rows of cookie-cutter houses. Cars fill the streets, people on their phones brush by on the sidewalk, and of course there\u2019s the ice cream truck bell, the ubiquitous sound of summer. But if you walk around, you\u2019ll notice remnants of a not so distant past.<\/p>\n

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I wandered into Canfield Apartments, a not especially impressive apartment complex that was eerily empty on a Friday afternoon. I stopped at the entrance and was greeted by this sign, but when I peeked around the edge, a sticker had been placed on it that read simply \u201ccop watch\u201d.<\/p>\n

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I looked down and there was a plaque cemented into the sidewalk, emblazoned with a name that is now all too familiar \u201cMichael Brown\u201d. The plaque reads \u201cI would like the memory of Michael Brown to be a happy one, he left an afterglow of smiles when life was done. He leaves an echo whispering softly down the ways, of happy and loving times and bright and sunny days. He\u2019d like the tears of those who grieve, to dry before the sun of happy memories that he left behind when life was done.\u201d At first, it seems out of place, but the more you look around, the more you notice the little reminders. A patch of graffiti here, a mural there, deflated balloons, or stuffed animals.<\/p>\n

<\/a>But this isn\u2019t about Michael Brown, and I\u2019ll try not to rehash what happened in August, 2014, at least in this article. This is about a conversation I had with an unmovable, and at times colorful, Ferguson business owner. A business owner who was angry about what happened to his community, angry about a perceived failure from his government to act. A business owner who displayed that anger in block letters in his store front sign for all to see, for over 2 years, some say out of spite, others say out of passion.<\/p>\n

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