The neighborhoods of eastern Capitol Hill are often said to be “in transition,” “on the upswing” or “improving.”

This phraseology seems to mean that neighborhoods must be better now that houses cost $500,000 and up.

And maybe the neighborhoods are better. But we should occasionally pause in our reveries about change to consider that property values are not the only measure of a community’s worth.

A new generation of homebuyers, many in their 30s and starting families, has arrived. We’ve got condos galore and new ones coming where we once had churches. (And what does that mean?) A Harris Teeter grocery is in the works, and there’s a collective longing in the air for a Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s—I can feel it.

Yet I’ve encountered a few who seem to think the neighborhood is better just because they are here. Some seem to believe those who lived here before were “undesirables.” Others say they never would have moved here, if the community had stayed the way it used to be.

I’m puzzled by this overall view of history. Yes, awful things, involving drugs and homicides, happened in the 1990s (and are still happening in 2005). And from some perspectives, the decline of neighborhood began with the riots in 1968.

Shortly thereafter—in a not unrelated development—Prince George’s County started to become the fastest-growing black suburb in the U.S. And where did many of new suburbanites come from? Yes, from eastern Capitol Hill.

But even in the worst of times, there were people around who remembered a better era—remembered the community before the riots and the exodus to PG County.

Let’s be clear: These neighborhoods were not awful in the 1940s and ’50s—not according to the people who lived here. In fact, I suspect we may still be losing ground on some of the key attributes, like being the close-knit community that those old-time neighborhoods were.

Recently, I encountered the organizers of an annual event that many Hill East residents have never heard about.

The Eighth Annual Southeast (Capitol Hill) Old Timers Picnic is coming on July 17 at the Lanham Estates section of Fort Dupont Park. It’s quite an event—I can attest to that.

Originally, the picnic was designed as a reunion for those who grew up around Payne Elementary school in the 1940s and ’50s, but following desegregation many youngsters in the neighborhood also went Buchanan, Bryan or Tyler elementary schools—Watkins wasn’t built yet.

So the picnic is for them and for those who went to Hine Junior High and Eastern and Chamberlain, too.

Those who grew up in those times say our community was a fine place to live with all kinds of small businesses and a community cohesiveness you just don’t see anymore.

“I’ll tell you how good it was—you could leave your doors open,” says Billy Middleton, who was raised in the 400 block of 17 th Street SE and now works at Arlington Cemetery. But everybody says that about unlocked doors.

Everybody also says that black communities looked over their children. Youngsters had to behave, exhibit respect for their elders and demonstrate good manners. Or else.

As my friend Middleton puts it: “It was almost like that saying, ‘It takes a village to raise a child.’

“If you did something wrong, and your neighbor saw you, they had a right to tune you up. Then when you got home, your parents would have heard about it—and some families didn’t even have telephones—they’d tune you up again.

“Sometimes, you’d get tuned up twice—once by your mother and once your father. So you could actually get tuned up three times if you acted up once.”

Of course, “tuned up” means “get a whippin’.”

But from the often-repeated descriptions of the good old days, it does sound like the community of the 1940s and ’50s around Payne—like others on eastern Capitol Hill—had a deeply rooted sense of decorum and propriety that extended to raising kids.

And there is not much wrong with that.

Many men from that era—true gentlemen—would rarely leave the house without a tie and a hat, and they considered it highly improper not to tip your hat and greet others on the streets.

Of course, among those who grew up the 1940s and ’50s, you’re also likely to hear debates about which kind of whippin’ was the worst, and the ones that came after you just got out of a hot bath sound pretty bad.

But there were good times, too, like the nights when free outdoor movies were shown at the Payne playground, and a woman at 14 th and D sold the greatest French fries on earth out of her house—a nickel for a small paper bag’s worth.

Back then, the Safeway was a Meadow Gold Ice Cream plant, and young musicians gathered on the corners under the streetlights to harmonize.

Hill East corners produced members of the “Dynamic Superiors,” a Motown group, and “Special Delivery.” The original “Peaches,” Francine Hurd Barker, of “Peaches and Herb” grew up at 16 th and E, they say.

Ed Whittington, a 56-year-old postal worker, is credited with the idea of holding an annual picnic reunion.

He and Middleton, 57, have been friends for about 50 years. Whittington grew up in the 400 block of 15 th Street, and his family was one of the first in the neighborhood to get a TV. “People used to think I lived there, too,” laughs Middleton, who grew up on the 400 block of 17 th Street.

But as years passed—and some will say the neighborhood declined with so many people leaving—it seemed like friends from the ’50s didn’t see each other except at funerals.

“The only time we were seeing people was when someone was laid out,” says Whittington, who proposed the first cookout reunion, held in 1996 in a D Street front yard across from the Safeway. So many people showed up it was clear they needed more space, and they subsequently moved the event to Fort DuPont Park

In 2003, about 600 people attended the picnic. (It wasn’t held last year because Lanham Estates was closed for renovations).

I’ve seen three of the picnics, and I only recall two white faces—including my own. But maybe I missed some. It doesn’t matter. I look on the gatherings as the community I chose to join when I moved here, and I thank them all for treating me so well over the years.

For example, I first met Middleton 15 years ago in a lively discussion group that gathered at Albert’s Liquors, one of the central news and information centers in the neighborhood back then.

Sometimes the group would move out to 14 th Street, behind the store, much to the chagrin of the owner who would then miss out on all the wit and gossip. One day, to express his pique, he came out of the store and exclaimed in an attempt at ridicule, “What do you call this—bonding?”

Maybe that’s what it was.

Over the years the locations have changed. Sometimes the group gathered after work outside the former Pierce’s Grill at 15 th and South Carolina or in the 400 block of 15 th or on D Street. Recently, I found them behind Albert’s again.

As the neighborhood sociology changed—and some will say “improved”—a few new neighbors were uneasy about gatherings of men and complained about them.

Some asked me questions. Who are they? What are they doing there every night?

I would say, “They’re talking. Don’t worry. They’re fine people. They won’t hurt you.”

But that hardly did them justice.