Home was in town, on Evergreen
south of Campbell.
Across the street loomed the barn
where lumberyard horses
pawed and neighed
and menaced children
afraid of their shadows.
Fading afternoon light signaled
the onset of "Hide and Seek."
The whole block
suddenly a mise en scene
for skulking and burrowing
in and out of the horse barns,
up and down over stored lumber,
around and about tiles and nail kegs,
until the streetlights coming on
called them home.
For daytime outings, as big sister,
she'd load the Red Flyer
peanut butter sandwiches,
and the toddlers,
for a junket to the little woods
at Chestnut and Campbell.
For dessert they'd pick berries,
then follow Campbell's winding way
to the farms just west of town.
Past Mitchell, that is.
"Kids didn't so much have
special friends their age
as families they'd flock with."
Older kids trundled the younger
But not always, not to the duck pond
between the tracks and Davis
when gleaming ice called skaters
to graceful glissandos
and hours of bliss
too cold for the littles.
he romanced the village,
the sweetheart in his convertible,
and home buyers looking
for quality and quiet elegance.
He gazed upon dairy farms
and beheld winding streets,
trees arching over parkways,
English village Tudors,
lannon stone and stylish stucco.
Working with builder William Tackett,
he brought Stonegate to pass in seven months
between newly paved Northwest Highway
and pedestrianly named Foundry Road.
Eighteen thousand trees and evergreens.
Cotswold charm on prairie farm.
When he tried again
in the orchard easting from
State Road, the Depression
intervened. Half-built houses
drowsed with blank eyes for years
until their post-war awakening.
In the end, he was responsible
for the village's premier neighborhoods.
But villagers didn't call him
As if driving his car into the finality of a tree
was more his style than
changing the ambiance
of the village.
Perhaps it was the melodramatic mustache.