The home of my youth is now considered to be in a historic district! Originally built out around the time my older brother was born, now it is 'historic'. They call it Mid-Century, Leave it to 20th Century Americans to label the time period that way, as if anything outside of the 20th century is irrelevant. What will happen in 2050? Perhaps they should label the period Kennedian! Bazinga! (How many kids named John or John F were born during and after the 60's? :) ) The Phoenix nesting spot that formulated my youth is now considered ''historic" enough to be labeled with a name.
The irony is not lost on me. I, similar to my 'hood, am now a relic!
This was not the only irony I faced yesterday while driving through the scenery of my youth.
On the corner of 24th and Indian School there used to be a small pharmacy. The old fashioned kind of pharmacy that actually had a small soda fountain/diner area inside. I remember by best bud used to take the pharmacy the checks he received from mowing lawns. The cashiers would cash the checks for him , which even then I thought was odd....I always cashed my checks at a bank. I think he got in that habit because his dad was a Phoenix cop who would hang out with his friends at the diner area during slow times on the force. Anyway, the pharmacy is no longer there, it has been replaced by, of all things, a check cashing service. Bazinga.
Across the street was the old Tang's Market. That same buddy used to work at the market when we were in High School. The market is gone, replaced by various strip stores. Included in the strip stores is Tang Realty. Bazinga.
Nearer to my house, the old Indian Trading Post is now a gun store. That seems more poetic justice than straight irony. "The Indians have been chased off the site by guns". But still..... I loved that old Indian Trading Post. They had a Cigar Store Indian outside that was just too cool for us. Inside they had trinkets, baskets, Turquoise Jewelry, old Navajo rugs. There were arrowheads and other antiques. I did not expect the store to still be there at that same location....but somehow the Gun Store has a bit less charm.
I had to snap this photo of the J* house on the corner of Amelia and 18th. The J* brothers were 'too cool for school' back then. During my High School years they would have a Funny Car and a Rail parked here. Now the sign says 'No Parking'. Bazinga. The J* brothers were friends of my oldest brother. I was too young to hang with that cool group, but sometimes I would get to hang out when they fired up one of those big powerful engines, flames firing out of the exhaust pipes. The smell of nitro burning and singeing my nostrils was exhilarating. I can still see and smell it today, 45 years later.
Across the street from the J* house used to be a big field guarded by huge pine trees. It was the old Trader Joe's abandoned horse corrals. We used to climb from tree to tree, where there were little forts and nooks hidden within the boughs. Older kids would smoke and make-out and get high...but my brothers and I would just find adventure and minor trouble. The owner and neighbors would have loved to chased us off with guns to keep us out of there. Now, the lot is used as parking for the gun store. Bazinga.
Odd, I could not wait to get out of that old neighborhood once I became 'of age'. The house and neigbhorhood felt confined and old even then. Some hard memories of growing up in a tiny house on Amelia has long haunted me. It was not all fun and games, though we found our own adventures with friends and siblings. At one time I dreamed about buying up our old house and burning it down, leaving the lot as a park for the locals. But now, I think I have finally come to peace with those feelings. After all, that old house, in that old neighborhood is Historic. Mid-Century Modern. Like me. Bazinga.
Cheers, nca.
P.S. All my brothers and sisters (there were 8 of us total) have moved out of the area, save me. To this day it seems odd that I alone represent our clan in Phoenix. Bazinga.
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