During your life, tens of thousands of people touch you. Some for an instant. Some for a lifetime. It was October of 1973 when we moved into our $19,000 house in Roxbury. That house had been the home of a man who, at one time, was the foreman of a brickyard. Each brick had been hand-cut and each place a board met a brick, the board was hand-cut to the contour of the brick. The floors were all hardwood, and the plumbing was brass.
The place needed a new kitchen, some paint and tender, loving care, but it was a magnificent old house. The house, however, paled in comparison to the neighbors; not the neighbor's houses, but the neighbors themselves. On one side was the woman responsible for running much of the very robust, pre-flood Johnstown City Schools. On the other side was a parsonage for the Methodist Church, and next to them were two people too young to be our parents yet old enough to be our anchor for the six years that we lived there.
I have no idea what their politics were, because it never mattered. They were fun, wonderful, open minded people, Jack and Suzie. When we needed help, they were there. When our kids needed a second home, they were there. When we just needed a place to hang out for advice, kindness and FUN... they were there.
Our kids used to lie to them to get white bread, whole milk and brownies. All of those foods were taboo at our house in the mid seventies. Sue and Jack were there for us when both of the babies arrived. They were there for me during the death of my father. They were there when I changed jobs, changed careers and changed addresses. They were there whenever and where ever we needed them, and this week, we were finally able to be there for them, too.
So, all of you who are worried about this or that right now need to focus on what's really important. It's about friends. It's about people who care about you... and about whom you care. Jack had three beautiful daughters and a wonderful wife. He was one of the last administrators standing at Sani Dairy, and when retirement came, he fished and fished. He never got old. That just wasn't part of his plan. Jack was a great guy and we will all miss him, but we know that he had a wonderful, full life, that he was surrounded by loving people... and that the people who are Windber Hospice were truly angels of God as they helped him make his transition to the other side.
So, see ya, Jack. We love ya, man.
Good job on your Impressing The Neighbors essay, very funny, except it was Rev. Baker, not Barker (typo ?)-- who has died, along with his wife and others who lived on this street. You probably wouldn't know the neighborhood anymore - 7 or 8 houses have single occupants. It'll be interesting to see what the next influx will be.
Former Orlando St. neighbors
Posted by: Ron Ryan | Thursday, February 22, 2007 at 09:06 PM