The Spirit(s) Of Barbary Lane

This isn’t San Francisco and I am definitely no Anna Madrigal, but the little condo complex I call home is not without similar charms. And maybe curses but we’ll focus on the former for now.

The property itself was designed by renowned architect Robert Venturi. In a 1983 ‘review’ of the finished product, John Kaliski said “Even though the front doors of the east building face onto the Grand Court, it still feels like a back alley.” He had a lot more to say, both favorable and not so kind, but the back alley comment is somewhat true. Like the fictional Barbary Lane, my home is a maze of turns and doors and hallways that seem to double back on themselves.

Maybe that’s why, like Hotel California, some of the residents here never leave when they ‘check out’. There’s an otherworldly feel in the courtyard and common halls. The energy of those who’ve called this place home over almost 40 years adds a kind of texture to its fabric, like so many layers of paint. It’s the feeling of not being like anywhere else is what drew me here to begin with. An Urban Mystic’s paradise.

In the 15 years since we moved here, at least five of my neighbors have passed away in their homes, most within a four or five year span. The first was our upstairs neighbor, an old bachelor who used to lean on the railing over the courtyard in the early morning and evenings, having a smoke. I’ve never actually seen him, but I’ve often caught a whiff of his cigarette when leaving for work in the pre-dawn hours. A time or two, I’ve heard his smoker’s cough. I just wish him a “good morning, Tom” as I pass by on the level below.

Then, there’s Evelyn. I don’t think I ever met her in living form. She died in her sleep one night, on her couch, before we’d been here a year. I got to know her widowed husband, Terry, when we both served on the HOA board.  Terry was pretty lonely in the years that followed Evelyn’s death but after a bit of time passed he reconnected with his high school sweetheart. They married and he moved out of state, leaving his place standing empty except for the material remnants of his life before. When he finally decided to sell, he returned and cleaned out their former home in a day. That must have upset Evelyn because she turned up at my house, disoriented and displaced. She shuffled around in my bedroom, sitting on my bed (with me in it) for several evenings until we finally had a chat (I talked, she listened) and I convinced her to move on. As she was leaving, I heard a single small dog ‘bark’. She’d forgotten her departed dachshund and I had to remind her to come retrieve him. I haven’t seen or heard from either of them since.

Things were quiet for a year or so after that until this past fall. Inspections and repair work on the property stirred things up again. Nothing much happened inside my house except for an unexplained incident of what I think was ball lightning near my dining room ceiling but the spirits of the courtyard were on high alert. Strange noises, voices with no one there, rattling my doorknob to make their presence and displeasure known. I’m sure they’re unhappy at the state of the place. The spirits I can identify haven’t been subject to much disruption but the ones that pre-date my residency here have seen this grand building wither in the Houston heat and humidity from poor planning and neglect. They’ve ‘lived’ through a major renovation that destroyed most of the original design features, kind of like a facelift gone bad. They know what can happen and maybe even know more than they’re telling. Maybe, they’ve just decided to move on.

I’m not sure what the future holds for this strange old place. I only hope it makes it as long as I do. I’m still captivated by the quirks and faults of the original design. I can still see how it must have looked when brand new, built for modern living in the last 20 years of the last century. It’s definitely showing its age, my Barbary Lane, but the Grand Court still sparkles in the rain on a winter’s night. It’s still unwelcoming to strangers, not showing an easy way to get anywhere within its strangely shaped landscape that makes absolutely no sense. But as intended by the original design and noted by Mr. Kalisky in his critique, once I finally arrive here, I’m home. I wouldn’t mind hanging around for a while in the afterlife, either.