1302

Whenever I drive past Allison Henderson Park I glance down the street to catch a glimpse of my childhood home.  The rambling structure, painted a pale yellow, beckons me at times to pay homage. So I turn right and enter the Twilight Zone.

The houses on the block stand in silent sentry, the street devoid of the motley crew of my era.  No matter what season or time of day I have yet to spot anyone. Is this a ghost neighborhood perhaps; existing only in the muddled recesses of my mind? If I park my car in the driveway and walk along the winding narrow walk, past the white lilac bush to the left and the bridal’s wreath to the right, around to the front yard and enter the porch will everything come to life? Perhaps someone will pop out from under the front porch, a dark snug place with blankets spread over the hard dirt floor, and scare the living daylights out of me.

My father lived in this house as a child; family lore has it that he was born in the front bedroom (the very room my sister and I shared). However that could not be for the house was built in 1925, a year after my father’s birth. My parents acquired the home from my dad’s mother, my beloved Nana, in 1960 and settled their thriving brood within its familial walls. Sitting regally on a corner lot the property served as the hub for the neighborhood kids. And keep in mind this was back in the day when families bore more than today’s statistical 2.5; needless to say, for half a century 1302 with its spacious back yard played host to many a hyped up on kool-aid, Wonder bread and graham crackers kid.

Besides the cramped quarters under the front porch we kids held the greenroom as our domain. The room, aptly named for the color of it roughhewn stone walls, was situated under the upper and lower back porches which were added to the house after WWII. Entry into this secluded chamber consisted of an outside door which could be padlocked from the inside. I recall countless initiations into secret clubs that transpired in this hallowed room (and according to unnamed sibs who know who they are, sexual initiations too). As we grew older the musty room hosted adolescent beer parties, pot soirées, and a few hallucinogenic trips. Yes, I know who you are.

Fortunately my father owned a paint and wallpaper business fore this allowed him to inexpensively restore the magnificent oak wood floors and sundry woodwork. After this extensive task was completed he went to work rewallpapering the kitchen, dining, and living rooms on the first floor and then onto the four bedrooms and one bathroom (yes, one bathroom for seven people in those days). When I moved in at the tender age of four my sister and I were awarded the master front bedroom which was papered in a flowery pattern accented with lace curtains, reminiscent of the forties. By the times the 60’s came to an end the walls had been papered with a bold red, white and blue psychedelic flower pattern and the beautiful oak floor covered with a red shag carpet. A few years later (after my sister left for college) my dad let me pick out an exquisite red and white toile wallpaper depicting scenes of gentile French aristocrats lolling about. Pretty impressive taste for a young girl I must say.

As my father labored to enhance the inside my mother’s artistic expression decorated the outside. Two rock bordered gardens enhanced with colorful explosions of petunias, pansies, marigolds, impatiens and zinnias lined the front walk. Various floras nestled against the front of the house along with a thriving wild rose bush (which was taken out late one night after Mr. Donovan up the street neglected to properly brake the laundry truck he used after hours). The shady side of the house was edged with fragrant lily of the valley. Continue on down the steps past the notorious greenroom and you were greeted by a vibrant display of tiger lilies (whose leaves Pammy Wiederhold ate for salad during a session of playing house, consequently spending the night violently throwing up). And last but not least were the regal lilac bushes which bordered the backyard, providing a buffer from the bustle of the alley. They were a lavender hue except for the aforementioned white lilac, the queen of the yard, which stood in the center of the lawn. And with this queen there lived a king, one mighty gigantic cotton wood tree which snowed cotton throughout the neighborhood every summer, causing angst among neighboring householders. But any complaints regarding the gifts of his majesty fell on deaf ears for this tree was too noble to be cut down, end of discussion.

On the south corner of the property grew a strange looking tree, twisting limbs and strange flowers whose sweet liquor was sucked out by youngsters and humming birds alike. The tree’s anatomy presented the perfect perch for a tree house. Up the trunk boards were nailed to gain access to the wood floor constructed by the boys (pre-women’s lib). To the right and across the driveway grew a mulberry tree, mecca to the birds and a few children who never bothered to wash the bird droppings off the tart berries; wiping them off on one’s clothing proved good enough to the chagrin of many a harried mother. And last but certainly not least, nestled close to this food source, stood an ancient fir tree, fun to climb if one overlooked the fine splinters that shed off its bark. I swear this tree was brilliantly lit up at Christmas time when my grandmother still lived there; a memory or a dream, I’m not sure.

In 1978 my parents decided to sell and move to a smaller abode fore they were getting older, the kids were gone, and the house and its environs were understandably just too much work. Gone forever were the backyard parties, the festive holiday gatherings, and the commotion of many excitable kids. It was sold to another family, not related, and forever lost to the clan. They resided there briefly; maybe too much area to keep up. They sold it to a childless couple who, heaven forbid, gutted much of the inside and recreated it into something entirely different. One wonderful detail they added, however was bestowing upon the dwelling 2.5 bathrooms, a little tidbit of information I discovered online.

Mulberry tree in forefront, fir tree no longer there. Cotton wood trunk in back

Author's Note:  I did check with my dad regarding the house; he was indeed born in the front bedroom in 1924 for the house was built in 1922.  End of discussion.