Late at night every Christmas Eve, I take time out of my busy life to visit Eagle Street. I do this to pay homage to the memories that I made there, and to feel closer to the spirits of my deceased parents. I park my car a block away and get out. I am alone. At 9 PM, the street is dark and quiet. I can see Christmas trees glowing in the windows of many of the homes. I begin my yearly walk in the night, pausing briefly as I reach my old house, then I continue past the other houses north towards my friends childhood home. As I walk in the dark and cold solitude, my mind reaches deep and pulls out some happy memories. This is a memory of what took place in December of 1971, when I was 11 years old.
I was one of the final three children who lived at 4071 Eagle Street. By the time the late sixties and early seventies rolled around, the older ones were gone. Our neighborhood seemed polarized and relations between neighbors were strained. And although I never knew the origin of the animosity, it was obvious that my family was a big part of the problem. You can usually judge a family by how many times the cops show up at the door. We cornered the market on police visits.
I was one of the final three children who lived at 4071 Eagle Street. By the time the late sixties and early seventies rolled around, the older ones were gone. Our neighborhood seemed polarized and relations between neighbors were strained. And although I never knew the origin of the animosity, it was obvious that my family was a big part of the problem. You can usually judge a family by how many times the cops show up at the door. We cornered the market on police visits.
Mom hated our next door neighbors. She called the south side neighbor "The Witch." The north side neighbor was simply "Old Lady Mroz." It was obvious that a major war had occurred in the decade prior to my addition to the family, and the smoldering radioactivity continued throughout my childhood. This Cold War periodically reignited into momentary blowups. Insults were thrown back and forth over the wooden fence that separated our properties. Sometimes the Witch would call the police. We kids were never allowed to venture south past her house. And Old Lady Mroz yelled at us if we rode our scooters and tricycles past her house. It made it difficult for us when we wanted to go play at our friends' house. The Manzer family lived one block north, and that block didn't seem to have a witch or a grumpy old woman. That block also didn't have us living there.
Our neighborhood friends were only allowed to play with us outside. They candidly told me that their parents did not want them inside my house. The only exception was when I had my yearly birthday party. I guess their folks figured there was safety in numbers at a strictly time-controlled event.
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| The neighbor kids were allowed to come inside for my birthday, but never any other time. That's me, holding all the cards. |
The only neighbor that ever visited Mom was the elderly Italian woman who lived across the street, Mrs. Balistreri. We called her Grandma. Every Christmas eve, she brought over a big bowl of spaghetti with homemade marinara sauce, and a new pair of PJs for us kids. During the rest of the year, Grandma Balistreri would come over and spend hours crying about her deceased beloved first husband and her recently deceased and despised second husband. No one else would talk to Mom, nor she to them.
Mom didn't want me getting too friendly with the neighbors. Any time she allowed me to play with the Manzer kids down the street, she admonished me to never answer any questions that their Dad might ask. So whenever he did ask me where my brothers were, I knew to never reveal their status when they were on the run, in juvenile hall or in mental lockup. I learned to be wary of adults and to make quiet observations while keeping my mouth shut.
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| Grandma Balistreri (R) (with Aunt Sadie) Her homemade Italian sauce was so much better than Spaghetti Ohs! |
Mom didn't want me getting too friendly with the neighbors. Any time she allowed me to play with the Manzer kids down the street, she admonished me to never answer any questions that their Dad might ask. So whenever he did ask me where my brothers were, I knew to never reveal their status when they were on the run, in juvenile hall or in mental lockup. I learned to be wary of adults and to make quiet observations while keeping my mouth shut.
Christmastime on our block was no different than any other time. Mom and the next door neighbors did not take a holiday timeout from the hate. Being home full time for a couple of weeks, I could really feel the tension. There was no peace between Mom and the neighbors, and there never would be. It bothered me, but it was our reality. So my younger siblings and I spent lots of time around the piano singing Christmas carols. My favorite song was, "I heard the Bells on Christmas Day." This was based on an old poem written during the Civil War by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
"I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play.
And wild and sweet, the words repeat of Peace of earth, Good Will, to men."
The 2nd verse really hit home with me:
"And in despair I bowed my head. There is no peace on earth, I said.
