The house on Lewis

So, as the story goes, I had received encouraging words by way of an eviction notice on the front door of the shotgun house where I “enjoyed”, I mean endured at least a portion of a cold and dark winter thanks to a bills paid arrangement where the electric and gas bill did not get paid and my landlord left my house (rented) and his next door and moved back to Arkansas, (as I later found out).

Fast forward to the three bedroom I felt fortunate to find, which just happened to be right next to my favorite diner, Margie’s. Margie and Walter Dix also owned the house I moved into and Margie’s mother occupied the back bedroom. The house sat right on Lewis Avenue and at first it appeared just another, peaceful quiet neighborhood. It was not. Nearly every night, a police helicopter circled the blackness of the night, spotlight casting a huge circle of light across the rooftops, yards and residential streets in my neighborhood, including my house. Sirens cried out in the night at random times as police cars, fire trucks and ambulances raced past my house at all hours. The People’s State Bank across the street turned out to also serve as a staging area for the S.W.A.T team on occasion. Cops in fatigues and trailers unloading horses for the mounted patrol. Some police officers rode bicycles around the hood. On the opposite side of Lewis was designated Section 8 housing and a high crime area with shootings, drug activity, gang violence, mixed in with “regular folks” who had either been living there long before government-assisted housing became the magnet and the criminals relocated to the 20-block area including 5th to 11th street and Lewis to Delaware Avenue. Tulsa University was just a few blocks east. The heavy presence of local law enforcement was evident and Walter, at Margie’s always carried a loaded revolver nearby. I remember waking up one night because Max, my Chow, was barking his head off. I step out of the front door, looked across the street in the direction that he appeared to be focused on, and in the dark, I saw a figure scale the high cyclone fence an drop himself inside a small used car lot. I walked up to the fence, Max at my side and watched this person, sneaking around between the rows of cars. I went home, called the police and although it seemed to take forever for someone to respond, Mr. Sneaky car thief was STILL there when someone finally showed up and he got caught. Some time later differen night, in the wee hours of the morning, I’m awakened by the familiar sound of a siren. I get up, peek out between the blinds ( my bedroom faced the street) and seconds later, here comes a pickup truck, headed north on Lewis. It flips over and starts spinning on it’s roof, sparks flying everywhere in the darkness as it skidded to a stop, still in sight. In hot pursuit, two police cars appear, brakes screeching as they stop and the cops jump out, guns drawn and hiding behind the doors of their vehicle. Meanwhile, at least one of the “bad guys” is crawling out of the truck. There I was, looking out, eyes wide in disbelief as this whole thing was playing out in front of me, almost as if I were watching a movie. Pretty exciting stuff and probably nothing you’d expect to see in your upper income, gated community neighborhood. When I finally moved out of that area and my wife and I purchased our home, just a few miles away, you would have thought we had moved to a different town. Peaceful neighborhood, quiet street, neighbors (most of them having lived there for years) kids playing in the street without a care in the world and rarely did we hear sirens, day or night. Today, most of the kids have grown up and moved away and some of the original neighbors have moved or died. But the peace and quiet that we discovered and learned to accept as the new normal, are still reasons why we remain here. The house on Lewis Avenue has since been replaced, the street is now a cul-de-sac and Margie’s is a distant memory.