WHEN I FIRST SAW CRITTENDEN HOUSE, she was a mess. Not just
a regular type messy house; she was a living, breathless royal nightmare of a
mess. I say breathless because one could not really stand to breathe inside
that house. Those first associations with this house affected me in such a way
that, until this day, I could never eat anything inside that house. But today,
as Crittenden house is in the throes of its last days, I ate. Two peanut butter
sandwiches, kept tightly sealed until they entered my mouth. So, today, I made
things right between Crittenden House and myself, and gave her the respect she
has deserved, during the twenty some odd year association we have had.
Crittenden house has a date with a bulldozer, right after the first of the
year. I sold her, awhile back. On a handshake. Keeps down the paper work. Jimmy
Bolt, our best city manager, to my way of thinking, during our thirty year
tenure in Arkadelphia, was my partner in this deal. Now, don’t get the idea
that I normally buy and sell a house on a handshake. But Jimmy Bolt and I have
a long history. We were both country hicks together out in the woods west of
town in the 1980’s. We were so close, my dog once raided his henhouse, and
caught a bullet in the foot for his efforts. Not by Jimmy, but from one of the
several neighborhood kids, and we had several. None ever openly admitted it, to
the best of my memory. But it worked; to my knowledge, my dog, Booker
Brand New, never went near his henhouse again.
You see, Crittenden house sits right
across the road from Jimmy Bolt’s office window, and Crittenden house had long
ago lived out her best years when I bought her. She’s just plain ugly. Sorry,
Crittenden House, but it’s time for me to admit what the rest of Arkadelphia
has talked about as long as I’ve known her. According to my recent research,
she went on the tax records in 1910. I knew fifteen years ago the city of
Arkadelphia would one day own her, and remove her. The big surprise was, It
took so long. I passed up an offer twice what I sold it for, finally,
around twelve years ago, waiting for Arkadelphia to bring a fine point pen to
the negotiating table, and maybe buy the property by the square foot, which
also means through the nose. But alas! I finally had to threaten to sell, OWNER
FINANCING written plainly on my little For Sale sign, which could have given
Crittenden house a new lease on life for thirty more years of being the blight
of downtown Arkadelphia. Should have tried that years ago. Gives you some
sort of idea the kind of businessman I am. But that’s another story.
But I digress. Being overcome by sentimentality,
I have wandered off. Let’s get back to my first introduction to Crittenden
House. The relator, I forgot which one, could find nobody in Arkadelphia
willing to enter the house to clean, no matter what they offered. But that
brought the house down to $14,000. It IS a duplex, and all I could see was, if
I can just get through the initial cleanup, spend a few weeks bringing her up a
few notches, It would bring me in $560 a month, the renters will pay it off in
a few years, and the rest will just be gravy. (ugh! Did I just mention food?)
I put on a mask and rubber gloves.
Sometime into the second day, I started cleaning off the counter and the stove.
Skuttlebutt had it, the last renter, who made that mess, was being chased by
the law, and had to leave in a big hurry. When I finally reached the bottom of
the mess on the stove, I discovered part of the problem with the smell.
Pork chops were cooking on the stove, it seems, at some point just prior
to the last tenant’s sudden departure. They were brown, as though partially
cooked, or possibly time turned them brown. But that does not explain the
additional two feet of debris piled on top of all that. Weeks had passed before
I bought the house.
I have a lot of on-the-job training
with messes. My agreement with Barbara has been, she does more house cleaning
of the normal variety than I do, but when the really bad messes occur, I clean
them up. Fortunately, both our kids were past the diaper stage before I would
go along with that. You remember washing out all those old, cloth type diapers?
Nuf’ said. I’ve never understood how a family member can get a bad stomach bug,
be kneeling right over the commode when the time comes, yet throw it all over
the bathroom; nary a drop hitting the commode.
I finally chased out the smell. Then, by
applying a lot of elbow grease, (ugh! Greasy food!) putting a hanging picture
or shelf over various holes in the walls, and putting on a couple of more
layers of paint, the job was done. Crittenden house was smiling again. And she
started paying off her mortgage note. Things were looking up, for this old gal,
even if she was reaching 83.
The Tornado of 97’, bad as it was,
actually gave Crittenden House an image boost in the neighborhood. In seconds,
she went from being the worst house in the area, to being one of the best.
Nobody was in it at the time. Houses across the street were flattened to the
ground. One apartment in Crittenden house was rented; his stuff was still
there. Yet after the tornado, he was gone. We never found him, and he never
showed back up. I wondered if he had become a victim, but further inquiries
told me he also left in a big rush, also being chased by the law, a day or two
before the tornado.
Insurance adjusters descended upon the
town in droves a couple of days later. Before I knew they had even looked at
Crittenden house, my agent was presenting me with a check for the total loss of
the house. I protested. “The contractor says it can be repaired.”
“ But for the amount of the
policy?”
“Well, I don’t know. I haven’t gotten an
estimate yet.” Then, realizing I was talking against myself, which goes back to
the kind of businessman I am, I shut up and gratefully accepted the check.
