The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place (10 page)

“We'll see, Margitkám,” Uncle Alex said. But he did not look at me when he said it. “It's very artistic already.”

“Leave it,” Morris said severely to his brother. Then, softening his tone, he said to me, “It's very artistic even without the lemon and lime,
édes
Margitkám. Very artistic.”

—
business was slowing down and down

In 1965 the Fivemile Creek Mall, a vast regional mall, heated in winter and air-conditioned in summer, opened. It was located near the county line, far from downtown, but it had parking spaces for a thousand cars.

Osmond's Department Store moved out of downtown and into the mall. Halley's Hardware became part of the Ace Hardware chain and moved into a strip mall on the state road. The drugstore became a Walgreens and followed the exodus. The Tivoli, an old-fashioned movie theater with chandeliers and a stage and a balcony, tried to hold on by becoming a second-run, dollar movie house, but it had to close.

After office hours, the streets of downtown were deserted.

People couldn't wait to move out of the neighborhood. The Vanderwaals left, and so did the Bevilaquas. Those who could not sell their houses rented them, most often to students from Clarion College who were grateful for the cheap rent.

Jake asked, “What happened to Jewels Bi-Rose?”

“We lost it,” Morris said abruptly.

Uncle Alex explained, “Shoppers had all moved to the suburbs. They had to come to us by car. Parking was tight. People couldn't be sure they would have a place for their car like at the mall. Jewels Bi-Rose was not doing enough business to pay the rent.”

“We held out until 1970, the year our sister died.”

“Then we closed.”

—
we closed

When Clarion State College became Clarion State University, the school built more dormitories as well as apartments for
married students
—
even a day-care center for students with children. Soon the houses around Schuyler Place went empty. They had received more high spirits than high maintenance from the college crowd, so by the time they went on the rental market again, they were in bad shape. The neighborhood went from unkempt to undesirable. During the day, the streets were empty of people and filled with litter. The Bevilaquas' house was the first to be boarded up. At night vagrants lifted the boards from the windows and took shelter in the empty rooms.

Morris and Alex took down the mailbox and had a slot cut into their front door. If a package was to be delivered, the mailman left a yellow notification card, and Morris went to the post office to pick it up.

No one came into the neighborhood unless they had to.

“But you stayed here,” Jake said. “I know the towers must have—”

Uncle Morris interrupted. “The truth? After we paid off our debts, we couldn't afford to move.”

“After we closed the store, we set up a little business here at the house. We used the dining room. Morris had his watch repair shop near the front window. I did a little business in antique china, glass, and silver. All my merchandise fit in one display case. I also did special orders for people who couldn't find a particular pattern. We put a little
Jewels Bi-Rose
sign out front.”

“A mistake,” Morris added. “It was not an advertisement. It was an invitation.”

“We were robbed three times—no, four . . .”

“That's four times within a year and a half. Every six months . . .”

“. . . like clockwork,” Uncle Alex finished, and the brothers looked at each other and started to laugh.

Jake looked puzzled at first, but then he, too, started to laugh.

Still laughing, Uncle Alex said, “We got to be professional victims. The first time we were robbed, people lost their heirloom watches that they had brought in for repair. After that, we hid the good stuff and kept the safe full of junk. Some money—just so they could go away with ready cash. But mostly junk.” Alex wiped tears from his eyes and asked his brother, “Do you remember the time that crook dropped that Daum crystal bowl?”

“Remember? Of course I remember.” Morris looked at Jake and said, “It was a beautiful piece. Amber glass. An antique. I asked the crook to save us the pieces. So he picked them up and cut his hand. He got furious. He hit me on the head. Knocked me out.”

Uncle Alex continued, “After that, we kept handcuffs and socks and tape handy. We found that if we were tied up, the crooks felt safe and wouldn't beat us
up. We didn't want them getting nervous. A nervous crook is a dangerous crook.”

“The clean socks were so that they wouldn't gag us with a filthy rag. We got so that we could tell the combination to the safe with a gag in our mouths.” The brothers looked at each other and broke out laughing again.

