THE NEIGHBORS

My little friend is still outside. Her and I slept in this morning, untill almost five. Which is late for us. So far she has not started her yapping. There is a white cat who loves to get close to the fence just to antaganize her. I feel it definately is a male cat. But maybe the cat is sleeping in too this morning

I have written about 9th street several times now. About growing up there in the late forties and fifties. There was two houses that faced Kentucky. Then there was two more that faced 9th street. None were very large, but Those were the 9th street house's, our homes.

Mrs. Hood was our first neighbor. Looking back now it's hard to recall how old she was. She had a teenage daughter, a friend named Don that lived with them. She worked long hours at a shirt facatory and he was a carpenter. Other than that there is not many memories of her.

She did rat me out once for playing on the train tracks. But I didn't really hold grudges back in the day. The one thing about her I will always remember is Saturday, it was her wash day. Now Mom had a old wringer washer and that was a good size job once a week.Mrs. Hood took it to a whole new level.
It didn't matter what the weather was, all but if it was pouring down rain, even if t was freezing cold. Mrs. Hood would drag a big, heavy cast iron pot out to the alley. She sat it on two cement blocks, a fire was started under it and filled with water. While the water boiled she brought two galvanised tubs out and filled them with water, Then this was followed up by a scrub board. At least we were uptown enough Mom didn't have to wash on a scrub board. But Mom said that Mrs. Hood thought that was the only way clothes got clean enough. When the water in the cast iron pot started boiling Mrs. Hood and her daughter put the clothes in the boiling water and with a big stick they stired them. Boiling out all germs. Then they dug them out, washed then in the first wash tub with soap and the scrub board, rung them out by hand and put them in the rinse tub. Then they were rung out again and hung on the clothes line. This woman worked all week and spent her Saturdays going through this crueling process. The next time you raise the top on your washer and throw in a load and grumble about having to do this hard work. Please remember Mrs. Hood.

The neighbor on the other side of us was Goldie Spell. Goldie lived in the house on the corner. She was short, she was heavy, she was the corner gossip. Our neighborhood was filled with kids. We ran the streets, hollering, caring on. We were the bane of Goldies exsistence. She would have loved to have bundled us all up and shipped us far away. She had a rocker at her kitchen window and spent much of her time vilgently watching the neighborhood for misdeeds to report. There was nothing that passed Goldies eyes.

Next door to Goldie was Lena Wisher. I smile when I remember Lena. Crazy little frail woman. With gray hair, she smoked a corn cob pipe, talked to herself as she by her stove and had a boyfriend named Jess> I think Lena tipped the bottle some. Everyone knew Jess did. He drove a beat up old panel truck and peddled fruit. Sometimes he would give me several boxes at a time and I would hawk them in the neighborhood, selling them for a dime, out of which I got to keep a penney a box. I loved making money, the big bucks.

Jess came quite often and was usually drunk. Out behind the four houses sat four sheds. One for each house. These had no paint either. Lena had a pet Banty Rooster she kept in hers. This was her pet, her baby. One day Jess was there and they got into a fight over her Rooster,. Bud thinks Jess was jealous over the Rooster. They were both drinking, Jess so drunk he could not hardly stand up. The backyard full of kids playing. Jess and Lena came out the back door. He had a double barrel shotgun. Lena clutching his arm. "I'm gonna shoot that damn chicken," Jess was shouting. Lena crying, "No Jess , don't hurt my baby." He stumbled to the shed and grabbed the chicken, Kids scattered everywhere, out of the line of fire. Leana crying. Now this is where the story gets a little foggy. I thought he tried several times to hit the chicken. Bud who was older, almost nine said that is not the way it went down. He said Jess so drunk he was literaly weaving took aim and in one shot took off the poor little Rooster's head. The amazing thing about this story and I just asked Bud yesterday to make sure I was remembering right. Nobody called the police. Jess picked up the chicken. I guess they ate it later and they staggered into the house. This day and age he would have went to jail, then rehab. We kids came back out and played. Nobody seemed to be traumatized by the ghastly deed. Just another day in the neighborhood.

Charles Dickens wrote in "The Tale Of Two Cities. "They were the best of times, they were the worst of times." To tell you the truth as they march forth from my memory they all seem like the best of times to me.