Our Lafountain Street Neighborhood in the 1940’s - Part 5

Bob and Dora Hundley lived next to Pennington with their two kids, Bob and Naomi. Young Bob was Don’s age and Naomi was just a little younger than me. I remember Mr. Hundley as having a medium body build and black hair. He sported a thin mustache which gave him a dashing appearance. Mr. Hundley had been in the Navy during the war. I don’t know if he was assigned to a ship, or saw any action.

The Hundley house (below & #5) was small, covered with imitation yellow brick siding made of heavy rolls of tarpaper impregnated with a sandy grit to give it a brick-like appearance. It was inexpensive stuff, not convincing in appearance, but commonly seen in those days. Several different patterns existed beside the brick. There was a white flat stone design outlined in black that was also popular. A covered porch ran along the south side of the house, and the front door lead into a small living room dominated by a pot-bellied stove. It sat just off center, toward the back of the room. I don’t remember much else other than Mr. Hundley’s easy chair was close to the stove.

We played hide-the-thimble in that room, and searched an extra long time on one occasion. It seemed to have vanished - every possible location had been revisited several times. I was the lucky one to find it. I spied it sitting on the stove, atop one if the shiny bolts. I shouted in triumph as I reached for the thimble, but let go right away. It was winter and the stove was aglow. It had not occurred to me, even though it was cold outside, and the stove was radiating, that the thimble would be hot. I was too young to have experienced that particular situation, but did learn to avoid the mistake thereafter. We played at other times and I always made a point of looking at the stove, but it was never there. I guess the memory of me dancing around and blowing my fingers discouraged the further use of hot hiding places.

A green colored house (#6, Now a vacant lot) next to Bob and Dora Hundley belonged to the McGovern family. I did not know much about them. I think the father died in the early forties, and his wife and grown son ,who was Mom and Dad’s age, lived in the house. Their place was neat, but older and small. It sat very near the street, and the front yard was fenced or a hedge bordered the sidewalk. I don’t know if I ever heard their first names, but I understand the son‘s name was Thomas and his mother was Hazel. He was of medium height and weight, but her physical shape has escaped me. I did not see them often and remember no transactions with either except to nod and say hello.

Bob Hundley, the elder, died in 1956 and Dora married her neighbor, Thomas McGovern, the following year. They both died in a fiery automobile crash in 1958. He died in the wreck and Dora lingered, badly burned, for nearly two weeks. Mom had been a friend of Dora when we lived on Lafountain, and once said that it was a double tragedy because Dora had finally found some happiness, but it had lasted only a year. She was 41 and he 44.

Young Bob Hundley offered me a ride as I was walking from school toward downtown the week his mom was in the hospital. I knew about the crash but did not say anything. It was a bit awkward and the two of us made small-talk until he let me out. I told mom and she asked if I had inquired about his mother. I told her, “no“, I was not sure if it was okay - I didn’t know how he would react. She said it would have been alright, that people need to talk at such times. Bob moved to Florida in 1966. Naomi is married and lives in Kokomo.
GO TO: Part 6

Our Lafountain Street Neighborhood in the 1940’s - Part 4

Leonard Pennington owned the barbershop. He and his wife, Bernice, lived in the middle of the block on Lafountain (#4), three houses south of ours. His small shop, a one room shed, sat between his and the McEntee’s place (#3). He placed a big propane tank on the edge of the curb in front of his shop, and painted it with barber pole strips to indicate the location of his business. The walk that lead to his shop is still visible in the photo. He gave me my first haircut and was my barber as long as I lived in Kokomo.

Pennington once told brother Don to let Mom and Dad know that he had ringworm. They took Don to a doctor, and sure enough, he had ringworm. Pennington was able to diagnose it without the ultra-violet light used by doctors, and he knew more about hair, the scalp, etc. than most barbers.

Mom told the story about Pennington once telling Dad that his scalp was too tight, and he could loosen it up for him. Dad was skeptical so Pennington began at the back of his head working and messaging forward. He had a fold of Dad’s scalp in his hand, waving it back and forth, by the time he got to the front.

I think Pennington was the free-thinker on the block. I was too young to know much about politics, but from what Mom said, he was probably a socialist. She once speculated whether he was a communist. He might have flirted with the idea during the Great Depression - a lot of people did - it was a time of stress. But we were entering a new period when any talk that hinted of socialism was suspect and met with mistrust. The era of Senator Joseph McCarthy and the witch hunts he conducted in his Senate Un-American hearings in the early fifties was in the coming. A communist was behind every tree during that paranoid period. The Pennington house is gone, and a new ranch style now sits on the site. Leonard died in 1965 at 62 years of age. Bernice passed in 1981 at 79 years.