Jake asked, “Did they ever catch any of the thieves?” “Yeah. Those kids who broke the Daum crystal bowl. They left bloody fingerprints, and they had a record.”

“What happened to them?”

Alex answered, “They got a few months in jail, but we didn't get any of our merchandise back. Then while Morris and I were at the courthouse testifying—” He started to giggle, and Uncle Morris caught it. As soon as one of them slowed down, the other lobbed it right back. Jake and I watched, as if at a tennis match, and soon we were laughing, too, even though we did not know why we were, except that we couldn't not. Finally, between gasps, Uncle Alex said, “While we were at the courthouse testifying, we were robbed again.”

And Uncle Morris caught his breath long enough to add, “Why should they miss an opportunity like that?”

Uncle Alex said, “The police let us collect the pieces
after they were finished with them. I'll show you the Daum crystal pendants if you like.” He smiled and added, “They are the only parts of the towers that are recorded history.”

Morris said, “This is the strangest thing: Even after the neighborhood got dangerous and we were being robbed on a regular basis, no one hurt the towers. Isn't that funny?”

“I would call it a tribute,” Jake said. “Even Leonardo da Vinci didn't escape vandalism. His model of the horse for the duke of Milan was used for target practice by the French soldiers who conquered Milan.” Jake looked out the kitchen window. It was too dark for him to see anything, but he said anyway, “This looks like a nice neighborhood now. I noticed that the houses on either side of you are freshly painted. The yards look nice, and so do the sidewalks. Everything looks to be in good repair.”

“Not repaired,” Morris corrected. “Don't say
repaired.
Say
restored.”
He put his forefinger to his lips and said, “And don't call it
urban renewal.
Our town fathers made that perfectly clear. Urban renewal would mean that they would tear down all the old run-down buildings and build new ones—bigger and higher. Now they say they are preserving the past. They call it
redevelopment.”

Uncle Alex explained, “Our neighborhood has been officially designated as historical and
charming.”

Uncle Morris said, “I spit on charming.”

Uncle Alex said, “The Rose brothers used to live in a neighborhood. Now we live in Old Town.”

—
call it redevelopment

After the neighborhood around Schuyler Place went from bad to blighted, the city leaders created the Historic Downtown Trust Fund. This was a large sum of government money put aside to loan to people who wanted to buy any of the derelict downtown buildings and restore them. The Uncles' neighborhood qualified.

The city bought the old Osmond's Department Store building and converted it into government offices. They closed off Summit Street downtown and made it into a pedestrian mall.

Being close to City Hall and the county offices, Old Town was a good place for young professionals, especially lawyers, to set up offices. The houses were cheap, and using the trust fund money, they got low-interest loans to convert them into offices with all the necessities of modern electrical wiring and plumbing. All they had to do was agree to obey the regulations about preserving the historical integrity of Old Town. They could restore but not change the front of their houses, and they were to use approved colors when they painted. As
part of the restoration project, trust fund money was also used to pave the alleys and stripe them for parking.

“We got a small business loan from the bank and opened the Time Zone—a kiosk on the ground floor of the Fivemile Creek Mall.”

Morris said, “Most modern watches and clocks need batteries, not a repairman. Nothing ticks anymore. People don't like ticking. Humming is acceptable, but no ticktock. People love digital. With digital, kids don't even have to learn how to tell time.” He made a face. “I spit on digital.”

Alex explained, “We sell watchbands and batteries and what are called fun watches to pay the rent. And
occhiali antisole.”

“Oh, yes. Must not forget the sunglasses,” Uncle Morris said. Even the ends of his mustache turned down. “Here in Old Town, in the pedestrian mall, where Jewels Bi-Rose used to be, the stores that once sold goods and services now sell tchotchkes and three-dollar cups of coffee with as many varieties as Heinz has ketchup.”

Uncle Alex said, “Heinz has only one variety of ketchup.”

“It has fifty-seven. Every bottle of ketchup says ‘Heinz 57 Varieties.'”

