I never thought I would say it, but I miss the Trailerhood at times. I don’t miss the stress from the owners of the park, but I miss all our friends and neighbors, and the fun characters that dwelled therein. There was a flavor found there, that just isn’t present in a quiet neighborhood. So, was it really the park? Or the owners of it, and the stress of the abode we dwelled in. Would I go back? I don’t think so, it just isn’t for me. Having been a cop all my life, I was constantly on edge due to the things that occurred in such close proximity.
There were people that would give the shirt off their back, if they could. Neighbors that loved our dogs, a couple behind us that were so pleasant that it made the whole experience bearable. I miss seeing them huddled in heavy coats on their back porch at daybreak, in the freezing cold, for a smoke. They finally stopped smoking. They were together, husband and wife. The boy next door, who had a dog, and worked nearly all the time. Never failing to bring something home, as a treat, for our 2 large dogs. The greatest guy, you’d ever want to meet.
I sit here on my quiet street this Tuesday morning, and miss being able to look out the office window at the busy highway that seemed so full of life. The entertainment as a low speed pursuit ensued down the highway out front, sparks flying from bare rims on the roadway. The children gathering out front near the mailboxes waiting for the school bus. In five years, we watched many of them come and go, grow older, and then disappear as they started driving to school.
Then there was redneck Johnny Reb, who flew the confederate flag in his front yard. He won a trip to jail after arguing with his female neighbor and threatening to kill her. All because he didn’t like her dogs barking. So he placed a burn barrel next to her fence, and burned all sorts of obnoxious items in it, plastics, feces, paint. Then after losing both legs from the knees down due to diabetes, decided to drive his fast electric wheelchair through the park like a madman, in the rare snowstorm we had one year. Nearly sliding into the four-foot deep concrete ditch out front.
Lest we forget “YouTube Boy”, and his mother, who were constant reminders of crazy antics and a total lack of commonsense. Last I heard, YouTube boy was in a mental institution, right where I predicted he would be, awaiting his movement to an adult penal institute.
We rescued “Peppy” who was the ancient long haired Chihuahua that lived at the lady’s house two doors down. You could always hear him screaming on the porch, to be let back inside. It sounded like someone torturing an infant. Now he does his screaming here in our yard. “Granny” as she was known, held Sunday school classes on her front porch once a week. She had suffered a mild stroke, and couldn’t stay by herself any longer. This event, necessitated her having to move in with one of her daughters, who didn’t want Peppy coming along. So, it was either the shelter, where the old little fella would surely be put to sleep, or we take him in. Granny cried when she gave him to us. She can always visit him any time, but we haven’t seen or heard from her. Perhaps it’s just too hard for her to see him again.
I think of David, the maintenance man, who would scoop out a septic tank with a shovel into the bed of a pickup truck, for a measly few dollars, to pay his rent. Or wake you at six am with his Frankenstein mower transportation, as he drove around the park looking for limbs. Or the time he put his “girlfriend” on his latest three wheeled contraption, and she headed straight for our trailer as I sat there looking out the window. She eventually crashed next to the woodpile just outside the office. I don’t think I will ever forget the shocked look on her face, leaning back trying to hang onto the crazed contraption, feet flailing about, eyes wide open and shouting obscenities just before coming to rest next to the woodpile and fence.
And let’s not forget, upon moving, I probably lost my title of High Priest of our cult. Bestowed upon me due to Halloween decorations the first year. By the church fanatic, who was found to have Satanic ritual books in his safe, upon his passing.
All in all, it was an interesting time, and there are those there, that I miss, and wish the best. Sometimes, even hard times generate good memories.
Comments, welcome.
I confess I miss the hilarious stories from your days at the trailer park, many of which were classic ‘Only In America’ tales.But I didn’t have to live with that bunch of oddballs, and I certainly didn’t think it was a good idea for you to grow any older surrounded by them.
Relish the peace, and the memories.
Best wishes, Pete.
I sort of miss them as well. It’s fun looking back, on the things that happened there.
There are some interesting reflections there Ron, many of which I can relate to in one way or another. I do believe that the average street of surburban semis (and detached) homes also have their share of colourful characters however, there are few secrets in a trailer park (caravan site in England). In contrast, there are many secrets behind four solid walls!
Yes, Colin. Four walls can hide many secrets. Thanks for the email with the picture you sent of your childhood caravan. I enjoyed seeing that.
Several unusual characters there to be sure; which made for many amusing stories!
I do miss, having the great material from there. Right down to the leak in the dining room, where I would sit plants at night, to water them. No need in letting a good leak, go to waste.
What an oddball collection, Ron! I can understand how you miss them, not least for their entertainment value. Maybe there’s a book there? Each chapter about a different character? Imagine, other people could enjoy the same shenanigans you did! Something to ponder? 🙂
I keep thinking, that maybe someday I will sit down, and write that book.
You just may have to change a few names, though. ??
I’ll have to check. I gave most nicknames, but I think there is one I remember.
I miss the wild stories about the trailerhood, but I’m glad you are in a better place now.
Yes, Anne. A much better place. I just couldn’t do the hard labor needed to repair that place, as I had wanted to do. It’s nice to be warmer this winter, and not worry about leaks when it rains, or if the plumbing was going to make it through Winter.
Those are worries I’m glad you don’t have now.
I miss the stories but I didn’t have to live there. There are some neighborhoods I’ve lived in that had “character” (or maybe characters!) that made them memorable. I’m glad you are in a better place now. Maybe you have to dig more for stories.
You’re right, Kate. I will have to dig harder for stories. But, nothing good comes easy.
My best stories come from screw-ups or things that went completely wrong. Normal life isn’t as interesting. 🙂
I was late to the party as I only started following you recently, but it sounds like the place had character … the world needs more characters, especially the nice ones you mentioned in this post.
Yes, Linda. We had some memorable characters, alright. So much history, and beautiful architecture.
I can understand that you can both miss them and be glad you moved. We lived near some characters like that years ago. We still talk about one such family. Their son held an “estate sale” even though no one had died because he thought it drew bigger crowds. The other son took off the old roof, didn’t replace it and filed an insurance claim for the damage to the house when it rained. He got a redecorated place for free. One son took a baseball bat to cars coming up our dead end road when he got sick of the traffic.
Hi, Elizabeth. That sounds, like some real winners you had as well. Can’t believe the estate sale, that is just too funny.