Reminiscing in St Pete

We drove north earlier this week to do a little reminiscing in St Petersburg, FL.  It was there 30 years ago that I was squeezed out of my grandmother's house by my Aunt Pat's annual southern migration.  I had spent the summer of 1985 bicycling solo across the U.S. and Canada and then down the East Coast, arriving in St Pete around mid-November.  It had been at least ten years since I had seen my grandmother, who at the time was 91 years old and still living on her own.  She lived in a tiny 600 sq ft house that my great uncle Charles Wiggins had built in 1948.  He had been a planing mill operator during the construction of the Panama Canal, before eventually retiring to Florida in the 1930s or 1940s (he was definitely in St Pete by 1945).  Being such a compact house, it wasn't possible for the three of us to live there together, and I was the uninvited guest...

The house on N. 28th Street built by my great Uncle Charlie.  With commercial zoning, it is currently listed for $125,000.

A young Uncle Charlie at work during construction of the Panama Canal.

So that caused me to find another place to live.  Fortunately, there were lots of available options to consider.  I lucked out when I found a tiny space attached to the rear of a house a few miles to the east of my grandmother's house.  I called it a lean-to, which appears to have originally been a screened-in backyard porch that was converted to a living space.  There was a tiny kitchenette, cramped bedroom and tiny bathroom.  There were ceilings that were low and which sloped at various odd angles, funky indoor-outdoor carpet and miscellaneous garage sale furnishings.  But being so small (no more than 200 sq ft), it was reasonably clean.

The lean-to was behind the main house, just in front of the converted garage apartment in back.

My reason for being in Florida then was much as it is for us now - I was waiting for warmer weather before continuing my travels.  The objective then was to head for Europe in the spring.

Living alone, I initially had lots of time on my hands.  It wasn't long before I realized that I had two next door neighbors who were similarly bored - Alea's two dogs, Courtney (a young, goofy Golden Retriever) and Brown Dog (a much more reserved and mature rescued mutt).  Courtney was quick to make friends, and on one occasion she dropped a tennis ball by the chain linked fence that separated us.  The rest was pretty much history, as Brown Dog quickly realized the value of  having neighbor who knew how to play his favorite game.  He wouldn't come near the fence, but possessing above average intelligence, he would flick his head to send the ball rolling up to the fence and within my reach.  We all had lots of fun together and quickly became great friends.

The house behind Alea's house was home to dozens of feral cats.  Courtney had learned that it was possible for her to squeeze under a portion of the chain link fence adjacent to the cats.  Once Alea left for work each morning, she would get under the fence and spend the day chasing cats from one end of the neighborhood to the other.  Precisely at dinner time she would squeeze back under the fence, exhausted, famished and grinning ear-to-ear.  At times I had found Courtney out running loose in the neighborhood, and whenever that happened I would put her back in the yard.  But once I had observed how she was getting out I felt it was my duty to inform Alea.  That was the first time we met (though very briefly).

About the same time, a girlfriend whom I had met while visiting Washington, DC came to spend the month of December with me.  But by the time she climbed on the train to return to her home in Illinois, it was clear that our relationship had run its course.  Not long after that, I managed to lock myself out of the lean-to.  I turned for help to the only neighbor that I knew - Alea.  It wasn't long after that we started dating, and a short time later I moved in with her so that we could both cut our expenses a bit.

By March it was time for me to continue on, having purchased a one way plane ticket to Luxembourg.  At the time I had no idea that I would return to Florida, and that we would resume our relationship six months later.

It was fun seeing how much the city had changed in thirty years, and how much had stayed the same.  Aside from the Gulf shore areas, St Pete was somewhat dying on the vine back then, having gained a reputation as a place where people go to die.  Parts of it still seem to be struggling a bit, but in general it appears to be a much more vibrant place.