The Duplex

When Jack and I married at age 20, he was still in college and we had hardly any money. We couldn’t both fit into my tiny efficiency apartment, and buying a house wasn’t even the glimmer of a thought in our minds (no zero-down mortgage loans back in 1971!), so we found a little duplex on Westmoreland Road in Oak Cliff and were thrilled to rent it for $65 a month. A living room, bedroom, bathroom, and galley kitchen – that was plenty of space for us since we didn’t have many possessions. The duplex had tiny front and back yards, and we even got half of a garage, new home to our 1969 VW beetle. We were only a few blocks from my parents, not much farther from Jack’s, and a mile from our church, so our support system was nearby. Our furnishings consisted of family hand-me-downs and finds from Goodwill. The look was definitely 70’s, down to the turntable and stereo system atop a bookcase made of boards resting on cinderblock supports. It wasn’t fancy, but we were content. 

I was pretty naïve, and had never been the owner of a Major Appliance before, so I didn’t realize that it wasn’t a good idea to defrost the refrigerator’s freezer by means of an ice pick. One day I was chopping busily away when I heard a hissing sound. After everything in the freezer thawed out, I realized that I had stabbed a hole in the tube carrying the Freon. Shortly afterward, our Volkswagen was joined in the garage by our Dead Major Appliance. 

The unforeseen drawback of our living arrangement was the fact that, by its definition, a duplex provides two dwelling areas. And on the other side of our all-too-thin walls resided a man who liked to watch late-night reruns of “Mr. Ed.” Every night as we tried to sleep, we could hear “A horse is a horse, of course, of course” coming through the bedroom wall. The guy was nice enough, but he enjoyed mowing the lawn wearing Bermuda shorts and no shirt. Since he weighed about 400 pounds, I was motivated to stay indoors whenever he was out. 

One weekend a friend from out of town came to visit. We took a quilt outside late one night and the three of us laid on the front lawn, looking up at the stars and talking. We fell asleep, right there on Westmoreland with the traffic whizzing by. Of course in 1972 there wasn’t quite as much traffic – but it still amazes me to realize that life was so different then that we didn’t feel any concern for our safety. 

After a year or so, we moved up in the world to renting a 2 bedroom house with a big back yard and – egad! – a dishwasher. I thought I was in heaven. Even after our first daughter was born, we had plenty of room. It wasn’t until we’d been married nearly seven years that we bought our first house. 

I look at our daughters, and their friends, most of whom have waited a little longer to marry and who are buying houses within a year or so of being wed. I’m happy for them being able to take such a major step so soon. But I don’t regret for a minute that we began our journey together as newlyweds who had to wait a while for home ownership. It was all part of the adventure of married life. We were poor in possessions, but rich in love. And, now, happy memories. 

(Dallas Morning News Neighbors 4-22-06)