Back Home, Kopi & I
My buddy Kopi and I — we’ve known each other a mere 70 years or so — had an early Thanksgiving of sorts this past Saturday in Fresno.
And we had no idea it was coming.
We met — as we had months earlier in another jaunt — in front of the 1923 adobe house at Arthur and Weldon where I was born and spent my childhood in the old Fresno High neighborhood.
Kopi and I grew up one block apart on Arthur. Both of us came from poor families. Neither of us had a clue what we wanted to do with our lives.
But somehow, we made it to college, fell in love with broadcasting, worked (or lucked) our way into that world, moved away from Fresno and then eventually came back.
And here we were, on that chilly, sunny Saturday before Thanksgiving, walking back into time again. Our time.
We’ve walked our old ‘hood before, but this time seemed a bit more urgent.
We’re both getting older. Heck, we are old. And in recent weeks here in Fresno, we’ve lost broadcasting friends who were our age, or younger.
Yes, we needed this walk to rekindle some good memories from decades ago, when we were young and carefree and when the whole world was still in front of us.
We started walking north on Arthur, passing houses whose owners we knew well way, way back when we were growing up.
The Garretts across from my house. They owned Garrett Brothers Furniture.
The Petruccis next to them. The Meyers a couple of houses north.
On my side of the street — Mrs. Quinlan’s home, next to mine. She was Mrs. Garrett’s mom.
The Detman house. Mr. and Mrs. Terry’s place. The Terrys had a window in their garage. In our neighborhood, that was a big deal, indeed.
Each house, bringing back memories from a lifetime ago.
And then, on the west side of Arthur, just south of Yale, Kopi’s old place. The place where he grew up — and which, incredibly enough, he and wife Elaine still own.
Elaine was there (left) –– not because she had accompanied Kopi on our trek — but because she’s supervising a partial renovation of the place they now use as a rental.
She greeted me by asking, “How are you?” I said, “I’m getting older.” And I did not mean that in a good way.
Her wise response: “Well, others didn’t have that chance.”
Thank you, Elaine. You are, of course, correct.
Kopi and I walked into the giant backyard. He said it looked much the same as it had when he was playing in it as a kid, decades ago.
His house — like others on our block — is about 100 years old.
Arthur looks much the same as it did when we were kids back in the 1950’s and ’60s. Several generations of families moved in after we left, of course.
And they’ve kept up the pride of ownership we remember from our times there.
We said our good-byes to Elaine and walked to the corner of Arthur and Yale. And there, on the northeast side, was the ranch-style house Kopi and I always admired from the time we were children.
It’s built of redwood — has a gorgeous yard fronting both Arthur and Yale — and it’s where the old Fresno bus route Number Four stopped on its way downtown.
Mom and I caught that bus many times at that corner.
Kopi and I wondered, out loud, about how long ago the house had been built. Surely, we thought, it was newer than others in our neighborhood.
And then we found out.
We saw a woman (left) — her name, we found out, is Karen — walking her dogs in the front yard. Being the gregarious (and nosy) guys we still are, we walked up and introduced ourselves.
We told her we had grown up in the neighborhood and had always liked her place.
She told us it had been built in 1948 and that she and her husband had owned it for the past 15 years or so.
And then — in a really nice act of kindness — Karen invited us inside to see part of it. We had never been inside that house until this past Saturday.
It was gorgeous. Redwood interior with some stylish brick in the living room. An enclosed breezeway that had once separated the house from a mother-in-law space that is now a bedroom.
We gave our compliments but did not want to interrupt her Saturday, so we turned to leave.
She followed us outside and asked us about our names. Dennis and Kopi, we said.
She looked at Kopi and said, “Kopi, like that guy on TV?”
Kopi and I looked at each other, and then I told her, “He IS that guy on TV.”
We continued our walk, east on Yale to the next cross street, Adoline.
Adoline has always been my favorite street in the ‘hood because it’s had trees that canopy it.
I spent more time on Adoline when I was growing up than Kopi did, so I knew more about the houses and their owners.
The Calderwood place. Mr. Calderwood owned a big printing company downtown. Mrs. Calderwood ran an election-day voting site in the garage of their home.
A house owned by the Downeys. He was a retired Navy lieutenant-colonel who worked at Pacific Telephone and who decorated the large bush outside his home every Christmas. At night, I could stand on the corner a block away and see those twinkling lights.
The Tripples’ home. They owned a paint store in Fresno.
The Cuttings’ home at Adoline and Weldon. They owned a saddle shop in town.
Along the way, we talked about what it meant to grow up in our neighborhood. How we never knew we were poor. How we always had food on our table in spite of having no money.
How we had the time of our lives, playing baseball or whiffle ball on our streets in summertime. Every night in summertime.
How we tried to make money by mowing or watering neighbors’ lawns.
And we got tears in our eyes as we talked about our parents and how hard they worked to keep us fed and in decent clothes.
We were almost back to my house when we decided to do something we had failed to do on our last neighborhood walk, months ago.
We knocked on Bob’s door.
Bob lives in the same house where he grew up, seven decades ago.
He’s been there all his life except for two years when he was in the Army in Germany in the late 1960’s.
Kopi and Bob and I had played baseball on the streets in front of his house and mine decades ago.
We knocked on the door. Bob said, “Come in,” and we were transported back a half-century.
Bob was having lunch. He looked well, and his memory was razor-sharp. We asked him about people whose names we could not remember, who had lived in certain homes on the block.
He knew every single one. No hesitation. His memory remains remarkable.
His house looks much the same as we remembered it from the 1950’s and ’60’s
And on the fireplace mantle — picture after picture of his family.
And a photo of me. My graduation picture from Fresno High (left).
My mom had given it to his mom nearly 60 years ago.
And there was the invitation to Sharon and my wedding in Fresno, a half-century ago.
The three of us talked for a few minutes, but Bob was eating lunch, so Kopi and I took our leave.
As we walked back to our cars, we agreed we were so fortunate to have grown up in this old neighborhood. No money back then, but plenty of friends and good neighbors.
It was a great place to grow up. We probably appreciate it more now than we did then. After all, we were just kids, and we didn’t know anything then.
Yes, we had plenty to be thankful for back then. And on this Saturday, we were thankful for who and what we’d just seen — and thankful that, at our ages, we could still walk around and share memories of a lifetime ago.
It was a fine Saturday outing, indeed.