by Una Tiers
There were no family dinners, although Bob brought carry out chicken one time (but he forgot the mashed potatoes). They couldn’t agree on a movie, borrowed his car, often stranding him, sometimes because they didn’t return the car on time or because they forgot to fill the gas tank. Unfortunately his gas gauge wasn’t reliable except to be inaccurate.
Laslo couldn’t keep up with the additional laundry and housekeeping, so he had to hire someone to help out. He didn’t understand how two young women who did not cook and were as thin as reeds could generate sinks full of dirty dishes. Despite the household help, he could not find a clean towel in the mornings until he resorted to hiding them (on hangers) at the back of his closet.
On weekends the twins went away to visit friends from college they had not seen in over two or three weeks. They thought that Sunday mass was scheduled way too early and church was more appropriate for afternoon funerals and formal weddings. Gardening was as foreign to them as cooking and housekeeping.
Although it seemed like an eternity, it was only a month before Laslo had to severely edit his daydream. If he didn’t, he faced hair loss and ulcers before the twins even started classes. He explained to Lilly and Rosie he wanted them to have every convenience and opportunity to do well in law school and not be thwarted by his schedule or the commute downtown.
Laslo favored a dormitory or convent as a living arrangement for his daughters, but the law school had neither.
When Bob went to law school, things were different. Bob was simple, not wildly popular, did his own laundry and went to Sunday mass regularly with Laslo.
What Laslo didn’t know was Bob quietly arranged Sunday evening dinners at his aunt and uncles homes on a rotating basis to satisfy his father’s yearning for family dinners.
The condominium made the twins and Laslo happy. It was the model unit and included furnishings that his daughters approved. He had to drive to downtown Chicago to see them, but they spent more time together when they lived downtown than when they lived with him. He didn’t mind the drive because it also meant that they were too far away to borrow his car.
When the girls graduated, they would assume the mortgage and he would even things out with Bob so they were each treated the same financially. He would help Bob with a down payment on a house the way his parents had helped him.
In what seemed to be a blink of the eye, although it was three years in people time, his daughters graduated from law school, packed up their belongings and left for New York to study for the bar exam.
Laslo had the unit cleaned and painted, drank the bottle of wine in the refrigerator, contacted a realtor and waited. Unfortunately, there were more brand new, more luxurious units on the market at that time and the older units weren’t selling too well. The realtor assured Laslo that this lull was temporary.
He received two offers to buy the condominium for much less than what he paid. He blamed the whole problem on the theory of condominiums. Although at that point, he blamed a lot of things on condominiums.
Not willing to let an apartment with real estate taxes (and no backyard) get the better of him, he decided to rent the unit and wait out the draught.
In the next eighteen months, the market shifted when business expanded to the west loop area, and it started to resemble a human neighborhood. Restaurants, convenience stores, bars and dry cleaners sent down roots. Laslo noticed there weren’t any garden centers, hardware stores, tattoo parlors, beauty shops, car repair or gas stations springing up.
As the area businesses developed, the condominium abundance shifted to a condominium shortage. Laslo received unsolicited offers to buy the property and he turned them down. Although it wasn’t a two-flat, this, Laslo thought, was how real estate, the best investment you could make, was supposed to perform.
Things were also changing in the judge’s neighborhood. The single-family homes were disappearing and townhouse villages erupted in their place. The few bungalows that survived had their roofs raised where second floors and decks blossomed. Single car garages produced crops of decks and rooftop gardens.
Neighborhood bars became “microbreweries.” Bakeries, cobblers, florists, butcher shops and other small family owned businesses closed and left no forwarding address. Strip malls burgeoned overnight. Immediately after one fast food restaurant opened, a competitor would break ground across the street.
Street parking grew worse and valet parking became common place. At first Laslo mistook the valets for street gangs because of their satiny matching jackets.
Not too many of his friends remained in the old neighborhood. Some moved to the suburbs with their adult children and grandchildren. A few moved to warmer climates grumbling about the humidity and the polyester clothes. Many others died, including his parents and two brothers. His sisters in law remarried and moved to the suburbs. Sophie remained in the old neighborhood after her husband died.
If this kept up, Laslo was going to need some new friends. Sophie was so busy with church functions that he didn’t see her except for Sunday dinners and church.
Laslo missed the way things used to be. Security had never been an issue. He could go to the store without even locking his back door. Things changed, ‘they’ broke into his garage twice and he had to move the unwanted tools to the basement where he installed bars on the windows to protect them. He was forced to install and use double locks on the house doors but he kept his old security system, a baseball bat, behind the front door. He had a security system put in, but never understood how to set it or release the alarm so it went unused after he clipped the wires when it wouldn’t accept his shut off code.
His daughters waged a relentless campaign for him to move to the suburbs, putting him in a dilemma. On one hand, Laslo agreed that the old neighborhood wasn’t the same, however, he didn’t see himself as the suburban type. He had always lived in the city. In fact he had always lived in the same parish. He was too old to move into a family oriented area, and too young for the old people’s home. Where could a man in the middle go?