For hate is strong, and mocks the song, of Peace on Earth, Good Will, to Men."
One year, I got a glimpse of something other than continued war between neighbors.
"I heard the bells on Christmas Day, their old familiar carols play.
And wild and sweet, the words repeat of Peace of earth, Good Will, to men."
The 2nd verse really hit home with me:
"And in despair I bowed my head. There is no peace on earth, I said.
For hate is strong, and mocks the song, of Peace on Earth, Good Will, to Men."
One year, I got a glimpse of something other than continued war between neighbors.
It was 1971. Dad had passed away just 3 months before. Our family had been through a lot since his death, including all of us nearly being killed due to a "mysterious" gas leak in our house. We had recently returned from an extended stay at Mom's sister's house in Washington. Mom was still down in the dumps. Dad's empty chair was a constant reminder that something was missing. This dark and depressing feeling draped over the house and us.
A few days before Christmas, I was down the street playing ball with some of the Manzer kids, when their dad came out of the house. I had been told over and over again to never answer any questions he might ask about our family situations. Even though we never had interacted much, he walked over and asked me if I wanted to go Christmas caroling with their neighbors that night. I had never caroled before, but I had heard of it and it sounded fun, so I ran home and asked Mom if I could go. I must have caught her at a weak moment, because surprisingly, she said yes.
At 6 PM, the Manzers and I met up with the rest of the group at Margaret's house. Margaret lived on the far north side of Eagle Street. She was a good-natured older lady who always wore a bunny mask on Halloween when she gave candy to us trick-or-treaters. We gathered there, a mixed group of about 30, and I marveled at the joy and anticipation that seemed to emanate from everyone. There wasn't any yelling, insults, cussing, or threats of police visits!
We walked to Falcon and Goldfinch streets, stopping at about ten homes belonging to very elderly people. At the time they were known as shut-ins. We sang all the songs that I had practiced on the piano, including my favorite Wadsworth song. We sang the first 2 verses, and then the 3rd verse,
"Then pealed the bells, both long and deep, God is not dead, nor does he sleep.
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with Peace on Earth, Good will, to men."
We moved through the cold, dark night as a group, spreading good cheer and bringing smiles to the faces of those people. I liked that feeling. And when we were finished we all went back to Margaret's warm house. There was burning wood crackling in the fireplace, the tree was glowing, and the dining room was all decked out for Christmas. Margaret's best friend had prepared a fantastic spread of cheeses, sugar cookies, fruitcake and candies, with steaming hot apple cider with cinnamon sticks for the kids and mulled red wine for the grown-ups. I had never seen such a feast. At that moment in my life, I understood the 3rd verse of my favorite carol. I realized that there were people who want to do the right things, and that peace and good will is possible on Eagle Street.
We walked to Falcon and Goldfinch streets, stopping at about ten homes belonging to very elderly people. At the time they were known as shut-ins. We sang all the songs that I had practiced on the piano, including my favorite Wadsworth song. We sang the first 2 verses, and then the 3rd verse,
"Then pealed the bells, both long and deep, God is not dead, nor does he sleep.
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with Peace on Earth, Good will, to men."
We moved through the cold, dark night as a group, spreading good cheer and bringing smiles to the faces of those people. I liked that feeling. And when we were finished we all went back to Margaret's warm house. There was burning wood crackling in the fireplace, the tree was glowing, and the dining room was all decked out for Christmas. Margaret's best friend had prepared a fantastic spread of cheeses, sugar cookies, fruitcake and candies, with steaming hot apple cider with cinnamon sticks for the kids and mulled red wine for the grown-ups. I had never seen such a feast. At that moment in my life, I understood the 3rd verse of my favorite carol. I realized that there were people who want to do the right things, and that peace and good will is possible on Eagle Street.
Mr. Manzer and those other adults gave me something that Christmas that I had never felt before. I felt like my voice mattered. I felt like I belonged. I felt like I was doing something nice. I wasn't being judged by what my family had done in the past. For one night, I was not one of the troubled Warriner kids. I was a free and independent person who was chosen to be in a Christmas choir made up of Catholics and Protestants, young and old. It was one of my happiest days on Eagle Street.
