fronchroom

The 62d block of Mozart (pronounce it Moe- Zart, not Moatz -art)had, i think, 35 buildings on it*. One was the massive Shrine -a giant apartment comlpex - well, not that giant - one was a three flat, and the other 33 were bungalows. My love of architecture stems from this block and its setting in the Marquette Park neighbourhood.

Bungalows, I discovered when I read about them in my mid thirties, had a special pronunciation for the large front room (y know, couch, tv, front door): " fronchroom". Hmm, I thought, that's wierd. I mentally pronounced a sentence thusly "I'm going to the front room" and guess how it was naturally pronounced: ya, ya, you guessed, i pronounced it fronchroom.

Funny, being part of that milieu or history. Whenever, I read about the Irish immigrant families in the early 1910's etc etc etc in America, it strikes me sometimes when I think - hey, I fit into that as well - maybe not 1910, but that last massive wave of the 50's (parents came over separately in 1949).

However, lets talk about shit.

Two of my favourite stories of the fronchroom on Mozart. One is simple.

There was a long running room stretch from the kitchen to the front window that when I was young - I'm talking about 6-7-8-9 - and this baseball boy would take a running start from Point West , through the dining room and past the front door (no porch on our bungalow, - it was a side entrance) and going sliding Pat Kelly like into the fronchroom. Obv. it a childs thing, and it only lasted a few years, but I always funnyup when I think of that period.

But a greater story exists. The shit in a book story.

I HAD (Oh please God say I was young) to be very young @ the time, but I had......an accident...... now, I remember this story, so I couldn't have been that young - but I wasn't that old either. However, i knrw enough to have shame taught to me, so I knew I had to hide my creation. Into a book. Under the fronchroom radiator. Hidden.

Mom will dissolve into tears when this story comes up, but my favourite part o'it maybe never happened. Because I am sure that my own creation was discovered by my oldest sister, who discovered it when she....um, slipped on the book and feel down. That's my remembrance - and I'm sure I'm right - but no one else remembers that part o it.

Hmm. When the Battle of the Java Sea mounts the Klaus stage next summer.............

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*=not including garages - that's Gah ragh ez, and not Gare-igez)