When Bob let the cat out of the bag about his surprise birthday party, he decided to add his own surprise. He would invite the Widow Weber as his guest. A social life would be good for him.
He walked through his yard and across the alley only to be stopped by a new lock on her alley gate. The nose of what appeared to be a young woman answered the front door (with the chain in place) while a large dog snarled and barred his teeth safely behind her. The young lady explained they bought the house six months ago and didn’t know anything about the previous owners. Laslo didn’t invite her to the party.
At his birthday party, his house was filled with relatives and a few neighbors the way Laslo had always wanted it to be on Sunday afternoons. His sister made a large roast, with mashed potatoes and gravy. There was a whipped crème bakery cake with the inscription MOVING TO SIXTY. He recognized this as his daughter’s handiwork in their continuing attempt to convince him to move out of the old neighborhood.
Laslo finally had the kind of Sunday afternoon that blended into the evening he craved. It simultaneously marked the end of an era.
After almost everyone went home, Laslo and his children were cleaning up. Naturally the moving discussion resumed, with Rosie and Lilly at the helm. Bob started to join in, but one stern look from Laslo made him drop out of the battle and run out the back door with a half full garbage bag.
During a cease fire in the discussion, Laslo accepted the fact he had his decision made. He calmly announced he was moving into the condominium in a few months when the lease was up for the tenants. Judging from the looks on their faces, this idea seemed pretty funny to his children. Although he was a judge he wasn’t the downtown type or the condominium type. He had always lived in the old neighborhood. How would he fit in?
Laslo started to clear the gifts from the table, leaving the children staring at him. Briefly he wondered if it was a good decision or whether he had to cut down on the vodka.
As he stuffed t
he wrapping paper in the garbage he counted the advantages of the condominium. His commuting time would be under a half-hour; he wouldn’t have lawn and snow care to do anymore. He would miss his old lawnmower, although it hadn’t started in the last two summers. There weren’t any trees, so that meant that there wouldn’t be leaves to rake. Snow removal would be handled by a service.
The disadvantage was that the area was unfamiliar from where he had always lived and he would have to commute back to the old neighborhood to attend church and to see Sophie.
When the realtor’s sign went up on the front lawn, his children knew he was serious.
The attack on his furnishings started when he was away at a judicial conference. His children felt their father didn’t appreciate the fact that people who lived downtown had nice things. Despite the brutal elimination of his belongings, all of their old toys, school papers and artwork were packed away for storage in his shed at the condo.
Laslo suspected his son’s involvement in the plot against his belongings although Bob insisted he only helped a little with the heavy furniture. Later Bob admitted he had reported the For Sale sign to his sisters as well as tattling on his father’s out of town schedule.
Things too embarrassing to move in daylight even under mover’s pads, like the old sofa, recliner and two plastic slip covered chairs, simply disappeared. The judge went down the alley with a flashlight, hunting for favorite items that had vanished, without any luck. New upholstery appeared on perfectly good pieces of furniture like his overstuffed rocker with the carved duck head armrests and the dining room chairs.
Dishes that were perfectly usable although mismatched, disappeared and a set of plain white dishes sat without compassion on the shelf. A new thermal programmable coffeepot replaced his electric percolator. After two mornings without coffee he had to call the twelve-year old neighbor to program it for him.
Laslo protected his remaining belongings by accelerating the date for the move.
Still grumbling, the 60 year-old judge moved into the (luxury) condominium, in downtown Chicago. He put his foot down and refused to sell his eight year-old car.
“You know they don’t make them like that anymore,” he growled. However, in the spirit of compromise, he agreed to have it painted since his children insisted it looked like it was abandoned.
On the day that Laslo moved into the condo, Bob delivered a roast, complete with mashed potatoes, and green beans, compliments of Sophie. He couldn’t stay for dinner and when he left Laslo felt pretty lonely, even though he was alone with a roast.
The next morning, he walked over to the local Catholic Church to check for the mass schedule. St. Somewhere reminded him of his home parish since they both included the gilded pictures, statutes of saints and stained glass windows he was very comfortable to be around. He added ‘walk to church’ as another plus of the condominium. Now he wouldn’t have to worry about the safety of his car from Sunday drivers in the church parking lot.
After he left the church, his spirits picked up. He prayed he would be able to settle into the new area.
Armed with his leather shopping bag he had concealed from his children, he set out to explore the area. After a thorough canvas, Laslo didn’t find meatloaf or mashed potatoes at any of the restaurants. Oh sure, there were dishes labeled as meatloaf at the gourmet convenience store but they were made with turkey and there was no sign of gravy. The dishes labeled as mashed potatoes were made with garlic and black potatoes and they weren’t even peeled!
Laslo wasn’t sure what organic meant but it always had higher prices and a funny taste. Beer, he thought, should only be made in Milwaukee.
When he asked for takeout menus at the restaurants, he quickly learned that many of them did not accommodate takeout food. So he created a file folder of the restaurants that had carry out after carefully examining the list of ingredients. Another time he would check the restaurants he walked by on the way home from work for other options.
