By Jim Hagarty
There are 40 houses on my block in my small city, bounded by Romeo Street on the west end and Burritt Street on the east.
When I moved here in 1986, I was number 40 on the list of homeowners on my street. Mr. Newbie. As fresh as they came. All 39 other homeowners had been in their houses before me, were here when I came. I couldn’t have looked any newer if I had just rolled off the assembly line in the maternity ward of the local hospital just up the street where, indeed, the world became a brighter place one snowy January day in 1951.
That was 30 years ago last month since the movers dumped all my stuff at my house while I was at work and now, through the twin miracles of Time and Life, I am number 6 on the list. Thirty-four of the 39 homeowners that used to be ahead of me have moved on, one way or the other, either to other towns, other homes or that glowing condo in the sky.
I am gunning for number 1 so I can legitimately be called King of Albert Street, although I suspect that’s what everyone calls me now anyway (because of my vast wealth – and the moat I dug around our castle.)
I see George down the street has his house up for sale. I will soon be Number 5.
Before I got here, I had moved 11 times in my life. When I first walked in the front door of the house I’ve called home for the past 30 years, I said to myself, “They can carry me out of here someday.” That prospect is looking more and more likely.
I like it here.
As King of Albert Street, I plan to rule as an benevolent monarch. My first move will be to knight my neighbour Jim across the street. He keeps me filled in daily on all latest neighbourhood news. The thing you have to do as a benign ruler is always keep your ear to the ground.
And be good to your subjects.
On the day of my coronation, there will be free cherry pie for everyone!
