For Elizabeth Sherwood Long

The woman who owned our house before us died this past Sunday. I wrote this story shortly after we moved in because I was so touched by a letter the Long's daughter left for us on moving day. This past week I found in small print on our basement wall the words Jane Was Here. I'd never seen it before. Jane is the daughter who wrote the letter. Here goes:

On the day of the walk-through, I was running late. We were loading up a moving van and our closing was 3 hours away. I met Chris, my realtor, at the door and we took a quick tour of the place. It was clean, all their furniture and belongings were gone. Fine, fine, everything looks fine. We’d started upstairs and made our way down to the first floor where Chris found a note on the kitchen sink. On pieces of hotel stationery, someone had written these words:

To: The new people who will live in this house.

My daughter told me to leave a note so you would know how important this house was to us all who lived and grew up here, the last forty-three years. There were nine of us originally and almost every night we sat down to dinner in the dining room together. My dad liked to talk politics which my mom hated, but the rest of us enjoyed talking about ideas – and I think this house will remain with us as an idea.


We loved, lived and lost while living in this house, or just visiting our parents. My youngest brother kept an alligator in the bathroom on the 3rd floor. My wedding reception(s) were here. All the holidays…


Best of luck. I hope you have an emotionally enriched time living here.


Sincerely,
Jane

The year had been difficult for our little family and the note just put me over the edge. I’m sitting in my soon-to-be new kitchen crying with my real estate agent, realizing for the first time the significance of this house to the people leaving it.

Buying a home is like buying a car I suppose - a transaction that satisfies a need or want. You test drive several, do research and ultimately purchase what feels right. But you never really know what you’re going to get until you are in it everyday.

At the closing, the seller’s attorney told us more about this family. He’d grown up with some of their six children. They’d lost a son in a car accident he said, as my only child and son sat there fidgeting in his office. There were nine of us originally…

I’d first come to the house bearing low expectations. The owners were older and would be at home during the showing. We planned to move through quickly and get out. When we opened the door we thought there must be some mistake about the price. It was a beautiful old home, granted in need of much repair. The lady of the house greeted us with the hesitation that comes from having strangers parade through your home at all hours of the day. She and her husband would be sitting on the back porch with their dog.

We were trying to keep our voices down as we moved from room to room, each time surprised by how big the place was. Incredibly, it even had a third floor. The bad news? It was in bad shape. The walls looked like cork board pieced together with tape. But the rest of the house had beautiful hardwood floors, a fireplace, and moulding - all the loving details new homes don’t have. And there were the usual old-house problems. Lack of closet-space, cracking plaster, outdated everything.

We stopped to introduce ourselves to the man of the house and the dog Snoopy. We thanked them for their time and left. The key to buying a house is of course getting the best possible price. Acting casual was essential to creating the illusion of not really wanting the place. So I called my husband after driving down the street a bit and told him I’d found the place for us. We arranged to come back over the weekend.

On Saturday, we came through again. They were home again. My husband walked through while my son and I visited with the owners and their dog. We decided to make an offer that day and left it in the hands of our agent. That night at a party, we got a call about the place. The bid was too low. The husband was not enthusiastic about selling and would not agree to anything less than the price on the listing. My dad liked to talk politics…

My husband and I talked it over and decided it was worth it. They were planning an open house for Sunday and the risk of losing it was just too much for us. We agreed to meet their price and the house went under contract.

Since moving in, I’ve stayed in touch with the owners. Our new neighbors have been very welcoming but I get the sense this will never be our house entirely. In the kitchen, we found the place they’d used to measure their kids as they grew. Small pencil markings on the door frame with a name inscribed just to the right. We still get their mail, which I deliver from time to time. They moved into a small condominium complex down the street. He looked so sad the last time I came by. He misses his home.

We bought this house thinking how much work needed to be done to her old bones. We thought of everything we would change as soon as we got a chance. Make a fresh start in our new home. Now I can’t bring myself to paint over those names in the kitchen. It just doesn’t seem right.

My daughter told me to leave a note so you would know how important this house was to us all who lived and grew up here, the last forty-three years.

Tim Russert

My father and I both liked Tim Russert. Very unusual that we would find common ground what with his Fox News leanings and my radio dial tuned to All Things Considered. In March of this year, I attended the Herblock Prize award ceremony and lecture. Russert was the featured speaker. He was smaller in person and slimmer than he appears on TV. It’s that new high-definition. Ultimately it will force actresses into negative sizes.

In his remarks, Russert recognized the man behind the evening, Herb Block, the renowned editorial cartoonist for The Washington Post and my one-time boss. He spoke of Block’s kindness and humble nature, that Block viewed cartooning as his vocation and his passion and a chance to “pop somebody right in the nose” if he deserved it.

Then in typical fashion, Russert began to crack wise. He mentioned Herb Block’s proclivity for leaving his wallet behind whenever they went to lunch. He made fun of Ross Perot who once became angry during an interview and said, “I wish I knew you were going to ask me all these tricky questions.” One time Russert was on an airplane and he asked the flight attendant what she thought of Perot. She said, “Perot strikes me as the kind of guy who would never return his tray table to the upright position.”

