During the Christmas break when I was in the first grade our family moved to Bratenahl Village in Ohio. Bratenahl’s main street, Lake Shore Boulevard, snakes along Lake Erie on a little sliver of land about 4 miles long north of Cleveland’s Collinwood and Glenville neighborhoods. Bratenahl is best known for the mansions along Lake Shore Boulevard built in the early 1900’s by many of Cleveland’s most wealthy families.
My Dad worked in downtown Cleveland as an Air Force Recruiter. We certainly were not poor, but with seven kids at home we were not wealthy, and we didn’t live in one of those mansions. One of the kids in my class lived in one of those mansions on the corner just down the street from us. I walked by it everyday going to and from school and was in awe. Built in 1910, the home had over 9,000 square feet of living space and seven bathrooms. A tall brick wall, right along the sidewalk where I walked, surrounded the yard of about a half an acre, and hid the view from the street of the inground pool. The four-car garage that opened onto the street also was on that side, above which was situated the servants’ quarters.
My classmate didn’t have any servants, that I knew of at least. He was a friend of mine those early years. He lived there with his father, who was a successful attorney, and a younger brother, older sister, and his grandmother. His mother had passed away, I think, a few years earlier. I learned to swim in his pool. One time his brother and I built a fort out of cardboard boxes in their finished attic and had the bright idea to tape a bare bulb electric light to the ceiling of the fort, over a cushion. We left the light on when we went to play elsewhere. Luckily his grandmother smelled the cushion smoldering when the light inevitably fell on to it. The firemen threw the cushion out the attic window onto the concrete deck below. A near miss.
A few years later another boy who lived in one of the other mansions along Lake Shore Boulevard came into our class. His father had, or so I understood, a collection of vintage cars. This was the early 1970’s so the vintage cars, or so I heard, where from the 1920’s. The only name I remember was that he had a Duesenberg. My family took frequent trips to the Crawford Auto and Aviation Museum in University Circle in Cleveland, where I was able to see such cars behind a rope line. I was fascinated that someone could actually have one, or more, of these magnificent vintage automobiles in their very own home.
I tried to befriend my new third or fourth grade classmate. I tried, in a way that I’m sure was none too obvious, to maneuver my way into an invitation to see that Duesenberg. I wanted to see one of those magnificent cars up close. To touch it, and to sit in it.
I never did get to see those cars, or even visit his house. I assume it became all too obvious, both to my old friend in the corner mansion and my would-be new friend that my overtures to friendship were for selfish reasons, perhaps not entirely, but for the most part. I had wanted to be his friend with an eye toward a reward, that being an invitation to see his Dad’s car collection. For my selfishness, I lost my old friend and my prospective new friend.
Few people want a “friend” that is only primarily motivated by the reward they will receive for their friendship. Really, is that being a friend at all? By the same token, if someone gives us a gift, is it really showing gratitude if we show our appreciation to them for the gift with an eye to receiving more gifts in the future? Do we really show appreciation to Our Heavenly Father for what He has given us in this life if we do so only with an eye toward some eternal reward, this life being made everlasting?
The families of my classmates that lived in those mansions have long since moved away, the parents likely having passed away years ago as well. New people now call those mansions their own. That vintage car collection is now likely disbursed, or in somebody else’s collection, or in a museum. That Duesenberg the source of pride for someone else. We are all just caretakers, taking more or less care of what is entrusted to us.