MAY 6, 2024 – Next door to Bob Ehlen lived the Caines—Bill and Molly and their three kids—whose grounds and household were as scruffy and unorganized as Bob Ehlen’s were well manicured and buttoned-down. Our old house at Rice and Green faced the Caine chaos, which was perpetually in session. The center of their three-ring circus was some distance away from the street proper, but it had a way of spreading from inside their modern, flat-roofed, cinderblock house to the dusty grounds some distance around the dwelling. If you were brave enough to get past the hunting dogs and venture around back, you’d be rewarded by another commanding view of the Mississippi that flowed lazily along all the lots on the south side of Rice Street.
From the time my eyes could barely see over the sill of the picture window in our living room, I enjoyed an unobstructed view of the Caines, whose goings-on kept me well entertained. By the time we moved to our new house next door the summer after I’d finished first grade, I knew more about the daily activities of the Caines than of all the other neighbors on Rice combined.
Our new place was directly across from the Caines’ big vacant lot adjoining their house lot. In my family’s first few years on Rice, the vacant lot served as the Caine brothers’ football field, baseball diamond, and if I remember things correctly, their archery range. Before the brothers grew up and the athletic field filled up with trees, from our front yard we had a view of the river.
In the biggest of the old oak trees right along the curb was a lofty treehouse that I was sure had inspired the original storybook version. When Jonathon (whom everyone called, “Jonam”) and his younger (by a year or two) brother, Jeff, tired of baseball or football in the field, they’d repair to their perch and drop acorns and other miscellaneous ordnance on the neighborhood girls—including my two older sisters—who played in the shallow pit at the base of the tree. I was way too young to climb the tree, and the girls’ club wasn’t about to accept me, so as a three- and four-year-old, I was relegated to the role of unofficial observer.
Jeff and Jonam had a younger sister, Jill, one year older than me. She and I were chums, affording me regular admission deep into Caine territory, including the inside of the house. That side of things was every bit as messy as the outside, yet under and behind the abandoned clothes, discombobulated athletic gear, empty food containers, overflowing ash trays, and other miscellaneous stuff and things, I discerned the mark of happy, well-adjusted people. They might not be as “neat” as people should be, I thought, but I sensed likable qualities. They were anything but dull.
For my first couple of years of house visits, a large black bear rug lay on the living room floor. The head was fully intact with jaws wide. I was fascinated by it and would never go inside the house, however briefly, without checking out the fangs and angry eyes and patting the bear head between the ears, amused by the knowledge that the ferocious appearing animal could do me no harm. By the time I was in second grade, the bear rug had been freed from all the floor clutter and was mounted on the fireplace chimney.
If I had no reason to fear a dead bear, I should’ve been more wary of Sparky, the Caines’ cocker spaniel.
One day around lunchtime Jill, Sparky, and I were lined up at the screen door of the front entryway. I was about to leave for lunch at our house when Molly’s beige Pontiac Streamliner turned off Rice and made its way down the long dirt driveway to the house. Sparky started barking and stuck his paws up on the screen door. To allow myself out, I tugged on Sparky’s collar to pull him away from the door. This he didn’t like and before I knew it, the dog had jump straight into my face—BAM!—to bite my lower lip.
If Molly’s appearance had inadvertently triggered the commotion, she was also the one to dispense first aid—washing out the minor wound (as it turned out), then applying an ice cube to it, and assuring me that I’d be okay. She was always a calming influence, and even as a young kid I’d thought of her as smart, confident, and capable.
Caines also owned two Labradors—a black and a yellow. Back in those days dogs enjoyed far more freedom than is the case today. Stormy, the black Lab, wandered freely, at least in our immediate section of the neighborhood. He never took a bite out of my lip, but his size and coloring made him look quite formidable. I was extremely wary of him until one day my fear was outweighed by my strong disapproval. (Cont.)
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
