John the Builder

It was a nice day in Canoga Park. The air was relatively clean, the sun was shining, and there was no school. It was cool and mid-morning, as the birds chirped and twittered in the shrubs surrounding the small stucco we lived in. I didn't know what to do with myself. My younger brother John was headed out the door of the house with purpose. He had a cardboard shoe box filled with "Matchbox" cars and trucks under his arm as he stepped through the front door threshold, the screen door slamming behind him.

"Where are you going Barry?" we called him by his middle name back then.

"Gonna play cars." he answered without pausing or turning to look at me. He was definitely on a mission as he turned left off the front porch toward the side yard. I decided to follow, it sounded interesting.

Not much grew in the side yard; it was pretty much just dirt. It was a narrow strip that ran down the side of our house, bounded by a wooden fence along the property line. It was maybe eight feet wide, and was shaded by the house on the one side, and by the fence on the other. There were some plants and shrubs up against the wall of the house, but the ground was essentially dry and fairly loose.

A lawn mower growled its way through the neighbor’s lawn across the street. It sounded like someone was playing "Hit the Bat" down the block a ways. I could hear faint shouting as I watched John kneel down, and smooth out a patch of dirt about four feet by four feet in size. He sat back on his knees, blue jeans grinding into the earth, and Jack Purcell sneakers under his butt, silently surveying the area. Then, he leaned forward, supporting himself with one hand, and with the flattened palm of his other, began to slowly push through the loosely smoothed dirt. This left a narrow trail, or path, the width of his hand. But really, it was a road for the little Matchbox cars.

I joined him there on the ground, imitating his road building method and beginning to create a network of roads.

"We'll put the fire station over here." he said pointing to a centrally located spot. He reached into the shoe box, and pulled out a red fire truck, parking it at the newly located "station". We continued our road building for several minutes, John carefully blending in the intersections.

The sound was soft, but definite. A low growl emanating from John's lips as he pushed in more road. Out came a small bulldozer to help finish the heavy excavation. I quickly tired of road building, and grabbed a little Matchbox car to try out the newly constructed streets. Revving the engine, and squealing the tires around curves. John took out more vehicles, and placed them around our developing little city. He seemed more interested in placing the roads, imaginary gas stations, fire departments, and grocery stores than doing the driving. This is not to say that he didn't run his cars and trucks around the town. This he did, with purpose, taking time to widen curves where necessary, and lay out a parking lot here or there as needed.

It wasn't long before I tired of squealing my little car around the city's streets. I heard  a shout and saw one of  the neighbor kids out in the street with a ball. "Hey Bear, wanna play ball?" I said.

John paused and looked up, still on his hands and knees. "Naw, go ahead." I got up, dusted off my knees and headed for the street at a run.

It was probably an hour later, when my friend and I tired of kicking the ball around. His Mom called him back home for lunch, and I headed back toward my house. As I waited for a car that was slowly cruising down the street, I glanced across at the side yard where I had left John with his burgeoning metropolis. All I could see was his rear end as he studiously continued to develop and manage his little city.

After the car had motored by, I raced across the street to where John was just finishing up what looked like the Topanga Plaza shopping mall in miniature. Well, really only the parking lot, with small squares and mounds for buildings. I was pretty sure I recognized the Ventura Freeway there, with the extra wide Topanga Canyon Blvd coming off it.

There in the dirt of my side yard was an incredibly intricate network of roads that had now become more of a diorama than a few scuff marks in the dirt. They stretched from the corner of the house all the way back to the chimney that was about half way to the back yard gate. It was an amazing feat of modern engineering in miniature. Cars and trucks were spread out on the various roadways. And there was John, pushing a little Matchbox semi along, slowly going through the gears as the truck gradually came up to speed.

He paused, sat back on his heels and surveyed his work. "Wow, Bear, this is really cool!" I exclaimed. He turned and looked at me, with a little half smile on his face.

"You can be the policeman." he said, pointing to a miniature black and white. I hunkered down to rejoin my brother. I remember being so impressed with his patience, imagination, and vision, although those thoughts were relatively indistinct in my head.

We played there for a long time. It is a day that I will never forget. Of course I had no idea then that John would one day become a city planner. Doing in real life what he had done so intently on that day in Canoga Park.

That's All!