RUDIMENTS, pt. 104
Making Cars
One thing I wish to add, from the
previous chapter, in reference to the
phone box on the railroad pole I
mentioned. I don't believe I did it
justice: the year was, let's say 1958
or '59. Phones by then were well-
established objects, plastic, with the
dial incorporated into the body, and
the mouthpiece and the earpiece both
together on the one part you picked
up to listen and talk. The railroad
call box I make mention of was a
large wooden box, maybe 3 feet by
2 feet, secured quite heavily to a
rail-side pole. The front would flip
open, as I said, and there'd be a phone
with the live operator or dispatcher
on the other end, to receive whatever
emergency or message was coming
through. However, that phone piece
inside the box had to be 1920's vintage,
as in old movies. There'd be a fixed-
in-place mouthpiece unit staring you
in the face, into which you had to
speak, and a crank handle on one
side, to churn and make the connection,
and, on a corded, heavy wire, hung
the black Bakelite earpiece, which
you'd put to your ear to listen. All
very impressive, and to us kids it
was a massive, working antique of
wonder. Just begging to be used, yes.
Even the wood of the box was important -
heavily painted, interlocking wood, with
large black hinges; a real closet-piece, as
in a good home. Old home. None of us,
of course, had them - we lived in just-
constructed square little houses all in
a row, houses where even the inside
door moldings and things, though
faking the look (maybe) of wood,
were actually metal. I'd thrum on
them with my fingers to get that
cool, metal-drum sound. No one,
in my family anyway, ever
mentioned this fact - whether or
not they noticed it, and I'm not
really even sure if it was seen as
a detrimental loss to have that in
a house instead of grand old wood
moldings, skirts and door pieces.
It never bothered me, don't get me
wrong, buy I always saw it as a tacky
shortcoming, especially upon entering
any large, grand, much more regal
and spacious old home anywhere.
-
There's a thing about growing up
whereby you see the rest of the world,
in a way, by the hallmarks of the little
life you yourself lead. Thus, in my
circle, the kind of house we lived in
defined for us, somehow, the rest of
the world, and that rest of the world,
as well, gave us the weird terms we,
or our parents anyway, tried to live
with. It did NOT work, but it went on.
For instance: These were little square
box houses, and everything, totally,
was within reach of the next, the
smallest circuit in the world to get
about here, from any one room to
another, kitchen or bathroom. As I
said, metal moldings. A few bizarre
things, however, fictions for sure,
were kept up. This little two and a
half feet thing which 'channeled' you
from room to room - bathroom,
bedroom, etc., was still called a 'foyer.'
An enormously grand term for something
perhaps better called a 'connecting hole'.
Even the occasional use of the word
'hallway' was a bad joke. There was
nothing hallway about it. The term
'linen closet' was used for this tiny
door opening where towels and such
were to be kept - the 'linens' of this
grand estate. The use of the word 'parlor'
was the most egregious. The 'parlor, of
course, also had a 'picture window.' These
terms used to slay me. Certainly there
was never any 'picture' in the picture
window, except the roll of the road out
front and, in any direction 6 or 8 more
visible specimens of the very same house.
Over and over. In a few years, as people
had gathered enough money for the
ever-so-slight alterations, some of these
'picture' windows were replaced with
'bay windows' - a version of the picture
window, but with a bowed glass front.
Otherwise all the same, and certainly
not affording a view of any 'bay.'
People began treating each of these
little houses as if they were personal
estates. I guess it was the American
ideal - they fancied up and extended
driveways, added paving stones and
interlocking bricks and such. My father's
version of all this, for instance, was a
gas-lamp installed on a pole at the end
of the driveway (about 20 feet away;
no winding entry estate-road here),
constantly lit, hooked to the gas-line,
a horse and wagon decorated name
plaque showing the family last-name
and the address. And to top it all off
he hand-built a white picket fence
all around the property front, as if
we lived at a story-book inspired
horse-farm, acreage, trees, etc. It was
all amazing fantasy, and I'd often go
back to the railroad and just stare
at the telephone contraption and
let my mind wander, and wonder.
-
After that, it started with a few other
things rages and crazes. For a while
it was garages; there were 8 or 9 that
went up, in an immediate and quick
succession, and then a few more -
at the end of the paved driveways, or,
in a few other cases, at the in-the-yard
end of an extended and made-deeper
driveway. Then a few carports went up.
And then, about 1958, the big craze
began for those above-ground pools -
most everyone had one, as if living in
Catalina and Ventura (names of car
models too). The pools had aluminum
sides, strengthening a bubble top plastic,
three and a half feet deep, usually. The
circumference varied some, depending
on what you'd bought, but mostly it
was 18 feet. For these pools, the rear
yards of course had to be smoothed and
graded, leveled and cleared. Another
expense - and none of this external
improvement stuff came cheaply. One
half of our development, our street
anyway, had houses you could select
which still had the tree'd yards in the
rear - all the original tall oaks and
such growth had been left in place,
which meant woodsy, and darkness
and shade. That was a large miscalculation
for anyone there then wishing for a pool.
So trees too had to come down. Pretty
drastic revisions - on the outside. Inside
the house, I had only minimal experience,
but those that I saw also had an eventual
rush for 'fixing' up the basements - into
'rec rooms' dens, and/or bars. Many of
the men apparently longed for a bar in
the basement. My friends' fathers all
had them. They were pretty cool, fixtures,
refrigeration, taps, sometimes even 'racy'
pictures on the wall behind the bar. A
big ha-ha for us kids, and a temptation
too, testing Dad's Scotch or beer stash.
Another thing was 'air conditioning,' a
whole new idea. I remember one friend's
house, the first I'd ever experienced
central air in, and his mother, always
testy, screaming for us always to close
the door behind us, coming or going.
It was my first, mentally anyway,
consideration of 'environment' as Art,
controlling a location, rigidifying its
context. That was a new idea for me,
and once it dawned on me I realized
these other people, oblivious to any
of that, just wanted cool air to live
in and to hell with the rest.
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