“That's what it is, fifty-seven varieties.”

“And isn't Heinz ketchup?”

“Of course Heinz is ketchup. All the world knows that Heinz means ketchup.”

“And does it also mean fifty-seven varieties?”

“Of course. It's their trademark. But either you have Heinz ketchup
or
you have fifty-six other Heinz varieties.”

“If that's what you insist.”

“I insist.”

“May I continue?” Uncle Morris asked.

Uncle Alex nodded and muttered, “One ketchup. Only one.”

Uncle Morris glared at him and said, “I'm continuing, with your permission.” Uncle Alex glared back before Uncle Morris continued. “Where Jewels Bi-Rose was is now Tees for Two. Buy one, get the second one for two dollars more. They are selling T-shirts that say things that even the ACLU would want to flush down the toilet.”

Jake looked at me and laughed. “I've had experience with T-shirts that have been flushed down the toilet—or shower.”

Uncle Morris said, “You can get fifty-seven varieties”—with a sideways glance at Alex—“of cappuccino”—he paused for emphasis—“or patchouli and every other form of incense and nonsense, but
there is not a single place to buy a box of detergent or a roll of toilet paper in the new old downtown.”

—
officially charming

Hapgood, Hapgood, and Martin, the oldest and most prestigious law firm in Epiphany, converted 21 Schuyler Place into offices for their young associates. The city was proud to have them. After they moved in, the business section of the
Epiphany Times
ran a banner headline that said
LAW FIRM STAKES ITS FUTURE ON THE PAST
.
The article featured a four-column-wide, four-inch-long picture showing Taylor Hapgood holding a piece of paper. The caption under the picture explained that he was holding the original deed to the Vanderwaal house. The article quoted Taylor Hapgood, the senior partner in the firm, as saying that he had invested more money in fiber-optic wiring than the original cost of the house had been when the Vanderwaals had purchased it from the Tappan Glass Works.

Geoffrey and Gwendolyn Klinger, both lawyers, moved into 17 Schuyler Place, the house where the Bevilaquas once lived.

“But your property is valuable again,” Jake said. Morris and Alex exchanged a look, and Jake asked, “Isn't it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Uncle Morris said. “Valuable.”

Uncle Alex massaged his neck and leaned his head
back. He closed his eyes and said, “We have lawyers on our right and lawyers on our left. And if lawyers know anything, they know property values.” He charged forward, opened his eyes, and grimaced. “And how to protect them.”

I
told the Uncles that Jake wanted to paint a rose ceiling for me. “A giant rose rose from wall to wall on my ceiling.”

Uncle Morris said, “Very nice. Very decorative.”

Uncle Alex said, “Very nice.” Then, looking mischievously at Jake, he added, “Very
interesting.”

“When? When will he do this thing?”

“On Wednesdays,” Jake answered. “Wednesday is my day off. I'll start the day after tomorrow, if that's not too soon.”

“He'll need a scaffold, Uncles,” I said.

“That is no problem. No problem whatsoever.”

“Not at all,” Uncle Morris said.

“I'll bring the paint,” Jake said. “I have many shades of rose, but first I'll need to see the room to measure the ceiling.”

The energetic, cheerful Jacob Kaplan who took the stairs two at a time was hardly the shuffling handyman who had fixed the shower in Meadowlark cabin. This man walked around humming under his breath. This
man smiled as he took the measurements of the room and studied the ceiling. “It's almost square,” he said. “I'll need to draw a grid. Do you think one of your uncles will help?”

“I know Uncle Alex will be happy to help,” I replied. There was no question in my mind that he would. My father complained that the Uncles spoiled me. It was true that they did let me have whatever I wanted, but I had always figured that that was because I never asked for anything they didn't want to give me. It was equally true that they let me do whatever I wanted, but that, too, was only because I never asked to be allowed to do anything that they didn't want to allow. “Uncle Alex takes the afternoon shift at the Time Zone, so he'll be available in the morning.”