It was the kids on the block that Don and I focused our attention. There were ten in our age range, four girls and six boys. Three of the girls were of the same family, the McEntees. They lived in the house (#3) between Pennington and Milner. Charles and Martha McEntee had four daughters, but I only remember three. Ruth, the oldest of the three, never much played with us. She was several years older, and being nearly a teenage, was not really in our group. Ruth became a nun and the administrator of St. Joseph Hospital in Kokomo. Barbara and Rita were one and two years younger than me, and I was the youngest boy, so they were a bit too young - not much more than babies. Besides, we attended Riley Elementary, and they went to the Catholic school so we did not see much of them.

There was an old playhouse in Mr. Milner’s backyard. It had been pretty neat in its day, but original tenants were long grown, and the passing years had been unkind to it. The playhouise's windows were missing. We boys found a girly magazine stuffed in a wall section where the window had been removed. The contents would be considered tame by today’s standards. Mostly I remember sepia colored photos of women in lingerie making slightly provocative poses, but it was hot stuff to our innocent eyes.

Barbara, Rita and I played in the house a couple times when I was about six or seven. I lost contact with them after we moved. We were in high school together, but I don’t recall seeing much of them. I remember meeting Rita downtown in the early 1960s. She introduced me to her future husband. That’s the last time I saw any of the McEntees. Charles McEntee died in 1967 at 61 years of age. His wife, Martha, lived to be 96 - not passing till 2002.

GO TO: Part 5

Our Lafountain Street Neighborhood in the 1940’s - Part 3

Fern Jones ran her hair salon out of her home. The Jones lived directly across the street from us (#23). They were an older couple and had remodeled and enclosed the front porch to accommodate her shop. Fern babysat Don and I a couple times. I remember it mostly because I had a nightmare while staying there. It was particularly disturbing because of its amorphous character. There was no form, no scene, no monster - nothing I could describe more than a rhythmic beat of pure evil. It haunted me for years.

The gas station (#20) was on the corner of North and Lafountain, and the Church sat across North Street from it. There were two houses between the Jones’ and the gas station, the old Milner place (#22) and the Teel’s (#21). Don Teel lived next to the gas station. He was a middle aged bachelor that lived with his mother in a small white house. Don was a mild mannered man who worked at one of the factories. He belonged to the Moose Lodge and I often saw him at the old lodge on Taylor Street. I remember that he always wore a suit, and was very polite, but his life seemed rather narrow and limited to me. He was probably about mom and dad’s age, maybe a bit older. I don’t know if he ever married after his mother died.

The grocery stores were located on opposite diagonal corners of our block. Whitaker’s grocery was at the corner of Broadway and Lafountain (#8 ). His was a one story building, long and narrow, facing Broadway. Similar to other groceries of the time, it offered a small selection of canned foods, a refrigerated display-counter of fresh meat, fresh vegetables, milk, candy, and bread (White bread was the only type available.).

Tyce and Blanche ran the other grocery. I no longer remember their last name. They lived above the grocery - on the corner of North and Apperson Way (#14) . The two story building facing North Street is one of the few still standing. Pucketts Pie Shop occupied it in 2008. I don’t know much about Tyce and Blanche. They were older than Mom and Dad - maybe in their forties, and there was never mention of them having children. Blanche committed suicide (shot herself) the year before we moved. I don’t know how long Tyce kept the store or what happened to him. We divided our business equally between the two stores. I know we ran a tab at Tyce’s because I went in there once, bought a great big Hershey bar, the 25 cent size, and told him to put it on the bill. I ate as much as I could before tossing the remainder up into the loft while riding my bike through Milner’s timber barn. It never occurred to me that I might wrap and stash it somewhere to enjoy later. I guess I felt guilty and wanted to get rid of the incriminating evidence.
GO TO: Part 4

Our Lafountain Street Neighborhood in the 1940’s - Part 2

There were seven businesses mixed in with the residences in our neighborhood. That was not so unusual for the 1940s. We had a gas station, a hair dresser, two neighborhood groceries, a barber shop and a construction company. There was also the Beamer Baptist Church on the corner of North and Lafountain.

