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Constance Alexander: Passing of old schoolmate recalls fond memories of library and dream house


From the corner of Oak and Maple, hang a left on Linden, go down two blocks and then turn right onto Library Place. Keep walking straight to the end and then stop at Main Street. On your right is St. Francis School, which I attended from Kindergarten to grade eight.

Even today, I could cover that route blindfolded, although there have been some changes since my growing up days in Metuchen, NJ. Where the old convent used to be, is now a parking lot. The CYO Hall is gone too, more parking, and the tidy, clapboard church of my youth is now a fancy-schmansy cathedral.

On sunny days during walks to and from school, the gray slate sidewalks felt smooth underfoot, and the arbor of trees overhead provided dappled shade. Back then, I could name the family that owned each house along the way. Even now, after a quick internet search, I see that two of the houses along Linden still carry the same surname they did fifty years ago.

My favorite part of the walk to school was making the turn onto Library Place. On the corner, a charming cottage with a picket fence nestled on a lot so small there was no lawn; a path rimmed with ivy framed a serpentine brick walk that led to the front door. Pert and trim, that house was just big enough for an only child and a set of parents, the kind of place where a family from television might reside.

For me, the main attraction on Library Place was the Metuchen Free Public Library. Everyone was welcome there, with no barriers associated with race, religion, income, or whether yours was one of the “old” families or the new. I loved the sturdy shelves lined with books, and the peaceful hush achieved by librarians who could quiet a group of rowdy teens with a scowl and a piercing “Ssh!”

My dream house in Metuchen was directly across the street from the library. With a front porch just the size for a couple of rocking chairs, it also boasted a Dutch door. I loved the idea of a portal that could be opened half-way. Top only was enough to converse with the mailman of a morning, while the bottom might be opened long enough for the cat to get outside.

“Location, location, location” has been the mantra of realtors forever, and it was the location of that house that made it my favorite. No one, not even the esteemed librarian, Miss Grace Halsey, could live at the library. Instead, she resided in her family home, down Main Street and off Woodbridge Ave., close to the Presbyterian Church and the train station.

But if I’d had a choice, the next best thing to living in the library would be a hop-skip-and-jump across the street to 11 Library Place.

For me, living in a big house on Oak Avenue had done nothing to relieve my family’s domestic turmoil, but maybe proximity to the library would have made life easier. Books, after all, were the great escape.

The journey from my house to Main Street is on my mind today because news of a schoolmate’s death has reached me, and she actually lived in my dream house. I told her that at our last high school reunion. We hadn’t known each other well in high school, with cliques creating the usual hierarchies, so I never explained the girlish hopes that were entwined with my confession about her house.

After high school, some stayed in our home town and the vicinity while others moved away. There were the predictable highs and lows — Love, work, marriage, children, divorce, care giving, grandchildren, retirement, illness, death of loved ones. When we came back for reunions, we realized we had more in common than we’d been able to acknowledge as kids.

When I got word of Carol’s death, I searched through my old high school yearbooks for pictures but got lost reading the inscriptions. So many things we swore we would never forget have been forgotten.

As the sad news filtered out to former classmates all over the country, Facebook condolences and a flurry of emails shared sentiments and memories. She was described as a kind and caring person, sweet and funny. She enjoyed craft fairs. Was an enthusiastic gardener. Loved riding with her husband, Gary, on his Harley.

“She was the person who represented the best in all of us,” another old friend wrote. “She didn’t have a bad word to say about anyone, always saw the best in everyone…A genuinely good person.”

Now, after a long and courageous battle with cancer, she is at peace. Her funeral is today, Wednesday, Aug. 31. Her family will be able to walk to Mass at St. Francis Cathedral from home. It only takes a few minutes. She will be missed every step of the way, now and hereafter.

ConnieHeadShot071-1-768x1099Constance Alexander is a columnist, award-winning poet and playwright, and President of INTEXCommuications in Murray, Ky. She can be reached at constancealexander@twc.com. Or visit her website.

 


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