Reading about the possibility that Donald Trump would refuse to leave the White House(on the right) to allow President-Elect Joe Biden to move in, I thought back to 1955 and the house on the left. Our next door neighbor’s aunt had died and left him her house. It was an enormous place, filled to the brim with her hoards including ceiling high piles of old newspapers, and the neighbor wanted nothing to do with the place. Meanwhile with my mother expecting her fourth child and us living in a small two bedroom house, my parents were willing to buy the place, hoards and all. He only had two stipulations. He didn’t want to have to go in the house himself. And we had to continue to let Norman live there.
Norman, an odd man in his late 30’s, occupied a bedroom on the third floor. Perhaps he was the last resident of the boarding house that our neighbor’s aunt ran. He was a small man perpetually smelling of cigarette smoke. My desperate parents took up the offer and we acquired a new house and a new boarder. He paid no rent and made his own meals.
Norman gave me the creeps, though I couldn’t have told you why. He regularly baby sat us, apparently having earned my parents’ undeserved trust. One evening as we sat on the sofa watching television he bent over me and started kissing me. No fool I, even at seven, I pushed him away in disgust. Then I told my mother. Norman left. The house was ours for the first time.
Let’s hope it takes much less than that appalling scene for Trump to move out!