You or I would have left before the sheriff came pounding on the door. Durell didn’t. You or I would have found some place to store our worldly possessions. Durell didn’t. Two deputies escorted him out of the building at 9:30 am. They allowed him to carry his cat and a lamp, nothing else.
The maintenance man changed the lock to the one bedroom apartment. The bailiff supervised six assistants who threw Durell’s knickknacks, clothes, and accumulated treasures into big black plastic bags. Everything was taken out and tossed on the grass between curb and sidewalk. The brass rail bed, the glass dining table, and the solid oak bookcase were also put outside. So was the computer, television, entertainment stand, brass and pottery lamps, sofa and chairs and all sorts of paintings, prints, posters and other framed art.
The men dragged all of Durell’s stuff to the street on a pleasant April day. Everyone on the that side of the 5 story Section 8 building watched from their windows. By the afternoon, as the goods accumulated, most of the people in the houses across the street were also watching. People always watched when stuff was set out after a death or an eviction. There might be something needed, or an upgrade. Or simply something easy to sell.
Passing cars stopped to look; so did pedestrians. The bailiff announced that anyone but Durell would be arrested if they took anything before the crew left. But everybody could come over and get a close look. Durell had good taste, and enough stuff to fill a four bedroom home.
Everyone wondered how he could have fit everything into his small apartment. A place without a litter box for the cat. A place where the electricity had been shut off 8 weeks ago. His best friend Donnie said that Durell loved yard sales and resale shops. He accumulated, then crammed and stacked; there were only narrow paths between mounds to get from one room to the next.
Early in the day many were saying they wouldn't take anything. Durell made people laugh. Still; as the day went on, people began saying he had lots of time to move and “if he wants his stuff why ain’t he come back with some truck, or asked folks to watch over some of it for a bit.”
Why Durell didn’t at least come and grab some of the best stuff was a mystery. He also knew lots of people that could help, having lived in town for years and still working as a gofer and delivery guy for many local restaurants and bars. Some said he was a little slow, but he didn’t seem much different from most. Donnie said that the judge at the eviction hearing told him that the agency just down the street could provide moving and living assistance. He himself asked him daily when he was going to try to get some help, asked, “what you gonna do?” Durell kept saying, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
By late afternoon the sky darkened with rain clouds, and everybody had their eyes on a few goodies. The 350 pound rolls of fat lady had spotted a big jar of coins; she proclaimed dibs. The crotchety old white prude and his wife in the corner house wanted the big heavy lamps. One gay couple kept circling the brass rail bed and cooing. The two white boys living in their dead daddy’s house wanted the entertainment stand and gadgets. The couple with all the plants on their porch wanted the pictures for their next yard sale. Everybody wanted that giant brass cornered, leather strapped heavy duty steamer trunk with the small copper plate saying Macys 1911.
By 5:30 pm a light rain had started. Trucks and cars were now lined up along the block; it was soon gonna be pick and carry time. Rose, standing next to the porch with all the plants, directly across the street from the ever expanding piles, had a running commentary: “Lots of yard sale junk over there, plus some of that stuff I could use myself.” Then, a few minutes later, “Garbage truck shows up first thing tomorrow morning, it’ll take anything gets left.” Then as the rain got heavier, “all that gonna get gone. What don’t get gone is gonna be ruined by the rain.” And a little bit later, “Ain’t like it just gonna stay there for him, iffen his black behind ever does come back.” Followed by, “everybody gonna be grabbin, why not us?” And lastly, “Better lace those shoes tight, it gonna be a race.”
The bailiff and his men didn’t finish until 6:30 pm. Just before leaving they put a few pictures and other items into their own vehicles. The rest of Durell’s goods were now spread out over 30 yards along the curb, covering the ten foot lawn area and spilling over onto much of the sidewalk.
Shoes were laced tight. When the bailiff finally pulled off the hordes descended. Black and white folk, young and old, gay and straight, doped up, drunk or sober - all raced over and started grabbing and carting. The April shower had turned into a pouring rain. It didn’t stop anyone; within the hour the neighbors had got all they wanted.
That’s when Durell finally showed up. He ran to and fro along the length of “trash”. Every now and then he stopped to sort through a pile or look into black bag. He stomped his feet, wailed and groaned, “oh no, oh no, oh no.” Every once in a while he screamed, “my pictures, my pictures, where are my pictures?”
Durell moved a few things over by Rose’s patio door. Next to other stuff of his. Rose had hauled it there first, not wanting to waste grabbing time to take it into her apartment. She peeked out her blinds saying “oh shit” as Durell stacked more stuff on her patio.
Durell then snatched some black bags and ran them across the street, placing them by the porch of some guys he knew. As cars and trucks pulled up to assess and grab goodies Durell shouted, “don’t even think about it!” He yelled that quite a bit. The cars and trucks went away… for a few more minutes anyway.
Donnie came out while Durell was moaning and stamping his feet and again yelling, “my pictures, my pictures, where are my pictures?” He asked, “what are you going to do, Durell?” Durell moaned “I don’t know. I Don’t Know, I DON’T KNOW!”
Way into the wee hours, people in cars packed and crammed goodies into every spare inch; others just tossed bag after bag, item after item into vans and trucks. Less than half of Durell’s stuff was still there at 7 in the morning.. The garbagemen took that. At 7:30 there wasn’t anything left but some headdress stuck up on the iron fence. Turned out it was a big busted feathered bra. Rose cracked, “he musta used that when playin them tom-toms. Who scooped them up anyway?”
JDA7/31/10