My banker laughed when I told him
that. “If he had seen that picture I have down at the bank, showing what it
looked like before the tornado, you would have never gotten a dime!”
I decided to repair it myself. I
put on six squares of shingles. One day while I sat on that roof, getting a
bird’s eye view of the destruction, I just sat there a long time. FEMA was
doing a great job, but the town still had a pink cast to it from all the
insulation strewn around. That wonderful little lady was pulling her little red
wagon up the street with cold water for all the workers. She had been doing
that for days. I never knew her. I wish I did. I’d just like to thank her. I
sat there and bawled like a baby for my town.
The volunteers got the trees off
the house, I bought window glass by the box, attached the electrical
service back on, and three weeks later, it was rented again, to one of those
crooked guys who drove up from Florida to make a killing off our tornado,
getting work. He told me, “I’m a little short on cash right now, long on equipment,
could I put this chain saw up for a security deposit? I’m going to be making a
lot of money in the coming weeks.”
I went for it. I don’t think he did
much work, though. A couple of days later, he called me, asked me to
bring his truck to Hot Springs so he could use it to bail himself out of jail.
I went for that too, and after a few weeks, he went home. Seems that new rule
put in right after the tornado requiring that repairmen flocking in must have a
permit to prove they are honest and upright, and his drinking habit did him in.
He called me a few weeks later, asked me if he would send me his rent due,
would I send him his chain saw. Told him I would if he would also send shipping
money for his chain saw. Never heard from him again. I still have that chain
saw. It has not run in years.
Have you noticed that “the Law” appears
quite a lot in telling about Crittenden House? Well, I’m not near done yet. In
1998, Barbara and I were traveling a year in an RV. The last thing I did before
leaving town and handing the rentals over to Bud Reeder was rent Crittenden
House out to a Mexican framing crew for a few months. A month into our trip, I
got an early morning call on our emergency phone. Son-in-law Mickey, then a
paramedic, had been the first responder to Crittenden house after a fight over
a woman broke out at the front end of the house. It traveled through the house
to the back door, spilled out into the yard, and one man picked up a handy
concrete block and busted the other man’s head in. I was far away, never got
the official version, but scuttlebutt has it he was shipped back to Mexico, not
being a legal citizen. When we got back to town, many months later, there was a
concrete block lying in the back yard. Surely, that could not be the murder weapon.
I feel certain that one was on file, up in the evidence room. But it sure had
some curious stains on it.
Along with a lot of good, clean renters,
Crittenden House brought me quite a few occasions to practice up on my “dirty
mess man” skills. One case comes to mind. When a renter moved out, I discovered
the back bedroom had been used as a dog pen. For some time. That’s bad, but
I’ve seen that a lot. Nothing noteworthy here, in itself. The problem was, his
bagged garbage seems to have been placed in that room right down in there
amongst’ em’ for a long time. That makes for a very bad combo. A big challenge
for the dirty mess man. I have used Bud Reeder’s hired cleaners some, but I
never sent them into that kind of mess, if I was in town. The dirtiest jobs
were reserved for the Dirty Mess Man. But then, I’ll admit. I do travel a lot.
Though I’ve relied on the bad side of
Crittenden house to make an interesting story, there were a lot of good things
along the way. One good renter I want to tell you about was the very last;
though she only stayed a short time before the house sold, I think she was the
best. When a house is for sale, renters are made aware of it before they move
in, and assured of 30 day’s notice. But, most houses are bought as a rent
house, and they usually stay on. This time, Crittenden house had served 104
years, and she was very tired. A house’s age seem to correspond to human age
pretty closely. I wish I had known Crittenden house, when she was young and
beautiful, clear fresh water running through her pipes and drains. But in that
case, I would still have been making payments on her to the end. I told that
last renter, the day it sold, she would have to move, and I dreaded that. But
she took the whole thing well, with a sense of humor, like I knew she would.
She was in her early twenties, a sweet person. She was working two jobs,
also helping her mom and younger sisters, and saving to go back to HSU. I
had been saving her another apartment, a higher priced one, and told her I would
give her a month’s free rent, and reduce the rent to what she was used to. But
she found another apartment that fit her needs better. I borrowed a trailer and
helped her move. I also told her, no need to clean up at all, I’m about to
start tearing things out.
But I knew she would. And she did. It’s
fitting, I think, for a once-beautiful house that has served so long, like
Crittenden house, to begin the process of dying as clean as it’s ever been. I
will always remember that hardworking, wonderful girl/woman. If I had the
chance to choose a second daughter, in addition to the wonderful one I have, I
would choose her.
The front room in Crittenden house
has a beautiful built in long bench, with bookshelves on each end. The whole
thing stretches along the entire wall. The first thing she mentioned regarding
what she will miss most about Crittenden House was that bench. I told her she
could have it, if she could get it out. Her friend tried, but gave up. It would
have to be torn up to get it out. I’ve studied that bench a lot, as I scavenged
the building. I decided today I would have to sacrifice the shelves on one end
to get the bench out. An antique buyer from near Conway, seeing pics of it,
said he wanted to take it out, piece by piece, reassemble it out and sell it.
