Around 1975, Mom and Dad moved my older brother, John, and I from Slavic Village, Cleveland to the 4 bedroom bungalow in Garfield when I was 4 years old. I remember grandpa's old red Ford truck backing up to the side door of the large white split-level great grandpa and great grandma owned off 71st and Ottawa. After we moved out, grandma and grandpa moved in upstairs.
I loved the neighborhood, loved the friends I had. But the one person we all loved the most was Joe.
Joe was a lesson in good neighboring. Every Christmas he would deliver homemade cookies to the neighbors. When my mom dropped her keys down the sewer, he did what he could to help her, even though it was us kids who had distracted her in the first place. He took part in the neighborhood watch, especially when my cousin Vince came down from Texas to visit and we weren't home at the time. Joe carded him and took him into his home to ask him some questions - just to make sure he was safe. "You got quite a neighbor there," I remember Vince saying. He talked to everyone and could always be seen with a smile on his face - especially when it came to his music.
Polkas are happy songs. Do you know there are thousands of polka songs from different countries - Germany, Poland, Russia, even Mexico, etc. and only one dance move. I have watched polka shows online and offline and have only seen one dance move. Round and round they go and every once in a while you see a woman being spun. Its kind of like the cherry on the sundae. But its happy music and when I think of Joe, it becomes his personality.
At the parties, people would pitch in: food, soda, alcohol, tables, chairs. We had a neighbor across the street, Mr. and Mrs. Wright, who couldn't come over because of their health, so they would sit out on their front porch and listen. The neighbors would congregate in Joe's backyard with their lawn chairs or the picnic tables set up out there. In his garage the band played and there were two picnic tables set up, where dad liked to sit and drink his beer with the guys.
In the summertime, the ladies would coordinate block parties with Joe's band which made for more fun. People danced in the driveway as the band played. I remember dancing with grandma a lot and dad inviting family members to come over and kick back for a while. As for us kids, we could play through anything - except when the band started marching down the drive, playing their instruments. We would all follow them laughing and dancing behind them. We would march down the drive, make a left to the end of the street (3 houses down), then back up a ways and turn back down the street in this huge circle and up into the drive and stop in the garage where the song would end and the band would take a long break.
Joe was a widower who had one older son and I remember him being over the house quite a few times. Friendly and talkative like his father. But the most loved person in Joe's life was his mother and he did take care of her. I remember at one party seeing a frail-looking woman sitting in a lawn chair facing the band. She sat there with a smile watching her son play, with pride. It was her birthday and the whole neighborhood was there to celebrate it with her, but in her eyes she was celebrating her son. I wish I had known her better.
Joe's band played at events including my Uncle Eddie and Aunt Sally's wedding reception and my first communion - which was a blast only because I got to stay up late and hang out with my friends.
When Joe played, people forgot the bad things going on in their lives. They kicked back and took the music in and danced, laughed, enjoyed each other's company. Joe's parties kept all of us together - gave us something to look forward to and share with others.
It must have been 1980 or 1981 when mom and dad found out that Joe was fighting lung cancer. His son was taking care of him and taking him to the doctor. Those were dark and bleak days for the neighborhood when Joe was too sick to visit. One summer afternoon, I saw dad and two other neighbors talking to Joe's son. As they talked, I noticed a tired and weak Joe sitting in the back seat of his large station wagon. The door was open and he was turned facing my backyard, just staring at the ground. Sometimes I wish I had said something to him to make him smile. But truth is, even though my parents told us he was sick, I never really understood. I thought he would live forever. But the night Joe's son ran over to get my dad changed all that. Joe had fallen and one other neighbor along with my dad helped get him off the floor.
A short time later, the band along with the neighbors got together to have a polka party in Joe's backyard. It was our way of giving to Joe what he had given us for so many years. And to my surprise the man played his banjo! As tired and weak as he was, he didn't let that stop him from playing. People cheered for him, danced, laughed, some of the neighbors were even playing in the band. It was the best party we ever had.
It wasn't long after that when Joe died peacefully. Mom and dad went to the funeral and I think us kids stayed home (at least that's how I remember it) - I was around 10 years old maybe older.
The neighborhood was quiet after that. The glue that had held us all together was gone and in the time that followed, new neighbors replaced some of the old neighbors, but it's like God was still blessing us. We had new neighbors who were friendly like Joe, and didn't mind stepping away from their life to talk for a few minutes. Real neighbors.
My old neighborhood is a testament of how neighboring should be, not just a thing of the past. As I look around this small divided farm town I live in now, we say hello to one another but we really don't know our neighbors. There are some that I really don't want to know, but I need to keep the peace with. Part of my problem is living so far from home, but I believe God is trying to teach me something. I believe He is reminding me of where I came from so I can pass on that lesson to others. "Love your neighbor as yourself," appears several times in the New Testament and it means so much more than implied. Loving our neighbor means to talk to them, get to know them (a big challenge for me). To be at peace with them because you never know when you will need their help - don't burn your bridges. But above all, pray for them. Cover them with the blood of Jesus and pray for them - even if they are the most cantankerous neighbors you have ever had and are making your life miserable. Pray for them because you could be the only ones lifting them up to the Lord. Praying for them equals fighting for them and that could make a big impact on your relationship with them and with the Lord.
Lord, thank you for the fun memories of Joe and his polka band. Thank you for allowing me to take it all in and to remember how he blessed all of us and how we blessed him back in his darkest hour. I know you were there even though at the time I didn't understand. Help us Lord to carry on the lesson of neighboring to our own neighborhoods and in turn bless those areas with your peace and salvation. Help us to show your love to others and keep praying for them despite the circumstances around us. Change our hearts so we will all see you. In Jesus name, Amen.
