In my twenties I attended many a party at some home in Hyde Park and various hoods around town. I would always notice the house and sometimes feel sorry for it especially the ones that had empty, imported beer bottles lining the window sills or some hideous "found art" piece scratching up the wood floors. But I always remembered the houses. It's funny to see those homes listed with MLS numbers all cleaned up and freshly painted with "renovations" or descriptions like, "Open floor plan, great for family" when you knew it when it was a junky party house. I always love to see the renovations and I love that they finally got TLC but can't help but wonder how funny it would be if the new owners from out of town with two babies knew that their floor was once caked with dried beer,dirt and general funk, that there was a line of people once all wanting to get into that bathroom to vomit, piss, make out and do drugs, and lets not even get into the bedrooms. Even with renovations...Unless the house is gutted the carnal stains, transparent as they may seem, are still there.
I lived in a home in Hyde Park for a year and a half. It was cute place, built in 1929. The woman across the street had told me it once had a lovely lot of roses growing next to it but the family that owned it was not nice. The lady of the home had become ill in the 50's and called the pharmacy to ask a few questions about her medication. It was winter time and all the gas heaters were running. She had left him on hold to go fetch her prescription bottle and had not returned. This became a problem because it was tying up the pharmacist's line (phone lines not the way they are now) so he sent someone over to see what was up. The clerk arrived to find the place locked tight and smoke slipping under the door. He quickly alerted neighbors and fire trucks were called while he broke a window to find the lady of the house slumped over the gas heater roasting. She was dead. It was not clear whether she had a heart attack and fell over or had tripped and unable to get up had died a tortured death.
That same house became home to one of the biggest pot dealers in town in the 60's. Later in the 70's the backyard had been filled with old cars because a mechanic was living there. The oil from those cars did damage to the soil and when it would rain, the water would not seep through in parts. In the 80's it was home to the owner of some restaurant until the 90's when I moved in with a few others. All this time it had been passed along informally, without a lease and without much of a rent increase, my share was $80.33. There were boxes in the front room, loads of things in every drawer in the kitchen, cool lps on the floor...I thought these all belonged to the guy who was living there. Tired of the junk I asked if there was some way we could clean up. He said only what was in his room what his. WHAT?!
Apparently everything in the house was a leftover from previous tenants. The junk had turned into a smorgasborg of treasures: A numbered White Album (The Clash, Ramones, KISS, Elvis, Beach Boys I could go on and on but it made up half my record collection at the time), tons of early 60's and 70's lps all mine, cool art books all mine, neat vintage kitchen items, all mine...And what I didn't want like $200 worth of beads and jewelry making supplies went to friends. Within months though, the landlord who had not been there since 1983 came by and was surprised to see that so-so had longed moved out and there were six people in a four bedroom home paying only $485 a month. Changes came fast, hoards of old junk in the shed and backyard was hauled out, holes in walls patched, latches on windows put in, new wiring etc... When the carpet was lifted in one of the rooms, underneath was an old piece of linoleum and old Weekly Readers from the 30's, an old report card and newspapers from the 40's all smelling of mildew but otherwise somewhat intact. WWII headlines, first run Dick Tracy Sunday comics in color print and the pages of an entire old Sears catlogue circa 1940. Why they were there , who knows but they managed to stay readable and nearly unharmed for over fifty years. To this day I get creeped out when I think of the time I picked up a bottle of bleach to do my whites and opened it to find needles swimming in it. I was told it was a leftover and had been there since 1987 when our "head renter" had moved in. Possibly older than 11 years. There was a bong shaped like a peace sign that was also a leftover/hand me down our "head renter" had procured from a previous tenant along with the house and it's stories and it was supposedly an authentic 60's relic. It was a drug party house for years and that explained why out of nowhere some derilict would show up knocking at the door.
The house collected stories until recently when it was renovated and sold. I drove past the place a few weeks ago en route and saw pretty little flowers in the front yard, a porch void of old sofas and junk, and through the front picture window I could see, for an instant, that it was a family home, clean,warm, nice paint, kids.
It was nice to know it had, hopefully, found a forever owner and would never again be trashed. It even seem to have shed it's icky past completely. It was not one of my favorite places to live in at all. In fact, I hated that rental and I wasn't fond of all the roommates or that entire situation. It is a good thing when a house can finally shut up about it's past and start over.
Labels: vintage