Losing Old Neighbors is No Fun

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE

of the editorial page staff

published by the StarTribune

June 7, 1958

   THE FAMILY next door moved out the other day.  When the van pulled away it hauled along a lot of roots that had been nourished by 14 years of enriching association.  Two generations of Browns had lived there, dating back to 1912 when house and neighborhood were new.  We felt somehow deserted.

   The incident drove home an old truth, that most of life's blessings, if enjoyed long enough, come to be taken for granted and are only missed when snatched away--comfortable living, good food, good health and good fellowship, the kind born of binding incidents, common problems, shared laughs and close proximity.

   WE'VE ALWAYS had good neighbors and fully expect our luck to hold.  Because people are fundamentally considerate, neighbors usually are good, and despite the wails and dire prophecies anent the younger generation, we've found neighborhood kids more boon than bane.

   None of our neighbors ever was nosey, fussy or crabby.  We've never had one who made a habit of dropping in for coffee and conversation at wrong times.  None ever seemed compelled to alert us to the fact that Hortense Wintergreen down the block would get into trouble if she continued stepping out with that no-good Beeler boy.  None ever tried to mind our business or let their young barge through the door without knocking.

   We've had no more than the normal neighborhood dog nuisances.  Whenever I've fumed at having to tidy up the lawn after a pooch's call I've been reminded that we also once had a dog which wasn't particularly fastidious.

   NEIGHBORS are a definite asset.  It is comforting to know there is someone to call on in time of crisis, such as when you run out of eggs or your pride and joy has made an unannounced raid on the refrigerator, going south with all the milk.

   And when some demanding errand takes you suddenly away for an hour at night and you can't track down a sitter, it's wonderful to have a neighbor willing to keep vigil over Junior.

   THE BROWNS measured up on all counts.  They'd take in the mail when we were on vacation.  They'd tend the parakeets.  They'd lend us what we were out of and always gave more than they received.

   These are not uncommon courtesies, you may say.  Most neighbors will do the same.  But what made the Browns especially nice to live near was that nobody in the clan was a do-it-yourself wizard.  It borders on libel to say it, but I suspect that none of them ever knew any more about the mysteries of plumbing, wiring and carpentry than I know.

   This hasn't always been my privilege.  I have had neighbors who, though kind and generous, were such expert and willing helpers they made me uncomfortable.  Not only did they know what to do before the electrician came, they knew so much he seldom had to come.  They knew instinctively when I had been over-diligent with a pipe wrench and would charge in, push me aside, and take over.

   You quickly feel under too great obligation to such neighbors.  You also feel a cringing inadequacy.

   DURING the years the Browns were neighbors I painted the garage twice.  None of them ever came over to kibitz the job or to grab the brush and say,"Here, do it this way."  They never told me I should have scraped the structure before painting, never said I should have first applied a primer coat.  A small thing, perhaps, but inattention that I appreciated.

   I also was glad I got only sympathy when the furnace went haywire.  Over the long pull, I prefer sympathy to help.

   I hope that their attitude was the same.  About the only help they ever got from me was the loan of a shovel.  Perhaps after noting my garage jobs they knew my capacity for assistance was small.  How right they were.

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