So I had a job, a
real one, awaiting me in two weeks. During that time, I enjoyed Christmas of
1970 with my family and read a lot about urban planning. I found that it had a rich
history dating all the way back to the Sumerians and beyond. I also drank a lot
of beer with a cousin who was recuperating from back surgery.
From my readings, I learned that things don’t change easily
and to be aware of that is a necessity for the privilege of participating in a
democracy. As Cicero said, “To be ignorant of what occurred before you were
born is to remain always a child.”
From my cousin, I learned about the vicissitudes of life.
That came in handy over the years. The professional world is not always a gentle
rain forest but can be a teeming jungle as often as not.
I purchased a few changes of clothes, hoping that no one would
notice the abbreviated cycle of wear. I even purchased my own—my very own—necktie. I had a pair of
black shoes left over from the Navy, the kind that stayed shined. Years later,
I would actually own two pairs of dress shoes, a sure sign of my growing success.
That was in the future though. Right now, I was among “the undeserving poor.”
One Monday morning, my brother and I drove to Little Rock to
seek an apartment. Armed with the morning copy of the venerable Arkansas Gazette, we entered the city.
There were new apartment complexes by then, some even boasting of swimming
pools. I could scarcely afford one of them, so there was no use in looking.
That relegated us to the older parts of the city.
That, of course, meant the more interesting parts. There
were large mansions still standing. Near those mansions, inevitably, were
smaller homes within walking distance. The wealthy have always required cheap help.
At one of the mansions, a structure apparently long neglected, I saw a young
couple diligently scraping paint. “Interesting,” I thought.
We found a nice place in the midst of this neighborhood of
fine homes. The landlord, upon finding that I was a recently discharged veteran,
demanded a list of references and an outrageous deposit. I gave her a sanitized
version of, as they say these days, “Bite me.”
Eventually, the ad section of the Gazette placed us in front
of what had once been a fine, luxurious apartment building at the southwest
corner of Capitol and State streets. It too, suffered from neglect, but class
is a hard feature to abandon. Across the street was a Pontiac Dealership. A few
blocks west was the last boarding house I remember seeing in America. I had
considered it but was tired of communal living, if you could call living with
30 other men in a room the size of a large living room “communal living.”
I opted for the grand apartment building. Steps led up between
two brick entry structures into what had, obviously been a luxuriously
landscaped courtyard. The manager had an apartment on the ground floor. There
was another across the courtyard and two more upstairs. The top one on the west
side was for rent.
Goodness gracious. The apartment had a living room, a dining
room, a kitchen, two bedrooms, a bath, a back porch, and a large foyer lined
with custom-built closets and cabinets. You could have housed the entire complement
of a Navy destroyer within its walls. It was reminiscent of a scene from the
movie Sunset Boulevard
It could all be mine, and mine alone, for $30 a month plus
utilities. The faded grandeur, the space, the fact that I could walk to work,
and the lack of “veteran-suspicion” convinced me. There was no parking, but who
cared? I would be the newest resident of this fine city in just a few days. I
signed the papers, paid the deposit and the first month’s rent, and told the
manager I would move in on the Second of January. She said I could go ahead and
start setting up the utilities immediately. She gave me the key, we shook
hands, and I left.
Outside, the sun was shining on a new world. I hoped that I
was brave enough for it.
 |
| Look out world. Here I come. |
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