Mr. Plumbean's Nightmare

When my children were small, we had a story we read often about Mr. Plumbean. We read it so often that I memorized parts of it. In the story Mr. Plumbean moved into a neighborhood where all the houses were exactly alike---a very neat street. Mr. Plumbean individualized his house which angered his neighbors until one by one they adopted Mr Plumbean's philosophy which was "My house is me and I am it. It looks like all my dreams." We all applauded Mr. Plumbean as one by one the houses in his neighborhood moved from uniformity to creativity. It was no longer a neat street, but a street where each house looked like its owner's dream.

In the story this was laudable because all the neighbor's dreams were pleasant to the other neighbors. However, what happens when one man's dream is another man's nightmare? This morning I rode through the neighborhood where I grew up. It is a neighborhood of not too big and not too small houses---each looking different yet all related by a certain commonality. A neighborhood of sidewalks made for roller skates, tricycles, two wheelers and skinned knees. A neighborhood of trees made for climbing, of backyards perfect for digging holes, hopefully to China, and of front steps comfortable for sitting on while licking popsicles that drip onto the concrete on hot summer days. Since my last trip through the neighborhood, one of the houses with a lovely backyard view of the Missouri River had been torn down. That is no crime; time marches on and new often replaces old. But in the place of the charming torn-down house has arisen a modernistic nightmare built of gray concrete with angled and curved walls that rise like a skyscraper above the charming brick houses surrounding it. It looks like a fat gray whale in a goldfish bowl. I am sure the view of the river is delightful, but the house ------- what can I say? Fortunately, I live far from the house and will not be forced to look at it when I ride my bike, eat my popsicle or attempt to dig a hole to China, but my heart aches for the people who have to live with the gray whale on their neat street. I think even Mr. Plumbean would find it unacceptable.