by Beth Lano

Created on: December 07, 2008

Going Home . . .

I grew up in a small town in Indiana, New Castle, whose economy was largely based on the presence of a Chrysler plant. This company manufactured ball joints, control arms and steering knuckles. The plant closed for a while, causing the local economy to tank. (A Japanese company named Metaldyne has acquired the plant, as of 2005, and still manufactures the same products.) But there were several years when the auto workers in New Castle weren't doing so well.

My parents were not involved in this industry. Dad worked for the phone company, and Mom became the office manager for an insurance company. And I was a stellar student, athlete, and musician. Life was good on South 11th Street.

I spent my formative years in a home that wasn't the most "posh" place in town, but was a great place in which to grow up. It was there where I watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon, lying on my tummy in the living room of this house. I had my good friend Kim Summers pierce my ears in my bedroom. I had my 10th birthday party in this place.

There was a "breakfast room" in this house. A beautiful, large kitchen. A dining room with a crystal chandelier (which we had to clean with ammonia twice a year. I still remember the smell.) Four bedrooms were upstairs, and an old claw-footed bathtub stood in the upstairs bathroom.

I slept in a room with my sister Jana that was actually a "sleeping porch." There was a balcony adjoined to that room, and I would pretend I was "Juliet." Unfortunately, I also had to pretend I was "Romeo." (Not too many kids my age were into Shakespeare those days.)

There was an old icebox in the kitchen. We used it to store dry goods.

We had a laundry chute, a front staircase and a back one as well. In better times, I imagine the "sleeping porch" was where the maid slept.

There are so many other details about this house that I could describe to you, because I have dreams about it, often. There were so many good memories there.

So last weekend, when I went home for Thanksgiving and we were making the rounds to visit relatives, I decided I would see my former home one more time.

The house was once white, but now it's brown. The rock wall around it was in great shape, I noticed as I walked up the steps to the front door. The porch swing was new, I noticed. A small Christmas tree was visible through the glass. We used to put our tree there, I remembered fondly . .

I knocked on the door. (This could have been disastrous, depending upon who lived there.) A pretty

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