But he never showed up. I started tearing off the top right shelf. When
it came off, I discovered a three inch deep, hidden and sealed pocket
underneath. It was totally sealed with layers upon layers of paint, many of
which I applied. The dust that rose up, and the air that I breathed, as I
looked in, was just different. It had been in there for a very long time.
I saw a stack of papers in the bottom. Many of them turned to dust as I touched
them. I picked up an envelope that was more sturdy. It was a church
collection envelope, stamped with the date, Dec. 16, 1917. It’s stated
purpose:
Weekly Offering
Arkadelphia Methodist Church, South
Arkadelphia, Ark
For: Pastor’s Salary – Current Expenses – Connectional Claims
To my amazement, two items present were
obviously not nearly as old. One was a baseball trading card for Mike Schmidt,
who played for the Phillies in the 70’s, born in 1948. Also present was a
payday advance receipt, made out to Mathis, with no year date. The business was
located at 1730 Pine Street, Arkadelphia, Arkansas 71923 501-246-CASH.
The amount was $33. My best guess for the late arrivals would be that the time
capsule was not always sealed as tightly with paint as it is at present, and
slipped in through the cracks. I have no other possible explanations. I applied
many, many coats of white paint to it myself, over twenty years. Just today, in
another hidden space in that shelf, I found business cards. If I ever decide to
go into that business, I’ll be stocked up. The business advertised asbestos
products. Along with those, there was a Malvern High School graduation
announcement envelope, dated 1920. Crittenden House, in your death you
leave me with a puzzle I will be thinking about for a long time.
Yesterday was a big day in the death
process of Crittenden House. Lisa Green, the owner of the Blue Suede Shoes
Antique Mall in Little Rock, showed up with a very large trailer and two hard
workers, and we pulled out all the windows sashes, 50 or so, along with the
doors, fire place mantles, door headers, shelves, and every other old thing she
could load on that trailer. Soon, once beautiful parts of Crittenden houses
will be adorning housed all over Little Rock. Makes me feel better, somehow.
Parts of Crittenden House will remain alive, and totally beautiful again, for a
long time to come. As Jimmy Bolt requested, I’ll soon present the keys to
Crittenden house to him when I finish with the house. “But Jimmy,” I’ll say to
him, “You see, she has no doors – or locks -”
The beautiful, almost knot free planks
trimming the doors, windows, and making up the baseboards, were a problem for
me. Beautiful lumber, but I really had no market for them. Trying not to over
think this too much, I pretty well pulled them all off, pulled the nails. Day
after day. To date, I have not sold one of them. But they are far too beautiful
to go to the dump. Every crack and crevice in all my storage buildings are now
crammed full of beautiful lumber. For what, I don’t know. I’ll probably let my
kids and grandkids deal it someday. When I left the house today, only two items
remained for me to deal with. The beautiful clawfoot tubs. Monday, the last
day, they will have to go, one way or another. And, they weigh about 300
pounds. Each. Everybody who sees them, or pics of them, just love them. They
oooh and aaah, talk about how they would love to have them. But no one offers
to buy or deal with their 300 pound bulk. The last day arrived. Nobody had
claimed those two tubs, now priced down to $100 for both. If they take one,
they must take both. No luck. The night before, I spent a lot of time searching
for a way to save the tubs. I could haul them to my back yard. Keep trying to
sell. Or, try to refinish them. Yes, that was the answer. I talked my friend
Tyrone to help me load them. He loads heavy things for a living. He’s good at
it. Actually, he did most all of it. Once on the trailer, I headed out. A block
toward home, reality set in. I’m closing in on 70 years old. I’ve got a bad
back. Moving them again, then maybe again, did not seem like such a good idea,
now. I made a hard right turn, toward the metal recycling plant. At least,
Crittenden house will never know where her two beautiful, but giant, babies
went. And I’ll never tell.
The Time Capsule bench and bookself unit was another last
minute decision. I finally got it out, moved it in pieces to my driveway, and
re-assembled it over a few days on my driveway. It’s done, but I had no place
to put it. If it starts raining before I sell it, I’ll have to try to talk
Barbara into moving her new car out of the garage for awhile. Might be easier
said than done.
Crittenden house and I have been through
many hard times, in our old age. But there have been good times, also. She has
always been my worst looking rental property, yet she always was easy to rent.
She was cheap, $280 per month including free water, and provided cover and
shelter for many who were only one step removed from the streets. Poor people
need a place to call home, also. And, with the insurance company’s generosity
in declaring Crittenden House a total loss after the tornado, she’s been my
most profitable rent house. And remember, not just everyone can look out their
window when they wake up, and see our beautiful city Hall, or see Jimmy Bolt,
our best city manager ever, at his window, gazing out over his domain. Rest
well, Crittenden House. I hope you love being spread around all over Little
Rock, Though parts of you will not be so lucky, resting peacefully in a nice
landfill. Just remember, in your passing, you will be making room for a nice
new parking lot! Now, who can ask for more than that? The best I can hope for
is a box, and a flower on Decoration Day for a few years. Or maybe not even
that.
No comments:
Post a Comment