”
Good fences make good neighbors,
”
Robert Frost wrote in his poem
”
Mending Wall.
”
If only it were that easy, Mr. Frost. If only.
Earlier this year, I rented out a home in Hollister to a family
I thought were going to be the perfect tenants. Everything seemed
to check out well in my initial investigation.
“Good fences make good neighbors,” Robert Frost wrote in his poem “Mending Wall.”
If only it were that easy, Mr. Frost. If only.
Earlier this year, I rented out a home in Hollister to a family I thought were going to be the perfect tenants. Everything seemed to check out well in my initial investigation.
Unfortunately, two or three weeks after they moved in, my phone started ringing late at night with neighborhood complaints about my new renters. Pounding “boom-boom” music at all hours. Dogs howling and barking late at night. Dogs running loose and scaring folks. Belligerent behavior. Obnoxious honking of car horns and other disturbances after midnight. And worse problems.
It got to the point where I hated answering my phone.
How did it end? Let’s just say, I hope my former tenants found neighborly enlightenment in their next abode.
Good fences don’t always make good neighbors.
Generally speaking, I’ve always got along well with the folks who live nearby. Growing up in Hollister when it truly was a small town, I learned the importance of neighborly conduct early on.
My family lived in a house on a hill overlooking the downtown. The Butler family, a nice couple with several kids, lived nearby. I remember often playing with Janine Butler, a tomboyish girl who had an amazing knack for vividly telling movie plots. I really liked Janine.
Doug Butler, her brother, was nine or 10 years older than me. Sometimes as a kid, I’d do my Saturday morning chore of pulling weeds out of the geranium bed, and Doug would start throwing little white decorator rocks at me. He’d call me nasty names to try to make me cry. I did not like Doug.
The thing I especially remember about the Butlers is how truly neighborly they where when my dad suffered a major stroke that paralyzed his body. Mr. and Mrs. Butler often helped my mom with chauffeuring me to or from school, or getting groceries. They went above and beyond the call of neighborly duty. If they might happen to read this, I’d like them to know I’m truly grateful for their being such wonderful neighbors in my family’s time of need.
Only one time do I recall ever personally having a – well, let’s call it an “negative neighbor episode.” It happened on a Fourth of July when I lived in a San Jose neighborhood of ranch-style homes. At twilight, I
stepped outside and saw the gentleman who lived across the street.
“Mr. X” loved spending his evening time watering his front-yard rose bushes. Frequently, I’d chat with him during his chore.
I’d earlier found out from another neighbor “Mr. X” had recently tied the knot in matrimony. So on that Independence Day, I casually crossed the street and started to offer my hearty congratulations.
Without warning, he started yelling obscenities at me and repeatedly called me a “snob.” From his stagger and slurred speech, I kind of got the notion he might’ve drunk a couple more brewskies than prudent at his Fourth-of-July barbeque.
He threw his garden hose hard on the bushes and rushed at me as if he wanted to punch my nose. I stepped back and used a pacifying voice to calm him down.
What had I done to ignite “Mr. X’s” fury? Well, two weeks before, he said, he’d been outside watering his roses when I’d pulled out of my driveway. Seems I failed to wave at him as I drove by.
I couldn’t recall the incident, but I apologized if he felt hurt by the slight. I never again felt comfortable talking to “Mr. X.”
I don’t think I’ve done anything to get any of my Morgan Hill neighbors upset with me. I make
sure now to wave at everyone when I drive down
the street.
My current next-door neighbors, Carol and Bob, are the best neighbors anyone could ask for. (They read this column so that’s why I just wrote that last sentence.) I take care of their fish and water their plants when they’re away. They watch my home when I’m gone.
Sometimes I tell them I’m concerned I might being playing my stereo or the TV too loud, but they insist
they never hear it. We’re good neighbors.
As for the word “neighbor” itself, it has its origin in the Old English. It evolved from the word “neah” which means “near,” and “gebur” which means “dweller.” It sounds nicer to call the Butlers, “Mr. X” and Carol and Bob “neighbors” instead of “near dwellers.”
I’ve discovered there’s tons of benefits to socially getting to know your near dwellers, er, neighbors. It feels good to live in a place where folks know you and like you. It also feels good knowing if you ever need that cliche “cup of sugar,” – or there’s a serious emergency – you can call on a friendly neighbor for help.
And studies have shown neighborhoods where people genuinely know and care about each other are less likely to have crime incidents.
Sept. 26 is National Good Neighbor Day (held every fourth Sunday in September). If you don’t know your neighbors yet, it’s the perfect occasion to introduce yourself.
Some neighborhoods hold block parties to commemorate the day. Some folks invite neighbors over for dinner
or bring them a casserole
or cookies.
But of course, Good Neighbor Day is not the only chance you have to get to know the people who live near you. Opportunities abound all the time.
Getting to know your neighbors can be as simple as just saying “hi” if you happen to see them outside picking weeds in the geraniums or watering their roses. Believe me, a friendly chat is better than throwing decorative rocks at your neighbors – or punching them in the nose if they didn’t wave at you.
