‘House Speaks of a Time Within My Memory’

Recently I moved into a house that was built in 1917 (just a few years before I was born). This house speaks to me because of its situation. The house is open on all four sides--none of this business about attached garages or gloomy condos--and the south and west windows of my room are shaded by a huge cup of gold vine.

The house speaks of a time, within my memory, when the air in the Los Angeles area was clear and unpolluted. It speaks of the time when houses were, with space between houses, so that the clean, pure breezes could come through to freshen and cool the interior. It speaks of a time when the cooling breezes were helped by lawns and shrubs and trees.

One of the books in the bookcases was written by Harold Bell Wright, who was at his peak of popularity about the time that the house was built. Reading that book spoke to me of a time within my memory when the ideals of personhood were described by such words as “manly,” “clean,” “open,” “honest,” “sweet-faced” and “motherly.” (Similar sentiments were to be found in the writings of Peter B. Kyne, Jean Stratton-Porter and Rex Beach.)

This was a time, as I well remember, when people did not feel cramped from being closed in; when there was no confusion about sexual roles; when the pace of living was more relaxed; when ideals were high. It was a time when divorce and other family breakups were more rare and when the crime rate was lower than is the case now. (Who today would leave a parcel on the corner mailbox in confidence that it would be there when the mailman came by?)

Over the years, have we who live in the Los Angeles area really gained more than we have lost?

JUANITA MATASSA

Costa Mesa