A Hillcrest Homecoming

By Randall Richardson –

I feel so fortunate—beyond words, really—that I spent the first ten years of my life growing up in Hillcrest, apartment 27C.

To many, it might have just been a number on a door. But to me, it was the heartbeat of a childhood wrapped in love, strength, and resilience.

I was raised by a single widowed mother whose love was fiercely protective, unwavering, and pure. She gave me roots, and those roots took hold in the rich soil of a community that knew how to look after its own.

I still remember the watchful care of Mrs. Penland and Mrs. Logan—two women who didn’t just teach or babysit, but nurtured goodness. They saw promise in our eyes, even when the world didn’t, and they dared us to dream bigger than the boundaries of our block. They poured into us without asking for anything in return, showing us what it meant to stand tall in dignity and kindness.

Hillcrest was more than a public housing development, it was a village. A village where doors were left cracked open because someone was always welcome. Where laughter rolled across the parking lots like a summer breeze. Where we knew each other’s names, struggles, and celebrations. It was the place where I first learned to roller skate up and down sidewalks where scraped knees turned into badges of honor, and where every face, every voice, helped shape who I became.

On this day, I feel renewed—truly renewed. To stand among the familiar faces from my childhood at the Hillcrest First Annual Reunion, to laugh until my sides hurt, and to reminisce about stories that still live in our bones—that was a kind of homecoming I didn’t know my soul needed.

There’s something powerful about seeing the boys and girls we once were, now grown into men and women who carry Hillcrest in our stride, in our tone, in our spirit. We are executives, doctors, dentists, lawyers, educators, nurses, leaders, artists, caregivers, believers; moreover, good people—each of us a reflection of a place that taught us how to rise.

But it wasn’t just Hillcrest that we lifted up this month. The whole Asheville community showed up and showed out, proving once again that our city is built on legacy, love, and the shared memory of all those who dared to make something beautiful out of what they were given.

I walked away from the reunion with a full heart. Thankful for every embrace, every “Do you remember?” and every name I hadn’t heard in decades. Because today wasn’t just a celebration of where we’re from, it was a reminder that we were never alone in the journey.

Hillcrest—27C—will always be where my story began. And today, that story gained another beautiful chapter.