A Test Environment

For the first 18 years of my life, I lived in the same house and had the same neighbors.   A few people moved in and out, but for the most part, there were not a lot of changes.  Our street was the last street on the edge of the suburbs, and I spent hours crisscrossing yards to get to the woods that lay just north of us.  The neighbors all knew each other.  A couple of them were even distant relatives.  The neighborhood was safe, and it was fairly predictable.
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It was also quirky and more than a little testy.  

​By testy, I mean that we had more than our fair share of inventors.  Tinkerers may be a more accurate word, but they were risk-takers in their own right.  They were definitely "hands-on" learners.  And, they had no difficulty trying out new ideas - outside, for all to see and hear.   

Three particular neighbors stand out.  One stood out quite literally.  His name was Johnnie.  He lived directly across the street from us and he was a piano tuner by trade.  Over the years, Johnnie eventually built a workshop directly behind his house.  The workshop was identical in size and shape to his main house.  His wife and handicapped adult son lived in the front house, but Johnnie seemed to spend most of his time in his workshop.  He made violins.  He had various saws, gigs, clamps, and other devices.  He had a stash of woods, glues, and varnishes.  And, at any given time, he had 10 – 15 violins hanging inside from wires which were attached to the ceiling.  These wires allowed the violins to dry.  On summer days, you could see him standing outside his door and playing one of the violins.  The melodic sounds were immediately “enhanced” by the howling of the neighborhood dog.  Johnnie loved to “test” his creations, and I guess the dog liked it too.

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​I was fascinated with the process.  I don’t think he was on par with Stradivarius, but he had me convinced he knew what he was doing.  He would take down a violin which still had clamps on it and tell me about the tones, and its usage.  I didn't understand a lot of what he explained, but it did expose me to people trying things that were different.

Directly to the east of Johnnie, there was an empty lot, and next to it was another tinkerer.  Gary had a “not-so-subtle” hobby.  He developed and raced stock cars on the weekends at a local track.  From the evidence after a race, it always seemed that the racing was more demolition-like than NASCAR.  But, starting on Monday evenings after his day job, and going until Friday, he would diligently build and rebuild “his car”.  

​Of course, testing his vehicle was always necessary, and it could never be done quietly.  The silence would be instantly shattered with the warped ragged sputter and roar of an engine that had no muffler.  His tests usually didn’t last too long, but they were enough to interrupt any peaceful feeling, stir up the dog, and you could usually hear someone in our house state the obvious, “Sounds like Gary must be racing this weekend.”

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​The third “testy” neighbor was Mr. Randle.  He lived down our street, and we couldn’t see his house from ours.  Mr. Randle’s appearances in the neighborhood were much more sporadic, and were mostly on sunny summer days.  You could usually hear a distinctive sound of the chain whirling, and dogs barking – before you ever saw him.  He was testing his electric motorcycle.  It consisted of a motorcycle frame that was stacked with a couple of car batteries, and an electric motor.  After tinkering for weeks at a time, he would periodically take a test ride up and down the street.  It had a ghostly and somewhat unnerving “non-sound” that stirred up the animals, and always got my attention.  There is something eerie and distinctive about seeing a motorcycle, but only hearing a chain.

While these three neighbors stand out, my dad, and grandpa had creative sides too.  My grandpa designed and made these organizers for nuts, bolts, nails and screws.  He did this by using baby food jars, and affixing the lids of the jars in two rows around a metal coffee can.  He then, mounted the assembly on a stand with a handle.  You could fill a jar with one size of screws, and spin the can to get to the other jars.  It was simple, and he made hundreds of them.  I remember that we always saved or scavenged any baby food jars we could find for grandpa and his hobby. 

My dad tinkered.  He made lots of boxes to organize his stuff.  During one period, he developed an ice fishing equipment box.  It came with a seat, and it housed a kerosene lantern for light and heat around the fisherman’s legs and feet.  It had compartments under the seat for lures and such. It was then carried with shoulder straps like a backpack - with the poles sticking out the back.  He made a number of them for his fishing buddies.  He also made other things, usually out of wood and they were usually to store things.   Of course, the biggest box he ever made was with my grandpa.  You guessed it.  It was our house.  It took them three years to build.  It was our family home for 25 years, and it was finished the year before I arrived, 

As I think back, the influence of the neighborhood did a lot to shape me.   The environment was secure, stable, and oddly consistent.   It was a safe haven.  Yet, it also introduced me to the ideas of creativity & change; "hands-on" learning; and taking calculated risks to try new things.   

As I started developing my own view of the world, this all seemed perfectly normal to me.  And, stay tuned!   These early influences seem to pop up in my life time and again.  

​Next Time:  ​What Do You Want To Do When You Grow Up?

Photo Credits:
Top: Image by HeungSoon from Pixabay 
​Middle: Image by Holger Foerstemann from Pixabay
Bottom: Carr Collection