The Neighbors Who Came to Call Too Often, Bunkie and His Mother

 During the Great Depression, landowners and real estate speculators in Pittsburgh, as well as the rest of the country, lost everything. As a result, investors were able to find great deals. A few miles south of Carrick, a bankruptcy-acquired estate was renamed Baldwin Manor and divided into huge lots by the new owner. One gave the exact environment that Mother had envisioned for her ideal home.

My parents paid for the lot over several years, remitting a little amount of the sum each month. We used to drive out to the lot before the road upgrades so Mother could stand in the tall weeds, the breeze whipping her skirt, conjuring up architectural plans fit for the plot. My parents engaged a contractor once it was theirs, free and clear.

Mother was overjoyed with the house he made for them. It was a red brick, center-hall colonial with a porch, a sun deck, two baths, an attic, and a clothes chute, which was my best part. Mother began catching up on her social commitments shortly after we moved in. She was a kind soul who loved to entertain...until Facilities and the public came into the scene.

Bunky's father, a jovial fellow with a sonorous speaking voice, bounced back from an AT&T layoff during the Depression to a profitable career as a radio broadcaster. His mother, who had a more exotic than homely attitude, shared my father's love of detective novels and proved her admiration for his taste by borrowing his favorite novels and failing to return them despite numerous reminders.

Our gas stove had been trouble-free for over a decade and was supposed to last us until I was an adult. Its place of origin was proudly engraved across its white porcelain surface: TOLEDO. It was tall, white, and robust, with bowed legs and pseudo-Chippendale feet with enough space between them to fit us snugly. Mother's nudge reassured me that Facilities and the public would never be able to reach the tiny window across the street because it was so high above the ground.