My Colorful Neighborhood -Now

This blog is a follow-up to my previous blog covering my neighborhood. You may wish to consult that earlier blog for a reminder of the colorful characters that I reported on then and now...

I am long overdue in giving the current status of my neighborhood. The homes, roads, and other physical features in the neighborhood has changed little over the last 20 years despite two fires that totally consumed two houses. One of those fires occurred at my plumber’s house. He told me about his fire when he came for a recent service call at my house. I was curious about his fire since he lives in a log house in the woods not unlike mine. He said the cause of the fire was a red squirrel who was searching for a warm spot and settled on his chimney. Of course, the squirrel decided to redecorate his new chimney home with an assembly of sticks and leaves that burst into fire upon the plumber’s use of his wood burner last fall. There was no report about the health of the squirrel, but the house was summarily destroyed when the burning roof fell in and destroyed virtually all of the interior.

The second fire was at the end of our road, on the horseshoe portion of the road next to the woods. The cause of this fire was also not the fault of the homeowner according to his brother who lived next door, this, despite his concern that the lids on some of the paint cans had not been replaced as you could smell the odor of paint thinner next door. The next-door brother went on to say that his wood-working brother had numerous wood-working tools. He explained that his brother had recently complained that one of his numerous power sanders had been giving him problems that included sparking when it was connected to the household power. I concluded that maybe there was a hint in his account about the cause of the fire.

Neither of the two fires are now evident as both neighbors had the fire damage remedied by the liberal application of funds provided by insurance carriers.

More important than the fires have been the gradual loss of the colorful characters to the ravages of old age. Betty Hoover was the first to go. She had fallen ill and was sent to the hospital for recovery. While visiting her there, I happened to meet her son who I had never before seen at Betty’s house. Apparently, the son was interested not only in Betty’s health as he turned to me and asked, “Does Betty still have that big screen television at her house?’

I didn’t know, nor was I as interested in Betty’s possessions as was her son. Some weeks later I learned from Jerry Boone that the son had insisted that Betty should no longer live alone and that he would take care of her. Jerry Boone reported that Betty called him from a distant state, saying that the son had dropped her off at a nursing home and suddenly abandoned her. She died soon after her call to Jerry. Apparently, owning a big screen television can be risky.

Bicycle Bill and Big Breasted Bertha both died from risky behavior owing to an excessive fondness for the frothy brew. Bicycle Bill’s case was a little more complex than Bertha’s case. Bill was like the character in the famous movie Forest Gump. His line, “I am not a smart man” seemed a perfect fit for Bicycle Bill, also known as Bicycle Ric by some.

The Bicycle man’s relatives must have realized his inability to handle money and therefore arranged for a periodic stipend to be delivered to him, intended for his food and necessities. At one point, Bill spent all the money available and demanded more. The relative in charge of money deferred, causing Bill to threaten that he would “burn your house down.” The threat was credible, and Bill went to jail. His jail term did him no good and shortly after he returned home, he fell sick and was no longer seen riding his bicycle up and down our road on the way to the store. Bill died soon after as there was no one to look after him. His now dilapidated home sits silently in the neighborhood, just off the paved road awaiting its demise as the vines and shrubs gather to hide the memories.

One arm Amos and Jerry Boone had a similar fate. Jerry was fond of Amos and he fell into the habit of visiting him every morning after we coffee drinkers departed. Amos had become somewhat feeble, apparently unable to safely negotiate the steps into his trailer house. One day, Jerry didn’t visit Amos until later in the afternoon. On that day Jerry found Amos lying in the snow comatose, apparently due to a slip and fall which landed him near his front door. The emergency ride to the hospital was unsuccessful and Amos died later that day. Jerry lived on a few more years before his daughter observed his state of failing health and urged him to move in with her. Jerry lasted only a few months until he passed peacefully. The coffee club meetings at Jerry’s house came to an end when Jerry left the neighborhood.

There are now just three of us remaining who are graduates of the coffee club. Of course, none of us could be properly labeled as colorful, although some future blogger may have a different opinion. We’ll just have to wait and see. I may need to enlist another blogger in continuing the practice of reporting on our neighborhood happenings.