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Historical December 1986 report or notice. Original dates, prices and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
Anniversaries are a kind of funny time. They’re a time for looking back and reflecting, yet also a time for thinking ahead to the future. I remember on my tenth wedding anniversary — a group of friends had surprised us with a dinner party — I stood up and said, “And here’s to my lovely wife and seven years of happiness in marriage, and seven out of ten isn’t bad!” After everyone stopped laughing, my wife stood up, held her glass as if to propose a toast, and said, “Don’t kid yourself, buster, try five out of ten.” It seems that when we’re younger we make a bigger deal out of anniversaries. Gosh, when I was in high school it seemed like every day was some kind of anniversary (“Well, Cindy, we’ve been going together for two whole weeks now! Let’s celebrate.”). I’m not sure whether it was because everything was new and exciting or just that the passing of time hadn’t taken on ominous overtones yet.
Now the big 4-0 has passed, I find myself older than any major league baseball player who’s worth his or her salt, and half a century isn’t all that far away. I can even understand why people buy Sinatra records. Anniversaries have diminished in importance.
Oh, sure, I always remember my wedding anniversary. I learned the hard way: one year I forgot and it cost $45 to get a locksmith to come out and get me in the house. I’ve learned now, though.
I have this arrangement with the florist, see. Every year he sends me flowers at work on the day before the anniversary. I give them to my secretary; she thinks I’m wonderful, and I then remember to get my wife a card that night on the way home from work to give her the next day so she’s happy too! Pretty smart, eh?
The bride and I, however, have just had an anniversary that is worthy of note and I want to share the joy with you. You see, ten years ago last month (well, I never was on time) we moved in to this wonderful neighborhood.
It was October 1976. Jimmy Carter was in office, the manager of the baseball Cardinals was Boyer (or was it the redhead?), Poelker was mayor, and the football Cardinals were actually a winning team. Boy, some things really have changed. Pantheon was an organization, but, to my recollection, not a whole lot had gone on east of us. Once, in 1976, while visiting us, my dad got a bit lost and drove down Pershing between DeBaliviere and Union.
He came back with eyes as big as tomatoes (he was in produce) and said, “It looks like bombed out Germany down there! Did you know that when you bought this house!!!” Thanks, dad. , Like almost everyone else back then (why do I feel like I should be sitting in a rocking chair talking?), our parents advised us against buying “here, in the … City.” “Do you know what that neighborhood is like?” my mom asked. “Have you been there at night?” my dad asked. Karleen’s mom said “Why in the world do you want to do this?” Buying the house was actually no easy task.
Most real estate companies wouldn’t show houses in the neighborhood. (Their term “red-lining” had a basis in Skinker-Debaliviere.) Karleen and I first came down here for a “residential house tour” in the spring in 1976.
The “residental service” was an arm of the Skinker DeBaliviere Community Council.
It had been started by Cal Stuart, then Skinker DeBaliviere Executive Director, and John Roach, the alderman of the early 1970s, and was designed to allow young and unsuspecting folks (like us) to come and see homes and get interested in the neighborhood. That first Saturday we were shown around by Susie Roach and Suzanne Hart, both volunteering their time to make the neighborhood strong. lean remember being impressed that people cared enough about their neighborhood to give time and try to attract new people in the area.
Once we picked the house (as I said, it wasn’t hard, it was all we could afford), we started the process of getting a loan.
Everyone said go to Mercantile because they were one of the few banks making loans to the neighborhood (unfortunately Central West End Savings & Loan hadn’t even been founded yet). I, foolishly, thought that I’d be a trend setter and go somewhere else so as to open up other loan opportunities for the folks who would follow me. (As a sign of my high intelligence and reasoning, you should know that as a kid I also tried to wrestle a muzzled bear in a circus.
The bear was easier than the loan.) Suffice it to say that we finally did get a loan, but it was for 15 years rather than 30.
This meant that to get a larger down payment we had to tap my parents, deplete our tiny savings account, cash in my life insurance, and, worst of all, sell my MGB. Every time I see a white ’72 MGB on the road I think of that first house (and the fuel pump which never did work!).
In October the loan closed, the house wasn’t finished, and we moved in. I don’t know which was better, having our own home or having access to our own washer and dryer combination.
The house never really did get finished. (We sold it two years later to move to our current house in the neighborhood and the night before it went on the market I finished painting the bathroom. I remember that the first person who came and looked at the house remarked, “This is really well-kept.
The bathroom looks like it’s just been painted.” Little did she know.) At the time, 1976, I was working on my doctorate at Washington University and Karleen was a teacher at Children’s Hospital.
One of the virtues of this home on the 6100 block of Washington was that I’d be able to walk to school and defy the Arab oil cartel! I attended school for two years and walked once. Do you know how far it is to the campus from there?
If we’d have lived on Pershing or Waterman, that would have been different and I’m sure I’d have walked daily, but Washington Avenue is quite a hike from McMillan Hall.
There was a Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere back then, but it was called The Paper. I remember meeting Marj Weir, then editor, on a snowy night shortly after moving in and telling her that I’d be interested in writing a column. Marj, in her best diplomatic fashion, replied, “Well that would be great, Tom, but we really need people to sell advertising.” Some things never change. (If you’re interested in selling advertising, call Katie Kurtz, our present editor.) Reading the September 1976 issue of The Paper is a trip. (Yes, I still have it.
My wife, you see, uses newspaper to separate her shoes by year and with all her shoes we have practically every newspaper we’ve ever received.
It looks kind of like a stratified soil sample in her closet.) The front page headline read “Historic District Committee Reports Progress,” and another front page article talked about the upcoming Rosedale Neighborhood Association’s Third Annual DinnerTheatre Production. Alderman Vince Schoemehl’s name was prominent in the paper.
There was a “Vicissitudes” back then, too. JoAnn Vatcha was the author and that edition mentioned new neighbors the Gioias and Carolyn Toft Mary Boyts had just been on vacation in Hawaii.
The real estate ad (Feinberg’s was the only one) had a house on 61XX McPherson for $22,000 and one on 62XX Washington for $64,000.
The Paper also talked about “The Neighborhood School,” a private elementary school in the area (which has since gone out of business).
Since 1976 lots of things have happened in Skinker-DeBaliviere. Pantheon succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest hopes (except maybe Leon Strauss’) and everyone’s property values have zoomed. Friends have come and gone and, in some cases, come again. New City School now plays a bigger role in the neighborhood (at least at my house), Union Station is spectacular, our alderman is now our mayor, the Art Fair/House Tour is a thing of the past, we’ve just had a resurgence of the Dinner Theatre, Marj Weir, Betty Kliefeter, Dan Schesch served their time on the Board of Education, and the football Cardinals are losers again. I wonder what the neighborhood will be like in 1996? More Volvos, certainly.
No doubt there will be even higher prices for homes and Skinker will finally be closed at Delmar. More friends and neighbors will come and go and come again and change will be everywhere.
But I gain strength in knowing that some things will be the same, always and forever … like the football Cardinals. Thanks, Skinker-DeBaliviere, it’s been a fun decade.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, December 1986.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Archival transcription note: Source places Jimmy Carter in office in October 1976 and is uncertain about Cardinals manager. Historical recollection retained rather than silently corrected.
Original source: SD_Times1986_12.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 9.
