Axel's house (originally posted 9/30/18)

Early in my childhood, one infamous neighborhood figure stood out among the rest. An old man, perpetually haunting the early morning alley under overcast skies, slowly and purposefully pushing a rusty old shopping cart. In the cart were items he’d found rummaging through others’ trash. Though I cannot recall ever getting a really good look at him, I could tell he was a weathered old man. I imagined he looked like an older version of Robin Williams’ Popeye. As far as I was concerned, he was ancient.

 His name was Axel. “Axel” became synonymous with clutter and junk in my house. If I came home with something like an old bicycle wheel or broken toy, my mom would call me Axel.

 From the little research I did in anticipation of writing this, I found out that Axel was 32 years old and living in that house in 1940. This would have put him at about 80 years of age at the height of my familiarity with him.

 Once, from the safety of my back porch, I saw my dad in the backyard, by our old wire fence, chatting with Axel. After a bit of time, I watched my dad produce a plastic shopping bag and fill it halfway with tomatoes from the garden before handing the bag to Axel. Witnessing this instilled within me a sense of empathy toward Axel.

 Axel lived alone across the alley from us, two doors east of Dave and Liz’ house. The house was a fairly standard rectangular brick Georgian style home. Axel’s yard was completely overgrown. I’m not talking about grass that hadn’t been cut in a few weeks. I’m talking about full-on prairie mode, with young trees and brush in every corner of the property. The yard was also FULL of “stuff”…as well as three large wooden sheds built by the city, presumably as a compromise in order for him to be able to keep his treasures in an aesthetically-pleasing way. The house itself looked menacing. It was dirty and decrepit. There was a huge tree looming in the center of the backyard which drooped big heavy branches, and in the cooler months, crows always seemed to congregate there and on the surrounding power lines. All of these factors led to Axel’s house being the neighborhood haunted house, and Axel was the apparition within.

 At some point, Axel ceased to exist. I don’t remember when he passed away, but I do know that in between his death and early 1996, the house was for all intents and purposes abandoned. The weeds grew even thicker. Windows had been broken, and the side door was ajar for some time. During the day it was creepy, but at night, it was an ominous black void.

 The street Axel’s house was located on, Carmen, was where most of my friends lived. My street, Winona, had some kids, but Carmen was really where it all was at. Daniel, Jennifer, Brandy, Eli, Jeremy, Katie, and others, lived there. Admittedly, I probably spent more time on that block than I did on my own (so did other Winona kids). Originally, to get to Carmen, I walked or biked down the alley and back around to the block. But it seemed there was now a shortcut, albeit a very harrowing one.

 I could save a few minutes by cutting through the newly-“fair game” property, as there were no fences or gates. There was a path that led from the alley to the front driveway – a narrow cement sidewalk flanked by dense walls of weeds taller than I was. When I first began cutting through the yard, I was hesitant each time. Sometimes, I’d stay out on Carmen past sunset. To get home, I’d walk in the dark to the front of the darkened Axel house, and just stand there and try to talk myself out of cutting through. But I usually ended up doing it, by running as fast as I possibly could. By the time I reached my alley, my adrenaline was pumping so hard I felt like I could run a marathon.

 Eventually, at least during the day, I became somewhat more acclimated to the yard. Daniel, a friend I will probably write extensively about, and I broke into the old wooden sheds on the property. They turned out to be veritable treasure chests to these two young adventurers. At first we practiced extreme caution when sneaking into the sheds, but the more we explored, the less paranoid we became. Soon we were climbing atop mountains of antique appliances and furniture, selecting items we thought were really cool and bringing them home. I ended up with a fine collection of antique (early to mid-century) cameras and clocks that made their way to a bookshelf in my back bedroom upstairs. We also found old wooden radios and vacuum cleaners. One particularly cool looking space heater started on fire within seconds of being plugged in inside my garage, prompting us to reconsider plugging in anything that had spent decades inside a dank wooden shed.

 In late winter on 1996, shortly before we moved, someone purchased Axel’s old house. I remember watching someone power washing the exterior of the house that summer. Eventually, the house was transformed into a beautiful, bright, and warm home, with no lasting reminders of its sad, dumpy past. I’m glad, for sure…but I also know that the next generation of thrill-seekers (if there even is such a thing these days) will have nothing to incite anxiety and fascination the way Axel’s house did.

 A newspaper excerpt from circa 1981 (the year I was born)

The scenery has changed quite a bit since the mid-90s.  Axel’s house (left, with boat in driveway) was completely flipped, and seems much smaller than it used to.  Across the street on the right are several brick bungalows, one of which being Daniel’s old house – much more to come on that.