7169. BELOW THE WATER LINE, pt. 7

BELOW THE WATER LINE

(pt. 7)

My father  -  who kept track of these sorts of things  -  

came home one day and mentioned to me his friend

Lou Carew, who worked at the Avenel Post Office, was

about to start working a second job at The Americana,

a motel on Route One, north side, then going up. I was

in school with his son, Louie Carew, who was a real

slow learner and not much of a social kind of kid; but 

we got on. Louie died really young, I don't think he even

made 35  -  he had an aluminum-siding business and his

own white work-truck; small jobs, but he seemed okay 

with it. When we were in about 6th or 7th grade, Louie

surprised me. On the corner, back then, of Inman Avenue 

and Clark Place  - right out in front of Walter Wilk's house  -

there used to be a mailbox, and right there was where all us 

kids walking from school or the bus (I forget) diverged. Louie,

and Linda DeLuca, and a few others, they'd veer off to the left

for Clark Place and we'd stay going straight for our Inman Avenue

houses. Anyway, Louie started talking, just as we were breaking 

apart about a movie he'd seen over the weekend or something.

And he said the word theater in a way I'd never heard before :

like, we'd say 'thee-ter' and he said 'thee-A-ter'. He made three

syllables out of what we'd normally say 'movies' to anyway. And

really deliberate syllables too, like all of a sudden he'd come from

the Queen's family in England or something. That floored me, 

and I couldn't figure out where he'd picked that up from; it all

sounded so unique to me. I made him say it again, and then again,

 just to hear him say it like that. But anyway, back to my father

and Louie's father too  :  my father told me he'd been over there

with Lou, watching then put together The Americana. I asked what

he meant 'put together', didn't he mean 'build'? And he said 'No. 

They're putting it together - really.' Then he said he'd watched as

they pulled in with about 12 or 14 trailers -   mobile homes, just like

at Hiram's Trailer Park, or any. And they'd moved and arranged those

trailers around in a big square, making like a protected fortress, with

all the entrances on the inside, and the parking too, hidden from traffic.

Then they'd begun  -  after linking all the trailers up with water pipes 
and electric and heat, and all that  -  building around and covering 
everything over with brick  -  so if you didn't know, you'd never realize
 it was just a square string of trailers, run together and disguised. And 
that's what it is (see photo). And when I see it, even today, I always 
can remember my father's words and wonder at the sight. Of course, 
as well, now I know that Avenel, Route One, is just a repeated stretch 
of hot-sheet roadside motels, for drunks and lovers and cheaters too. 
The Avenel corridor is, in fact, famous for that  -  people from other 
places that I've met over the years  -  airport workers, delivery guys, 
truckers, they make mention of it. Fame is funny like that  -  and of 
course that explains the squared and hidden courtyard (which my 
father never told me) that hides one's rendezvous automobile from 
passing traffic...or from your wife, or from the detective she's hired 
to trail you and snap photos.