Around the corner from his building he was happy to locate a pizza place. However, the first time he ordered one he was rudely introduced to low fat mozzarella, whole-wheat crust, turkey pepperoni and tofu shaped like mushrooms. It took several months of abstinence from real pizza before his taste buds reached a truce with the new flavors, fostered with liberal amounts of vodka.
For his favorite foods, the judge was forced to make a trip on Saturdays to a delicatessen in the suburbs where he stocked up on his favorite lunchmeats, sauerkraut, homemade soups, rye bread and meatloaf. Gravy was included, you didn’t have to ask. He considered his food “imported” because of the forty-five minute drive to the store.
In some ways, the changes to Laslo’s old neighborhood made getting used to the new neighborhood easier. He already knew that coffee could run four dollars a cup, and there were no refills. He also knew street parking was becoming a figment of his imagination.
The differences in the neighborhoods also accentuated Laslo’s loneliness. His family had always lived in the same parish and had Sunday dinners together. He knew everyone on the block at least to say hello and hear about their foibles and successes. Although many of them had moved or passed away, the memories still lived in the old neighborhood, including the aromas of simmering roasts and friendly family noises.
The new neighborhood didn’t have children playing outside. People walked with their heads down and didn’t say hello. There was no one to wave to because there were no porches.
At street level, buildings, concrete and asphalt were all that you saw unless you went over to the lakefront (about two miles east) where there were trees, bicycles, roller bladders, runners, parks, dogs, baby strollers, boats and of course water, fish and rumored rats. The only bicycles he saw around his building were messenger services that appeared to be powered by demons.
In church, instead of knowing everyone, only two faces were familiar, the usher and the priest. The congregation was made up of mostly youngsters, in the thirty to forty year old age group. He didn’t see any children.
On his rare evenings at home in his new digs, Laslo mourned the things that he missed about the old neighborhood. He missed walking to the newsstand for the evening paper. He remembered when it was late and he waited for the truck to go by and how the bundle landed with a thump on the pavement. Not that an evening edition had been printed in the last fifteen years, but he complained about it when he had an audience. He missed sharing a couple of beers in the backyard with neighbors on a hot summer evening.
He missed parading a new car up and down the streets, blowing the horn to impress the neighbors. Laslo, like many others, missed the childhood happy times now reduced to memories, slipping away as the years rolled by.
Although his building had over a hundred units, he rarely ran into anyone in the lobby, hallway or elevators. Sometimes he wondered if anyone really lived there.
At times he felt like a displaced person, but was not pleased when he noticed a few probate lawyers had infiltrated his territory. While they could have been regarded as familiar faces, it annoyed Laslo and he decided to buy a pair of dark glasses and a large brimmed hat for privacy.
In addition to comparing the old neighborhood to the new, he compared his life to his colleagues. He kept in touch with a few friends from law school who had had long since fled the city, finding refuge in the suburbs.
Some exchanged news of their children’s weddings, careers and grandchildren. Others were in the midst of midlife crisis and divorces, often their first. Laslo thought grandchildren would be a nice compliment to his life, but he didn’t know when it would happen. Lilly, was engaged, but had never talked about having a family. In fact, all of his children seemed career, rather than family oriented. This wasn’t hard to understand since the law could be consuming and they grew up in what he considered broken homes.
Every now and then Laslo longed to meet a nice lady to take out to dinner, with intelligent conversation and romance, but didn’t know where to look for her anymore.
He regretted his procrastination about seeing the Widow Weber. The only other women that he met were lady lawyers and judges. In light of his history of marrying co-workers, he decided to keep looking. He missed the aroma of a woman’s perfume.
Street parking in the new neighborhood was also a culture shock. He used to be able to park in front of his house, in the garage, or in the alley, if he wanted to or if he needed to unload the car. Downtown there weren’t any choices. The area was made up of tall buildings, the car to street parking space ratio was miniscule and the few metered parking spaces were flanked by signs detailing multitudes of restrictions. Once, Laslo stood almost in the street, reading the parking signs. They were confusing at best and when he noticed a flurry of orange parking tickets plastered to the car windshields, he decided that the meters were simply an enticement to write more tickets. That made his private heated parking space the only choice.
Thinking ahead, Laslo imagined post retirement parking, right in front of his lakeshore cabin. He would leave the keys in the ignition and the windows open. Hopefully there weren’t any bears that drove eight cylinder automatic shifts.
Laslo didn’t drive too much during the week because of the heavy traffic that included careening buses, bikes and taxis.
The probate judges always carpooled to meetings and receptions and he was always offered a ride since he lived so close to the court house. Unnoticed by Laslo, one ride in his “classic, repainted vehicle” seemed to discourage passengers from repeating the experience.
On weekends he drove to the old neighborhood to see Sophie, sometimes she made dinner and other times they went out to eat.
One dramatic change in his new home was the view. In the old neighborhood you could see tree tops and maybe some kids up to nothing good. Here, there was a spectacular view, resembling a postcard. In his corner unit with two exposures, he could see the lake, commuter trains, expressways and even planes winking as they took off or landed at O’Hare airport.
