This is a little something from B...
So, have you ever wondered about who lived in your house before
you did? What they did there? Whether they were happy there or not?
Jora and I have. Our
first house was 100 years old and we couldn’t fathom all the
possibilities. We would wonder who might
have been born or even died there.
Whether they liked living there.
Whether they ever drove by, wondering about us.
Our house now is different.
It had only one prior owner, as all the neighbors made clear when we
moved in. They each would tie us to the
property by the only prior owners: “so you’re the ones who bought Dr. Hindman’s
house.”
We learned that Robert Hindman had the house built for his young
family (his wife, Spence, and his two kids) in 1962.
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| {Robert Hindman, 1961} |
Dr. Hindman lived in the house until the day he died, from
cancer, in 2006. He was 85 by then.
Although the neighbors all spoke of Dr. Hindman’s energy and
work around the property, by the time we came along you could tell the house
and its owners had aged together. The
house sagged in certain places and was overgrown in others. “Entropy” is the word I would later learn to
describe what was happening.
So, we spruced up the house and property before we moved
in. In the process, I searched for and found
the architect Dr. Hindman had hired 45 years before to design the house. His name is John Mock. He is living in retirement not far away. Sounds like it would be easy to find him, but
it wasn’t.
John and I talked several times before I could finally convince
him to come out and see the house and the ongoing remodel. Over time, he told us stories about how
special the house was for him all those years before; how it changed his
life. He was only 28 years old when he
designed it, as a “moonlighting” job. He
described how he rocked his kids to sleep with his foot while he was drawing
the plans, late at night. (Plans we now
have, drawn with pencil on a rice paper of some kind.) John explained that the house changed his
career, gave him the momentum he needed to start his own firm. He spoke very
highly of Dr. Hindman, and what a great client he was. And, for the 100th time, we heard
how much Dr. Hindman loved the house.
(As an aside, I was getting a historic designation for the
house when I met John. I raised the fact
that the house had classic “Mid Century Modern” stylings. When I said this, John said that he had only
recently even heard the term--“Mid Century Modern”—and, when he heard it, he
thought it was a reference to the mid-1800s He said he couldn’t imagine having grown so
old as to hear of his work referred to by the century.)
Over time, John searched his files and gave me Kodak slides of
the pictures in this post. Here is one
with Dr. Hindman, with his wife, Spence, and their son during construction in
1961:
Anyway, we moved in.
Time passes, as it always does.
And, as it did, you make this change and that to the house. You start to forget that it is “Dr. Hindman’s
house”—not yours. Then, from out of the
blue, you get a card postmarked from a town in Idaho you’ve had never heard of.
And, this is what it says:
“I am Bob and Spence Hindman’s granddaughter. A few
weeks ago I ran across some online pictures of the renovations you have made to
the home. I felt compelled to send a note saying what an amazing job you
have done. My Grandpa loved that house and would have been so pleased his
home is so obviously loved and well taken care of. I wish you many happy
memories and a home filled with laughter and joy. Sincerely, Leasa
Greer.”
Being me, I found Leasa too.
And called her. Later, after she moved
back to California, Leasa came over one day and shared stories about her granddad
and the house he loved so much.
Here is Leasa’s mom as the house was being built in 1961:
So, this should be the end of the story. But, within a week or two of Leasa’s return
to her granddad’s house, Jora received an unsolicited email. It was from someone who grew up—40 years
before--in the same neighborhood. He had
found Jora somehow. Turns out, he has
more to say on the subject:
"In 1997 when my Dad was dying of cancer, Dr Hindman told
him to not worry about my Mom, that he would watch over her and make sure she
was OK. He fulfilled that promise. . . .
Dr Hindman was a man of good character and went out of his way for many
people."
Okay. At some point in
all of this, it dawned on me that 45 years from now will pass. This is obvious, but not what you are
contemplating with three kids who are so small.
It also occurred to me that 45 years from now our kids, and maybe even grand kids, will
have memories of our house. May they
find the inspiration to write a note to the then-owners about their time in the house, and the love,
and the memories, and the laughter, and the joy, and—should we be so lucky—the
“good character” they knew there.
