Jac asked, and I’ve been thinking about this myself.
This, from Hortense at Jezebel, contains a telling statement:
Sometimes, I suppose, we’d all rather live near strangers than know the truth about what’s really going on next door.
In the wake of the horror in the Garrido’s backyard, what do you know about your neighbors? Until we sold the house in July, we had the same address for 16 years and though we made overtures all around, the house to the north of us was a mystery.
I knew there were three lovely daughters. I knew there was a timid mother. And I knew I didn’t much like the father, who would walk his two (aggressive) dogs up and down the street for hours. I also knew he was sick, but we only found out he died because my husband happened to be looking out a window and saw paramedics removing a body bag.
We tried, I promise, but in subtle and unsubtle ways, the mother let us know that she didn’t much want us in her lives, or so I thought. It was heartbreaking, and only when we were moving did we have much time with the mother and one of the daughters. And she thanked us for being so friendly.
We move to a new house tomorrow, after a month’s idyl on a lake not far from our old house. The funny thing is, I consider myself outgoing, but my husband had made friends while I’ve just kind of walked by waving. I’m short-term. I know I’m short-term. And I’m not putting out much effort.
Sad, I guess. Not very living -in-the-moment of me. I don’t intend to be the belle of my new street, but I do intend to know who is next door.
I live in a quiet suburb of Hartford. When we first moved in 33 years ago I knew my neighbors next door. They were a delightful elderly couple (even older then than I am now!) They served as surrogate grandparents at school for our son on occasion and came to back yard picnics at our house. I grew very fond of them. Since their passing I have not known the two families that have moved in and then out.
The first family was noisy, rowdy and rude. I didn’t even learn their last name until the man was killed in a car crash. His widow sold the house.
The current owners are even louder, more rude and had a step-son/son that drank and used drugs. I found this out from the neighborhood “know everything lady” The police were not strangers to that house. Domestic violence between step-father and this young man were common. Not long ago a reporter and camera crew from WVIT showed up at my door to ask how I felt that this young man was accused of a murder that occured 2 miles from my house. I was stunned. I’ve since found out that it was a drug deal that became violent and my neighbor had stabbed another man to death. He’s now serving 16 years in jail.
The neighbors of this sick, twisted man seem to be as oblivious as I was.
Lord. It’s amazing the difference nice neighbors can make. In our house-for-a-month, Mike, our next door neighbor, made a point of introducing himself, being gracious about sharing a small parking area, and basically looking out for us (reminding us of trash day, etc.). He made all the difference, because a lot of the other neighbors don’t so much as lift a hand when we wave at them. I understand. We’re renters. We are short-timers and why should they get involved, but still.
We know our neighbors directly next to us on both sides. We know a few others to nod or chat with. This weekend our church encouraged us to invite neighbors to a BBQ, they called it the weekend of 1,000 BBQs. It was to encourage us to connect with and love those around us. We didn’t do it but still, kinda cool.
I’d say I know 2 or 3 neighbors well enough to know what goes on behind closed doors (to an extent) but there are plenty that I just don’t see that often. Shortly after we moved in I saw an ambulance a few houses down and felt sick to see the tiny body they wheeled out. Turns out it was a 3 yr old girl who later died. She had been sexually assaulted by her mom’s boyfriend.
Oh my God. That’s horrible, that poor little girl. I wonder how much the social fabric can be repaired by precisely the kind of thing suggested by your church.
I’m going to sound like an old f@rt right now. . .
When I was growing up I knew every family on our street, about 20 families. I called the adults “aunt” and “uncle” and still do. We often ate lunch where ever we were at noon in the summer as all moms fed any kid in the yard at lunch time. I knew I could knock on any door and use a bathroom or get a band-aid. All our dogs slept in the shade while we played. I was safe and could roam that neighborhood knowing everyone knew me and what was going on in my life. OK it was the 1950s and that is a long time ago but I look back on that and grieve that my kids never had that. They had to be limited in their free roaming and get driven most places because it wasn’t safe to just turn kids loose even in the 1980s when they were young.
