Herb Benham: Neighborhood evolves and I'm still standing
Jun. 21—Friends are returning to the neighborhood. "Returning" because they lived here once and they moved north.
Not Northern California or the North Pole but north of 24th Street so they might as well have moved to the moon as far as some people were concerned. "Some people" because downtown is divided between the northies and the southies, and given the enormity of 24th, normally the twain do not meet.
That's a joke. A neighborhood joke. What it lacks in humor, it makes up for in familiarity and usage.
Our neighborhood, like many, is changing. Neighborhoods are always changing but with the house-buying frenzy, this seems truer than usual now. There are more moving vans, yard sales and faces bright, friendly but new.
Change means neighborhoods are becoming younger even while some of us refuse to get older or ignore signs that we might be. We cling to this illusion as we line up blood tests and doctor's appointments like tin soldiers ready to do battle against unseen enemies that are remarkably indifferent to our galaxy of achievements.
When we moved in 35 years ago, we were the hot young things. The young lions and lionesses with a pride of cubs. We organized the cow plop at the Franklin School Carnival, competed in the soap box derby against other hot-blooded, wood-whittling fathers and helped decorate our kids' bikes in red, white and blue for the July 4th parade. The women did most of the work and received about 10 percent of the credit.
The older folks included Wim and Betty Cooper, Charles and Mary Dodge, Jean and Rusty, the Bellues and "I can't get no air" Frank.
They were the backbone of the neighborhood and provided historical context and we were the breath of fresh, if not hot, air moving through.
Now we're them and them is gone. We speak of them fondly in the same way that we hope the present generation will remember us, but we may be surprised. They were from the greatest generation and we were from the less-great generation.
In their stead, and ours too, young mothers and fathers walk the streets pushing stout baby strollers. Before you know it, that baby is walking or riding a bike with training wheels and there is another baby lodged in the stroller like a warm loaf of bread.
Some are producing children like GhilaDolci Bakery is knocking out cannoli cookies. They're also planting trees, tearing out interior walls, modernizing bathrooms and putting their imprint on a neighborhood that has had five or six historical iterations.
Sounds familiar. Sounds like what people do. Sounds like what neighborhoods become.
It's fun to see kids, some of them ours, return to the neighborhood in which they grew up. You see this in other parts of town too. It's a credit to neighborhood loyalty and happy childhoods.
The friends who are returning are part of the young-at-heart group. They know the history. They are also willing to splash new colors on the ongoing mural that tells the story of this place.
We had a welcome-to-the-neighborhood party for them recently at the house of a friend who lives a couple doors down from where they are moving. The idea was to introduce them to the neighbors who did not know them. Celebrate too and we don't need much of a reason these days.
"Why don't you give a toast?" Sue whispered, halfway through the party.
I did and after droning on for a paragraph or two and realizing no one was listening, I petered out midsentence and retaliated by reloading my plate with chicken strips from Mossman's and homemade Texas sheet cake. I had become the elder statesman without the statesman part.
No matter. It was good to be here. Still standing after all these years.
Herb Benham is a columnist for The Bakersfield Californian and can be reached at hbenham@bakersfield.com or 661-395-7279.
