130 McCall Road, Manhattan KS

Hello and greetings from the Un-Zone. It's time for another update on the mundane things that are part of my not-so-average life. Today, I'm going to talk about the place I used to call home, Manhattan, KS and the address in which I used to reside, 130 McCall Road #217.

Well, the address I used to live in was not an apartment, as the #217 might suggest. No. It was a mobile home in a mobile home park. Yup. Your's truly used to live in a mobile home. I still think that most people don't know that. Even the ones I knew in Manhattan. I never told anyone. You all now can say a couple of jokes about Jerry Springer, white trash, and other ubiqitous jokes about things concerning mobile homes. I've heard them all. In a way, where I used to live fit in with the Jerry Springer jokes. It made Desparate Housewives seem tame, almost like the Brady Bunch.
If you do visit Manhattan and try to see this address, you'll notice that it doesn't exist anymore. Gone. Completely gone. In it's place is an industrial park with lots of asphalt and concrete. No trees. No basketball court. No field. Just asphalt and concrete.
I've always known this since the summer of 1998. It just never really hit me until I used Google Maps and typed in the old address. It's kind of sad to see concrete where your former house used to be. I almost wish I never typed that address in.
How it got to this state is an interesting story. It makes me a firm believer on why Kelo v. City of New London is a bullshit decision. If you haven't read this case, you really should. The following is probably a poorly done and stilted interpretation of the decision. "Public use" now includes tearing down residential areas if replacing them will bring in more "tax revenue." In simpler terms, if it brings in more money, then you are screwed if the city you live in will allow this to happen. Blight means anything. If it is "underdeveloped," it is blight. Supporters of this decision will use this to promote it as "good." They say that WalMart won't tear your house down, unless your city wants to. Ain't that nice. You own a home and your city says WalMart wants it. Here's fair market value. Sounds fair. I guess they didn't consider other things. I digress.
A bit of history. The owner of said mobile home park put it there before the zoning commission called that piece of land commercial use. The city couldn't do jack squat. The mobile home park would stay until the owner decided to sell. It was a residential zone.
Well, one day, the owned did decide to sell for an undisclosed amount of money. Of course, someone found out how much (several million dollars is a rough estimate). Why this sudden change? It so happened that the city of Manhattan had a change in heart with the designation of the land and their views on it changed greatly when a land development company said they could develop it and make it very profitable. Hence, the visions of increased profits came into the picture. Before this time, Dillons left and moved to a bigger store just across the street. It became easier for the company to persuade the owner to sell.
So, everyone had to move out by August. If you left something there and you didn't pick it up by August, it got bulldozed. Of course, you still had to pay August's rent and utilities. It got increased by the way. Did I mention that a substantial portion of the people there were elderly, and nearly all of them were low income. Yeah. You got it. Poor. It was the classic "Love, smooches, and screw you all later, cause I'm going to Europe" maneuver. Oh, I forgot. The owner DID go to Europe with the cash he made.
Considering the situation at hand, and how much we were hating Manhattan by the minute, this was the final straw. We moved to Lawrence.

You know, people will say that this is a really nice sob story. Too bad. Make the most out of the situation. Some might say that "I'll be able to look at this and laugh." Well, those people are fucking idiots. I still ain't finding this amusing. I never will. I still remember the people I met there. I remember shooting hoops. I remember lighting firecrackers on the Fourth of July. I remember playing hide and seek in the field behind my little piece of Manhattan. I have pictures that I look at from time to time. Still doesn't cut it. I spent over 16 years of my life there. It was my childhood, as if I had any. That's another story. I had a really bitter one. One that shaped my life and made me who I am.

I'm reminded of "Big Yellow Taxi" sung by the Counting Crows:
Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what youve got til its gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

I admit. It wasn't the greatest place to live in. Most would find living there to be depressing. In a way, it was. But it was where I spent a substantial part of my life. It was my home. Those early years where I should have been a child, but for some reason, skipped over due to events beyond my control. That is another story and another post that I might write about.

Most people won't be able to say that the address in which they used to live doesn't exist any more. I'm one of the few who can stand in some random building and say "This is where I used to live. Before they paved it over with asphalt and concrete." That is, if I ever decide to go to Manhattan. I seriously doubt I will any time soon. I can say that with a straight face and know it is the truth. Those bastards paved over my childhood. And I still hate them for it.

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what youve got til its gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot

That's all for now. Later.