The Milners were our neighbor to the south (#2 on map). Mr. Leon Milner owned and operated a company that specialized in moving big objects - like houses or heavy machinery. He represented the third generation in the business. His father, James F. Milner, moved to Kokomo in 1892 to become a partner with his father, William. Leon’s father, James Milner, lived across the street from us. I have no memory of him, but there is an image of an old man wearing a long overcoat that appeared in an 8mm silent movie that Dad took during the winter of 1943-44. He shot it in front of the house during a snowstorm while Don and I were sledding in the alley. Someone would always remark during later showings that the man in the overcoat was old Mr. Milner. His red brick house (#22), modest to today’s standards was probably the most elegant on the street. There was a portico that covered the driveway. It was attached to the house on the north side and supported by two brick columns on the south. The detached brick garage was located at the end of the drive. It housed a shinny 1930’s black sedan. James Milner died in 1944 at 79, and his wife had passed many years before. That may explain why the house seemed without activity and the car was always in the garage. I don’t believe anyone lived there during those years - not until after we moved in 1950.

Leon Milner’s business property lay across the alley, behind our house and his. It occupied a good portion of the block. The main stem of the alley ran north-south, separating Mr. Milner’s house from his business, which consisted of two buildings and a large open lot (#12). Building #13, shown in the satellite photo, appears to be a small church, but it stands where Mr. Milner’s long barn stood. The narrow barn ran parallel and next to the crossed-T alley and was open on both ends - like a covered bridge. That is where he stored the hefty pieces of lumber used in house moving. The beams were close to three feet square in cross section, 30 or 40 feet long - maybe longer - and stored on both sides of the drive-thru barn. The west end of the barn opened onto the alley right across from our garage door. The other building was a combined workshop, garage, and tool storage place. It was right behind Mr. Milner’s house and parallel to the alley. A gravel driveway ran between it and the barn, traversed the lot, and connected back with the alley. More lumber piles were stored around the edges of the field.

I remember us kids playing on the squared-off logs. My brother, Don, broke his arm in there after losing his grip while swinging from a rafter. He wore a white diaper as a sling for several weeks. The lot was used very little; so we kids played there, and it was just big enough to function as a miniature baseball field.
Mr. Milner seemed quite old to me but I guess he was about sixty (born in 1889). I use to sit with him on his front porch, swinging and idling time. He was a nice grandfatherly type, always with a stubby cigar in the corner of his mouth. I remember seeing him twenty years later when I was working for Grave’s Sheet Metal shop in the mid-sixties. The shop had received delivery on a large metal shear, and he was there to unload and place it. I watched as he, with cigar in mouth, instructed the workers to tie ropes at certain points, and direct them to pull at different angles as he easily maneuvered it into place. It was apparent that he knew what he was doing. Leon Milner died a couple years later in 1968 at 79 years.
GO TO: Part 3

Our Lafountain Street Neighborhood in the 1940’s - Part 1

Lafountain Street was lined on both sides with young maple trees in the 1940’s. They formed a canopy of shade covering the whole street, and added an inviting friendliness to our block. The street design isn’t seen much any more, where the sidewalk is six to eight feet from the curb with trees growing in the grassy strip between. I don’t remember a whole lot of grass growing in that strip - too much shade. I visited the old neighborhood in August of 2008. Many of the original houses are missing, most of the old trees have been removed, and the canopy is gone. The character of the street is less for it.

I “walked” around the block by using Google Street View, and looked at the various structures. I notice how much it has changed in the sixty years since I left. Nearly half the buildings have been demolished. New ones replace most, but some lots stand empty, and sites, vacant in my youth, have been built on. The older houses that remain have all been remodeled. Most had covered porches in my day. They were open then but have now been enclosed or removed. Our old house had a covered porch opening onto the alley Its been removed entirely. The front porch, which was covered and open, is now enclosed. The old garage has been replaced.. I would not recognize it as the same place. I copied a Google satellite photo of the old city block, numbered lots and buildings, and marked an “X” on buildings that did not exist when I lived there. Three of the four houses on Apperson Way (It was called Kennedy Street in those days) lay in the southeast corner of the block and appear to be the same, but I never knew the occupants so I placed a (?) on those buildings.

A T-shaped alley, with the crossed-T going between Apperson Way and Lafountain, passed on the north side of our house (#1 on satellite photo). The alley is paved now but was covered with black cinders back then. Don Brunk and his mother Gladys lived across the alley from us. Their house (#19) was similar to the Hundley‘s (#5) in that it had a long side porch. It faced the alley, and was right across from our small side porch, so we saw a lot of each other. My brother, Don, swore that he got up one night and saw a man sitting on the ridge top of the Brunk house. He said the guy was facing the alley, right across from our side porch, his feet planted on the angled roof, his arms resting on his knees - just looking across at our house. Don did a little sleep walking in those days, so the grownups were inclined to think it was a dream, but he insisted it was too real to be one.