Russert spoke of this administration and said “I am angry” He called it the imperial presidency – from waterboarding, to their contempt for the Constitution. Russert said it was “gross misjudgment at best, airtight deception at worst.” He said it was the job of the press to be America’s watchdogs. “For the sake of ours and future generations, we must continue Herb’s work.”

Russert spoke of his beloved Father memorialized in his book “Big Russ”. He told us about his father driving a truck for the Buffalo News when he was a kid and that he believed a newspaper was something to be treasured.

He paid tribute to Sister Mary Lucille who was his teacher in the seventh grade. One day she said, “Timothy we need an alternative vehicle to channel your excessive energy.” Russert started a school newspaper. He wrote a special editorial when JFK was assassinated and sent it to Johnson, Jackie and Bobby and received letters from all three in response. “He’s one of us,” my father said. “Irish Catholic.”

Russert told a series of Yogi Berra stories to lighten the mood. A reporter once asked Yogi who is favorite roommate was on the road. Yogi said it was Whitey Ford. Then the reporter asked Whitey who was his favorite roommate. “Angie Dickinson,” he replied. As I’m writing this story, I’m thinking that may have been one of the greatest qualities of Tim Russert. He hit hard, but he also understood the importance of humor and he had a sense of fair play.

He then introduced a very interesting line of thinking. He was talking about all three presidential candidates as Clinton was still in the race in March. He said all the candidates had shifted their views on issues like the war, NAFTA, taxes and the religious right. Russert said it was his job to elicit not only who they are after they become President but who they were before. And that we should allow for the possibility that candidates can change their mind about an issue after learning something new, a quality much needed these days but almost never seen.

Russert asked Herb Block one time about his famous Cheshire cat cartoon. Block said he thought that when Nixon took office, he deserved a fresh start. He was willing to wipe the slate clean. Block then said, “But I always knew the beard was underneath,” a reference to Block’s depiction of Nixon with a five o’clock shadow. Russert referenced another political candidate who said, “The damn media, there you guys go again. Actually repeating what we actually said.”

Russert said he wanted to understand the candidates’ intellectual journey. He would love to hear one of them say I’ve changed my mind and let me tell you why. This is who I’ve talked to. “I respect that," said Russert. “A willingness to change your mind in light of new information.”

On March 16, 2003, Dick Cheney appeared on Meet the Press and Russert recounted asking him about the Iraq invasion. Cheney insisted American soldiers would be greeted as liberators in Iraq. Russert posed the question again. “If your analysis is not correct and we’re not treated as liberators but as conquerors and the Iraqis begin to resist particularly in Baghdad, do you think the American people are prepared for a long, costly and bloody battle with significant American casualties?” The Vice President responded, “Well, I don’t think it’s likely to unfold that way, Tim, because I really do believe we will be greeted as liberators.”

“We have an obligation to find out what happened and why. Honest inquiry asking for honest answers,” said Russert. “We should continue to ask the same questions of the 2008 candidates. What plans do they have for our country if in fact they have them at all?” Herb Block had it - the courage and willingness to sit and draw and write and express his views. Block said, “Every cartoon I do is a signed commentary. My point of view. I’m proud to express it. I’m free to express it.”

Russert concluded his remarks, “Every candidate has strengths and weaknesses. They should be able to explain how they arrive at their conclusions and explain with as much specificity as possible. Do they think they wouldn’t sound credible if somebody said, ‘I don’t know. Can I get back to you? Or I made a mistake.’”

Monty is no Angel

My brother suggested this so I will try it. I have a neighbor named Monty from the Bronx. My brother said I should write about him because he is god-like and peaceful and a savior in my case. Here's the deal. Monty rang my doorbell the other day because he found our tax refund in the street.

This was a huge thing and I was very grateful to Monty.

Monty is a quiet, nice old man who walks up and down our streets like an elderly neighborhood watch. I do believe that he prevents crime. But he's no angel, nor is he god-like.

It's funny how you assign innocence to older people when the fact is they've lived full lives, sometimes on the fringes. So the first time I realized this about Monty was when he made a comment about my legs. He said to my son something about having a tough time keeping up with me with "those legs".

Then there was some talk about niggers. I have to say that this one of my least favorite words. It's one of those words that immediately turns me off someone. I know Monty is from the Bronx and that is no doubt a difficult place to live but I still hate the word. It's like being called a cunt. That is actuallly my least favorite word of all.

I tried to get past the nigger comments but it left a bad taste in my mouth about Monty. I politely wave to him but that's about it.

The other day he came to my door. Monty had a letter for me. He said he found it in the street. I looked at it and realized immediately it was our tax refund.

He found it in the street he said. Out in the middle of the street sat thousands of dollars that by the way we normally OWE the government.

Monty saved me. There's the rub. Monty saved me. I want to look down on him for using the "n" word but the truth is he saved me. Maybe he is always saving us in his walks around the neighborhood. I honestly don't think he's doing any harm.

Monty passed away suddenly in October. His real name was Matteo.