I was just stepping off the curb to cross a street on the way to
the post office this morning when I saw it…and came to an abrupt halt.
Transfixed, I watched for several minutes.
A
monster of metal, a modern-day T. Rex, grabbed a mouthful of the back end of the
88-year-old apartment building at 120 Tilton Avenue, chewed it up, swiveled to
its left, spat it out onto a growing pile of razed ruins, and then swiveled
back to take another bite. And another. And another. And yet another. As the
worn and dingy building disappeared bit by bit from the rear, door frames,
window panes, bathtubs, toilets, wooden chairs, slabs of stucco, and weathered
timbers rained down – twisted, broken, crumpled – onto the rubble pile. And,
bit by bit, green trees and blue sky came into view beyond.
A
tiny human – tiny next to the T. Rex – was hosing water over the voracious
beast’s iron neck and head and right into its meal-grinding maw, striving to
keep the dust down. But not all of it could be kept down.
Dusty
wisps were rising and swirling, released from their vanishing home, searching
for where again to alight. A child’s face peering through the pane of a
shattering window. A woman standing at a falling kitchen sink, preparing rice
and carne asada for her family’s evening meal. Another woman scrubbing
clothes in a crumbled bathtub and then hanging them over a broken bannister to
dry. A man with weathered face emerging early in the morning from a twisted
door to join his compadres chatting on the front lawn as they waited for
the pick-up to arrive and drive them to wherever it was they had a job.
This
building is right around the corner from my apartment. I used to see these
people every day as I would walk by. Then one day, about four years ago, they
were gone. Just…gone. The next day, the ground floor windows were sealed with
sheets of plywood and a construction fence surrounded the building. And there
it has sat. Until today, when the vapors suffused in the walls of the lives
lived in their embrace are themselves evicted.
The
historical review done by the City of San Mateo in 2006, the basis for the
demolition permit that was issued, concluded that the building met none of the
State of California’s four criteria for preservation and listing in the
historical registry. For one of those criteria, the report found that no one of
“any importance in local, regional, state, or national history” was “directly
associated” with the property.
Who defines what or who is important?
Anyway, all things are impermanent, time marches on – and so must I. Taking three deep breaths, I looked into the green trees and blue sky coming into view beyond, and crossed the street toward the post office and the mail that might be waiting there.
Anyway, all things are impermanent, time marches on – and so must I. Taking three deep breaths, I looked into the green trees and blue sky coming into view beyond, and crossed the street toward the post office and the mail that might be waiting there.
A life long quest,separating history from decay.
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