I miss that feeling of community.
I wonder if it’s not as much an issue of safety as it is our society’s move away from community. Abductions and such have stayed steady or declined.
Speaking as an old f@rt, myself, I knew neighbors’ names, their pet names, and some of the birthdays — both neighbors and pets. Bad things still happened (they happened right in my own house) but you felt like you could run next door if you had to.
I think you may be right, Vegas. We were safe because people knew us, or our families. They knew that I could be found riding my bike with my BFF Judy down by the library. I knew that if I did anything outrageous somebody from church or the neighborhood or a friend of Mom or Dad or my “real” aunts or uncles would see me and either tell on me or stop me. They would notice me and I wouldn’t be some anonymous kid on a Schwinn.
Now I don’t know the name of any kids on my street. I guess part of that is that I no longer have at-home kids so I don’t pay attention. And paying attention would have saved that little girl from the horror she lived.
Note to self… Start paying attention!
Ditto. I once called Jimmy Cummings a fart-blossom (I made that up myself and was very proud of it) on the way home from school and by the time I stepped foot in the door, my Grandma Marrs was waiting on me. News traveled fast on Fourth St., Webb City, Mo. And it kept me honest — or mostly, it did.
“a lot of the other neighbors don’t so much as lift a hand when we wave at them. I understand. We’re renters. We are short-timers and why should they get involved”
Manners don’t necessarily require involvement.
I was trying to be polite. I’ve just started waving and laughing maniacally, because it takes so much effort to not-wave back when I’m easing by these people while they walk their dogs. It’s comical to me, but then, it’s rude of me to laugh.
Good comments. I don’t know what to think. On the one hand, we (society) could probably do a better job of reaching out and taking time to get to know our neighbors. We move at such a rapid pace today. It’s a different world than it was 30-50 years ago and it’s hard to slow down enough to get to know neighbors sometimes. But, maybe we need to at least get to know them well enough to know if something isn’t right.
On the other hand, we can’t really know everything that happens behind closed doors. Some people are pretty good at appearing one way in public and another at home. So, we can’t really know. On top of that, there are parents that don’t even know what is going on in their own home. I can’t figure out why that happens, but it does.
Maybe the lesson learned is that we need to pay attention and not avoid something that doesn’t seem right. Maybe that’s when we need to be a nosey neighbor.
Having said that, I recently shared a day with an old college friend. I was shocked to hear that during the year we shared an apartment, she was bulimic. I’m pretty sure our other housemate never knew, too. So, I guess I wasn’t very aware and I feel kind of bad about that.
Well, even when we promise to be vigilant and to look out for our fellow humans, things slip by. They slip on by. And you were there to talk to your college friend recently, and I bet that meant something to her.
Thanks. It did. We hadn’t see each other in about 25 years and so we had lots of catching up to do.
It would be nice to always know when someone needs help, but it’s not always obvious.
When I think of the people who have slipped by one person after another (even some of us here) without being rescued in some way when we’ve needed it, I can’t help but wonder why and ask how that could happen? Yet things do slip by. So do we forgive or condemn the neighbors of Phillip Garrido? Everyone wants to know: “How could they not know? How could they let that happen?” Every time something like this happens, we ask the same thing and yet it happens over and over with neighbors not knowing and we don’t really learn anything from it. Abuse cases happen over and over and then once it’s discovered, the community is “shocked”. How do we get out of that cycle of always being shocked by the discovery of something horrific going on in a home and move toward being more aware and protective? I don’t know but it bothers me that we really suck at this as a society.
Yeah, that’s probably not the tack to take, and I don’t mean to sound like I’m condemning the neighbors. Things get by us. And sometimes, they probably shouldn’t.
I have no answers to this. I didn’t think you were condemning, the “why didn’t they know” is a natural question.
But, yeah, these things probably shouldn’t have gotten by people in the past and they probably shouldn’t get by people in the future. It just kills me every time it happens.
And when I’m the one it got past, it makes me even more angry. I like to think I’m aware and paying attention.