Don Brunk was a skinny guy with thin hair combed straight back. He was Mom and Dad’s age, but seemed older than his years. I thought of him as being Gladys’ husband for a while. There was an edginess about Don. He served in North Africa during the early part of the war, and probably saw action in Europe through much of the rest of it. Few veterans that I knew had a whole lot to say about their experiences in the war - Don Brunk was no exception. I can’t say for certain whether he had a job. He probably did, but seemed to be around the house a lot. I remember that he often sat and talked to Mom and Grandma. Maybe he needed to. I don’t remember much about Gladys Brunk. She died in 1967. Don Brunk passed in 1991 at 77.
GO TO: Part 2

Dumb and Ugly - Part 3, The IQ Test

When things are not going well kids react in one of two ways. They either become troublesome or they try to disappear into the woodwork. I chose the latter. I didn't want attention. I was shamed.

I tried to be inconspicuous. Garrison Keillor speaks of shy people on his radio show, The Prairie Home Companion. I have a deep sympathy and understanding for shy people. I was one of them. I would not call attention to myself if it were at all possible.

I once stood at the blackboard in that fifth grade class, with chalk in one hand and text book in the other. I was trying to do math problems, but my full bladder was making me squirm and prance. I tried to concentrate on the work, but the figures in the text blurred with purple spots. Asking to be excused was out of the question. The recess was only minutes away; I had to make it. The mounting pressure proved too great. A warm stream began running down my leg. I leaned over, dropped the book on the floor while mumbling something to Miss Gilbert about not being able to wait, and left the room.

I was standing at the urinal when Kenny Rush came into the bathroom. Miss Gilbert sent him to see if I was alright. He had a concerned look on his face. He was a good looking boy but one of his eyes was crossed. He was looking at me in that indirect way that might have been comical in another situation. I told him I was OK. I just had to use the bathroom. I returned to class, picked up the text book, and stood in a pool of urine, red faced with humiliation, and worked on math problems until the bell rang a short time later.

A major turning point in my life came that year. It was in the form of an IQ test. The examination must have come at the high point of my mental cycle. The questions seemed easy; the test was even fun. When the results came back mine was one of the highest scores, and my life was never quite the same.

I have never put much faith in such tests, but the society of the Fifties certainly did. I don’t remember, maybe Miss Gilbert spoke to the class, but I seemed to gain higher social status overnight. The kids treated me differently. There was curiosity and a bit of awe. I noticed some scrutinizing me out of the corner of their eye. I was the class dunce mysteriously transformed into a brilliant kid. Maybe I was a freak, but it was of an acceptable form of freakdom. The attention I was getting was different, but it was mainly positive. I could take it. It was a welcome change.

A week later Miss Gilbert ask that I stay after school. She was a little woman and able to sat next to me in one of the small student desks at the back of the room. Miss Gilbert pointed out that most of the students in class were a year older, and suggested that I repeat the 5th grade. I would be with kids of my own age next year . She told me I had the right to pass to the 6th grade, but she felt it would be better if I stayed behind. She had talked to my parents and they agreed, but felt it should be my decision. I had found a friendly and understanding person; I was not about to disappoint her.

The following year I enjoyed an elevated position in the society of fifth graders. It was magic - unimaginable. I became the teacher's pet. Miss Gilbert constantly praised my actions and citizenship. I glowed in the spotlight. It was as much of a blushing glow as one of delight. The attention was embarrassing and I had no experience in handling accolades. I accepted them with a quiet modesty and bashfulness most of the time. There were a few occasions were I slipped into more boastful behavior, but that model did not feel right. A person's self-image does not change over night. I had thought of myself as being dumb and ugly for too long. There is an inertia to consider when events take abrupt turns. People were suddenly telling me I was smart, but things were nearly as difficult as ever. Learning is an endeavor that requires a foundation on which to build. I had my feet firmly anchored in thin air.

In high school it dawned on me that I was not really ugly, or even homely. Throughout those years, and many after, the ugly duckling self-image still haunted me. It was always a surprise should a girl seem interested in me. The shyness lasted into college and beyond. A prolonged metamorphosis eventually changed the shyness into a quiet reserve. To this day there are vestiges of me that have their roots in those dumb and ugly years. I am yet hesitant to call attention to myself.

