5223 A Itaska

from The Riverfront Times, and not Itaska. Just a streetscape typical of St. Louis

There is the land, a parking lot now, which once held a 2 family flat numbered 5223 Itaska. From 1967- 1971 we lived in the upstairs - apartment A, which I assume stands for above. It was a typical south St. Louis brick building, well built but not beautiful like many of its neighboring dwellings. There was a long porch at the front, and a projection of the upper flat and the porch roof covered the 2 side-by-side front doors. The rest of the porch was uncovered and shaded by the large curb trees. We rarely used the front door, as the back stairway was always open and unlocked during the day. Two mothers were home dutifully managing their apartments every day of the week, and I don't recall ever finding the door locked. The porch was just a place to hang out, and was often unpleasantly littered with pigeon droppings. But when non-gross it was a good spot to play with Scalise kids who lived below us, bringing out the monopoly board for a rousing game of financial conquest. The sidewalk was lined with huge sycamore trees and the gorgeous incandescent street lights, eventually replaced with hideous fixtures some years later. My bedroom windows and those of our living room were above this porch. I loved that room except during thunderstorms when the lightening and thunder seemed much too close to my body with all those windows. I'd run into my sister's room and get in her bed. She could even sleep through tornado sirens. I wished I could.

current view

At some point, Hope Lutheran Church bought this property and the house to its east, the former home of Ott Grebe.

The Scalises were mother Rose, a Topaz wearing, mostaccioli making, robustly vocal corded, (I can still hear her calling, "Tony, Debbie, Joey") diminuitive, teased haired, apron wearing homemaker, her dubious husband Tony, oldest son Tony - a year or two younger than me, Debbie - my sister's age, and little Joey. In our backyard we shared a galvanized agricultural feeding trough swimming pool. It sat in the foundation of the former garage,  and did we love that thing in hot humid St. Louis. The most fun thing to do in it was for all to slide along the edge of it in the same direction for a while, creating a whirlpool, then on command switch direction for a thrilling wave splashing finale. Its main purpose was to keep us cool in the hot muggy summer days. We shared a rusty swingset where we girls, when not shorn into pixies, would fling back our heads not intending to drag our hair on the ground. To our east were the Grebes of Oldsmobile selling fame, to our west Flora Ruggles whose lovely garden captivated me. She had an eye for placement and design that was unique. Even the small patch she tended in the back alley near her trash cans was quaint; sweet peas, lambs ears, bachelor's buttons. Along her fence was my first garden, consisting of red and pink four o'clocks, beautifully fragrant blossoms magically attuned to time. I couldn't believe they knew to open at 4 o'clock and had to plant them to be convinced. My stepdad was happy to help me, being a Scorpio gardener, a true farmer at heart.

examples of stock tank swimming pools. I'd still have one.

The Scalise's would sometimes babysit us, and my mom sometimes babysat for them, a nice arrangement when the parents wanted to go out. I will always remember being in their flat, pajama clad, watching something on tv with Tony the younger which made us laugh so hard we both fell to floor and nearly lost our breath. I'd love to know, if only I could remember what it was we were watching. I have a clear memory of being carried from their apartment, half asleep, up the back staircase one night past the attic fan my stepdad had installed in the second floor landing window. An anxiety-producing fan that I had to pass by every summer day -always with a fear of  a shredded arm. Still, an appreciated fan that made the St. Louis summers more bearable by drawing in the cooler night air. 

School morning breakfasts in the white kitchen with pink, black, and white linoleum floor, was usually cereal, with a radio playing in the background. The Boatman's Bank commercial, and Maull's barbecue sauce commercials are still stuck in my mind from that time. Summer baseball games were broadcast through the back of the house on that little beige radio. The kitchen and my parent's bedroom had doors to a backporch with a railing all around, where we would sometimes sleep on army cots for a change.

Kent and me, 1970

One summer a neighborhood boy had been mean to my sister on more than one occasion. I forget what the problem was, but I borrowed Tony Scalise's wiffle bat and confronted him. Shocked to see a nerdy girl with glasses so pissed off, he heeded my warning and let her alone. I surprised myself and it did me good. I still approve of wiffle bat vigilanteism.

Summers on Itaska sometimes included selling vegetables to neighbors, which I hated. My stepdad, Roger, brought home the vegetables, he, his brother, and his parents grew on their farm in Desoto, Mo.  I am not a door to door salesman, and he did not appreciate that fact about me. I vowed to never do work in the hot sun if I could ever avoid it.  Luckily, I got a terrible case of poison ivy up my arms and into my armpits one summer, which made sweating up and down the block with boxes of vegetables truly miserable and I was allowed to forgo the ordeal. I think that was the last year he brought the vegetables home to sell, too. Immense relief on my part.

Some of my favorite memories are of my mom and sister, my brother in his stroller, and maybe a friend of my mom's, Mary Schmidt, and her children joining us, for a stroll to Velvet Ice Cream Shop on Hampton. Usually, by the time we got there all I wanted was a cherry coke, but that was where I first had a hot fudge sundae. St. Louis was a place of magical desserts as far as I was concerned. We did not have desserts at my grandmother's in SC, only store bought cookies on occasion and even more rarely Krispy Kreme donuts.  Sometimes I would be sent alone to buy a half gallon of ice cream for dessert. No one was happy with me the time I brought home California Lemon, which I alone loved...but they did like the candy cane ice cream I brought home one winter afternoon. The cicadas would be singing evensong, the air cooling if we were lucky, dishes washed and dried and put away, and we'd have our scoop of ice cream and watch a little tv.

So much happened during these years, I will need to come back to this time and place. Serious events that would change us all. But for today, this little look backwards is all I have to share. ~Oldgirl