About thirty miles east of Cincinnati, Louie Jones, Jr. lives with his daddy in a house that would disturb pretty much any person of color, and most white people. The front porch is positively saturated in creepy black statues and Confederate flags. Despite complaints from fellow residents of Lindale and New Richmond, Louie and his friend Tammy want the world to know that it’s just “antique art.”
Most of the statues appear to be from the same set, and have been modified with cheap black wigs and miniature lanterns, but Tammy, who offers no surname, claims they’re simply “baseball players,” even though they’re dressed in ceramic button down shirts and slacks, rather than uniforms one would associate with America’s pastime.
Other statues include a watermelon-munching child; another weather-beaten piece is waving its very own Rebel flag. Additionally, a more modern black store mannequin, dressed for a late ‘90s prom, has dramatically oversized lips drawn on, and looks over the brood of bigotry.
