Miss Elsie Randall K. (Randy) Wilson November 2008 What makes people so mean? Why pick on a little old lady who was as good as gold? As a lad growing up in the Highland Park neighborhood on the eastside of Indianapolis, I witnessed such a scenario on several occasions. I look back at this history with disgust and, to a degree, some guilt. From 1960 to 1963 we lived in a large rental house at 1244 E. Marlowe Ave. My family was typical. Our finances were always tight. The budget was always broke by Wednesday as normal living costs depleted the paycheck funds. With little or no discretionary income for entertainment, a good deal of our time was spent sitting on the covered front porch. Dad had procured a basic porch swing, and we had a couple of cheap lawn chairs. If needed, we would carry a kitchen chair out to the porch, or we kids would just sit on the porchs stone wall ledge and let the grown ups have the more comfortable seating. In the late afternoon about an hour before dusk, an elderly lady would stroll down the side walk in front of our house as she headed west to Highland Park. This was an almost daily ritual during the summer. In fact you could nearly set your watch by her schedule. The elderly ladys name was Elsie. Physically, she was short and a little overweight. Her graying hair was always worn up, and she never put on make-up. I distinctly remember that she had a long, turned up nose and a noticeable gap between her two front teeth. Her gapped teeth were made more noticeable by her nice, pleasant smile. The plain, cotton print dresses she wore fit her perfectly. Not too many ladies wore such a garment which led me to think that her dresses may have been handmade. Elsie always had on the same short heeled, black leather, laced shoes. Regardless of her rather plain attire, she was still quite immaculate... always the same. Or as my Dad would say, “as clean as the board of health.” As Elsie strolled by our home her gait was always that of long slow steps. She walked in a slightly, bent forward posture with her hands clasped behind her, one hand clutching the opposite wrist. Her eyes were always focused on the sidewalk in front of her. Step, step, step, step… Highland Park (Formerly Highland Square, before the shape of the park perimeter was changed) has a nice rolling hill which overlooks the downtown Indianapolis cityscape. It was probably one of the most unimproved parks in the city. At times park benches were placed at the top of the hill. More than 45 years later I can still see Elsie slowly ascending the narrow paved path which led to that hilltop. She would sit on the park bench after she dusted off the seat with her hand. Elsie was always alone, and her main agenda was watching the sun set into the west behind the Indianapolis version of skyscrapers. At the conclusion of the suns disappearance Elsie would depart for home while it was still light outside. It was only one city block back to her small, modest apartment which was located on the northwest corner of Oriental Street and Marlowe Avenue. Even as a wee lad I always have enjoyed talking to elderly folk. I noticed back then that some elderly folk like talking to kids and that some would rather not be bothered with the little pests that they can be at times. That being the case, I was never one to waste my personal time, even as a kid, talking to an old timer who wasn’t interested in hearing my inquisitive (nosey) questions. I still don’t go where I’m not wanted. On a few occasions I took the liberty of chatting with Elsie when she was in the park. I would never prod her about her personal life, but it was obvious that she had never married. Elsie was always friendly and her pleasant smile seemed to confirm that she was a genuine person. While indulging in social discourse, she would turn and lean towards me when she was making a point. I can hear her say it right now, “Oh Randy, isn’t that a beautiful sunset.” It was interesting to talk to someone who had resided in the neighborhood for decades. Many of the people in the neighborhood were transient renters, and the area was becoming somewhat run down. Highland Park, which was acquired in 1898, was not the beautiful, serene, natural setting that Elsie remembered with so much fondness. The deterioration of the park concerned her. On more than one occasion Elsie would share a very sad story from the past. Many years earlier a small, shallow pool (not a swimming pool), was a focal point on the parks’ hilltop. Obviously the park pool attracted the kids. It was a sad day when an unattended toddler was found lifeless, floating in the pool face down. It was such a tragic accident that the town fathers ordered the little pool drained, demolished, and the rubble hauled off. However, you could still see a few stones and mortar, the detritus from where it once was. Prior to Elsie’s sad historical revelation, I had noticed these masonry remnants but was totally unaware they were associated with a pool. In the early 1960’s Borden’s Dairy, had been a well known business in Indianapolis for many years. This company offered a variety of dairy products which were sold in many stores. My parents preferred their milk over the other brands sold at the time. With competitors like Kroger, Banquet, Polk, and Maplehurst, Bordens competed by using very aggressive advertising. Their radio and television commercials were ubiquitous. The Borden company seemed to take a lot of pride in their registered trademark... “ELSIE The COW”... a walking, talking, animated bovine. Oh yeah, you would hear her sales pitch on the radio, or see her sales pitch on TV frequently. Highland Park was not without its fair share of bullies, hoodlums, punks, pranksters, and hoods. When several of these adolescent goobers found out that the old lady of Highland Park was named Elsie, a disgusting trend developed. During Elsie’s visits to the park these heathens would get within hearing distance and yell out, “Elsie the Cow!” The cowards were most of the time behind a tree or bush so they would not have to look her in the eye. Sometimes they would yell out chanting over and over, “Elsie the cow…Elsie the cow…Elsie the cow!…” Their verbal taunting and harassing would be followed by snickering and laughter. I don’t know if Elsie ever put it together that the teasing was a spin off from the commercials of the Banquet Milk Company mascot, ELSIE. Perhaps she didn’t have a clue where these rascals were coming from? Upon hearing this incessant teasing Elsie would develop a grimace and a look of disgust but would pretend that she did not hear these boobs. I felt sorry that she was being treated in such a mean spirited manner. She was a sweet old lady, and these bullies should have been extending the highest level of respect to her. I should have taken the opportunity to confront some of these bullies. It would have been only right if I had warned them to layoff and leave Elsie alone. However, the bullies were older and bigger than I. Hence, I would have been out manned if a fight were to break out. Frankly, I think Elsie would have frowned on boys fighting anyway. Regardless, I harbor a degree of guilt that I did not intervene on her behalf. I imagine most folk have known some “Elsies” along life’s way? The summer passed, and the next year the bullies had either moved away or found someone else to harass. Elsie returned to Highland Park’s hilltop and watched the beautiful sunsets. For her I’m glad it was an environment of peace and quiet.
Posted on: Thu, 09 Oct 2014 05:58:45 +0000
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