I owe a lot to Miss Myrtle Gilbert. I kept contact with her over the years, and she visited me in Alaska in 1979. I wish I had a copy of the photo a friend took of the two of us standing on the beach near Seldovia. I was building my cabin, and Miss Gilbert helped carry boards along the beach to the cabin site; 76 years old and still in there pitching.

She stayed at a friend’s place in Seldovia. We had a fish fry that evening, and served fresh halibut. She didn’t much care for fish but said she would have “just a bite“. Miss Gilbert sampled it carefully, took another bite, and decided it was pretty good. She had a second helping. Miss Gilbert said the visit was a highlight of her life - a small payment for the services rendered so many years before.

P.S. My wife, Mary, says the ugly duckling is now the best looking seventy year old she has seen, but she is prejudice. I think age is The Great Leveler. It makes us all a bit more ugly - the others just caught up with me.

Dumb and Ugly - Part 2, The Fifth Grade

Harry S. Truman won the Presidency in 1948, I don’t recall his election, but do remember all thereafter. My fifth grade teacher, Miss Gilbert, brought a radio to school in 1952 so we could hear an address by him. That was a big deal in those days. The class, filled with awe at the gravity of the event, sat in complete silence. It impressed me enough to remember, even yet, that he spoke about a steel strike and recent actions he had taken.
The country enjoyed a growing prosperity throughout the fifties. Industries ran at full capacity, business boomed. The only people without jobs were the ones not looking. I often heard phrases that suggested the nation looked boldly into the future, and was fearlessly marching in that direction. The General Electric Company frequently aired its motto, "Progress is Our Most Important Product”, and that statement, more than any, accurately expressed the mood of the era . The fifties offered endless opportunity, but didn't appear to hold much promise for me.

Miss Gilbert handed out copies of The Weekly Reader, a newspaper-like publication of current events. Each edition contained a half dozen articles, followed by four or five questions. Every student got a copy. I remember desperate searches through articles, looking for answers that didn't seem to be there. My classmates found them, busily penciling responses while I groped, mystified by their ability.

Math was no easier. School got more difficult with each passing year, but I made no progress. I had not failed any of the elementary years, my grades always managed to raise to a passing level; but they were nearly at that point of neutral bouncy and floated with just the top of the "D" showing. The way things were going I had no doubt my grades would eventually sink to any level I chose, and that most likely would be on bottom.

Grandmother Frank worked at the American Legion as a cook. I often walked the few blocks from Central to the Legion for lunch. I would eat in the kitchen with Grandma and hang around for the remainder of the period. One day she stepped from the kitchen to find me sitting in the hall close to the door. A look of surprise came over her face. It was mixed with sadness. "You heard what I just said." Her tone was such that I couldn’t tell whether she had made a statement or asked a question. I asked her what it was but she would not tell. After a while I didn’t persist - I knew. Some people may not know they are dumb but it is humiliating when you do. It grinds on you. My family didn’t taunt me with the fact, but we all knew. I don't remember anyone ever saying anything. They loved me, but everyone knew that little Joe was a bit slow. They thought I’d grow up to dig ditches or have some other menial job.
GO TO: Part 3: The IQ Test

Dumb and Ugly - Part 1, The Move

We moved across town in 1950. I did not want to leave the old neighborhood, to part with my friends. I liked the security of a familiar life, and did not welcome the chance to explore new horizons. I knew of no home other than that on Lafountain Street, so my lack of enthusiasm would probably have the appreciation of any ten year old in the same unwelcome circumstance. Dad and Mom bought a vacant lot on Sycamore Street at the east edge of Kokomo. They purchased a house standing on the street behind, and moved it a 150 yards across a corn field. The house had to be moved because it lay in the path of a new highway project, a by-pass around the east side of Kokomo. I remember parking on the construction site on the Fourth of July, 1949. We stood near the house’s old location while Dad, holding Roman candles at arms length, launched balls of flame down the newly bulldozed right-of-way.

