The Warring Cans ©2019

By Dee -Dee Diamond

They were neighbor landlords without much territory. To my father, his property’s appearance meant pride of ownership. He was a normally quiet man who fought vigorously to protect its dignity.

Brooklyn, 1950’s, my father and Mrs. B. each owned attached 3-story houses. Even their front doors almost touched, but for a narrow solid divide between the 2 structures. They stood like maroon-shingled ancient Siamese twins. On the street level of each was a store with different business.

My Papa’s domain was one off the corner, and Mrs. B.’s was the corner one.

He had his Butcher shop there. The numbers # 292, # 294 in gold stencil above the doors of the houses. Mrs. B.’s was rented as Mc Creed’s Candy Store.

The trouble started when my family bought #292 from the absentee former landlord. We moved into the first floor apartment. Now my Dad was in his shop all day, and our family lived above. He kept our metal garbage can covered on the far side of our doorway nearer the butcher shop.

Mrs. B insisted on placing hers on the side nearest our doorway. in order to enter our home we had to pass thru the pair of “receptacles of odorous delight”. When asked politely to keep her refuse away from our side of the doorway, she rudely answered, “I was doing it this way for years, and I’ll do as I damn please”! Those were fighting words… so began “the war of the cans”.

Mrs. B would park her garbage can on the other side of of our doorway, and during the night my dad would nosily along drag it along the cement sidewalk to where he felt it belonged. She’d storm out of her house cursing like the crazy she was , and move it back where it pleased her. When she’d leave, he would haul it back, again.

This went on for years, sometimes this obnoxious ritual would be practiced a few times a day. This was not “hand -to -hand guerilla warfare”, it was “can-to-can garbage warfare”. My father and Mrs. B never called a truce…eventually he retired and we moved away.