Don and I switched from Riley Elementary to Central School in the fall of 1949. Central, in the downtown area, combined elementary and junior high classes, so we attended there until starting Kokomo High School, which stood directly across the street. I possess only the vaguest memories of my four years at Riley, remembering mainly that I brought a sense of failure to the new school. I began the fifth grade at Central, and recall that year with vivid imagery, not because I did it twice, but because it represented a major turning point in by life. Don started school in 1944, and I the following year. Beginning school at the tender age of five proved to be a mistake; little by little I fell behind. My education (and life) became side-tracked by the seemingly insignificant decision of my parents to enroll me a year early. A seed, sown in those first grades, germinated in the fifth, convincing me I lacked ability. I had no capacity for book learning. I had no merit. I was dumb. On top of that, I thought the back of my head to be misshaped. And my ears stuck out. And my red-orange hair, a flaming beckon, cast its light over me when I craved anonymity. I would have preferred a hair color more in camouflage tones. Chance and circumstance conspired to convince me that I was unworthy. I was ten years into the game of life, had two strikes against me, and expected the third to cross home plate at any moment. People thought I was dumb. I thought I was dumb and ugly. I was labeled, and labels are brands that burn deep into the soul. They are difficult to remove.

GO TO: Part 2

Another Time on the ALCAN - 11. Santa Fe, New Mexico

Wednesday, October 14, 2009 thru Saturday - Santa Fe, NM

Angie, her husband Steve, and daughter Angelica planned to arrive late afternoon, so Mary and I saw more sites that morning. Curiosity got the better of us, wanting to see what type of place Angie rented, so we headed toward the center, the old part of town, branched off Cerrillos onto Guadalupi Street, passed the Railyard District, crossed San Francisco Street, and then turned left onto narrow Park Street. Their place was a block down, a casita among a cluster small bungalows, older structures but nice. A number of B&Bs dotted the area along with residential and small businesses.
They arrived that evening, but we did not see them until Thursday morning when we met at their place for breakfast rolls. It was a sunny warm day so the five of us took an easy walk to the Central Plaza. Steve pushed a carriage for Angelica, for times when she tired of walking. The group stopped at the Blue Corn Restaurant for lunch.

Angelica had developed a fever and runny nose by Friday morning. All became concerned because recent cases of the Swine Flue had been reported in the area and people were still jittery about how virulent the strain might become. We spent most of that day at Angie and Steve’s, while Angelica recuperated.

All had a good time for the three days we were together. They came over to the trailer the next afternoon. Mary presented Angelica a large box of Legos that we had accumulated over a ten year span. She and Steve played with them on the picnic table. That evening found us back at their place. I parked the truck at a nearby shopping center as all places were filled by weekend casita renters. Steve and I walked over to retrieve it at ten that night. The front was dark as I went out the door and I was concentrating on unwrapping a miniature Almond Joy, too much so to give serious heed to my passage. I missed the final step, landing on hands and knees, mostly my knees. The candy bar was saved.

Another Time on the ALCAN - 10. Santa Fe, New Mexico

Tuesday, October 13 - Drove 70 Miles Today - South out of Taos on Highway 68, connecting with Highway 84 (again) at Espanola, and that took us into Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Santa Fe is one of the oldest cities in North America, and that helps explain its frustrating traffic pattern. All the early trails converged onto old Santa Fe like the spokes of a lop-sided wheel - the Old Pecos Trail and the Old Santa Fe Trail to name a couple. There is a myriad of other roads that add spokes to the wheel whose hub is the central Plaza of Old Santa Fe.

One of these spokes, maybe the busiest, is Cerrillos Road. We stayed at the Los Campos RV Park on Cerrillos. There are numerous shopping centers, stores and restaurants along the road, and it has great walk-ability as long as you’re content on staying on one side of the street - otherwise you’re taking your life in hand crossing six lanes of heavy traffic. One has to walk four or five blocks to cross at a light, or if driving, turn right before going left. The center of town is truly charming, but the rest of the city is much like any other.

We planned to meet Mary’s sister, Angie, and her family in Santa Fe. They were to get there Wednesday evening so we decided to stay in town for most of a week. Its not our inclination to pay for more than one day at a time as there is no financial advantage unless one commits for a whole week. It is difficult for us to commit to anything for more than a day - two is excruciating, and five is out-of-the-question. So, as usual, we dragged it out by paying for the first night, and then for two more, and then another two.
Within an hour we got the trailer parked, leveled, blocked, and the utilities hooked; after that we were free to enter battle with traffic on Cerrillos Road. Our first stop, only a block away, was Elder Grace, a fifty-five or older co-housing development. We had been interested in co-housing for several years, discovered Elder Grace on the Internet, and wanted to look it over. The facility had twenty-four one and two bedrooms units, all on one level. A nice community center completed the energy efficient construction. An arroyo bordered the property on the back side, and the landscaping was still being completed - half the units were for sale. Drove southeast of Santa Fe twenty miles to El Durado, a big development of large homes on larger lots. Too isolated.

GO TO: Part 11 - Santa fe, NM (continued)