Who Lived Here?

Can you identify this house? Can you name three of the people who lived here? Can you describe it's location? What famous neighborhood was just down the street?

Where's Waldo?

He wore bib-overalls; he wore them all the time and he always wore his “cap.” On fancy occasions, he would switch to a real hat. His glasses were bifocals, his teeth were store-bought and he smelled like, well he smelled like Waldo. It was a unique smell. Part sweat, part hair-oil, part shaving soap all topped off with just a touch of mothballs. It’s a smell I would recognize today, decades later, if I smelled it. Waldo came from the generation that took their once-a-week bath on Saturday night so it was quite common for folks of that era to have their own signature smell.

When we were growing up in Brooklyn, Grampa Waldo was a fixture around our house, My Dad had a tendency to buy homes that needed lot’s of maintenance and it fell to Waldo to keep the place from falling down around us. Dad didn’t know which end of the screwdriver to hold but Waldo was “handy.” He fixed broken windows, repaired leaky faucets, patched holes, cleaned gutters, put up storm windows and he did it all with only one thumb. This meant that from time-to-time he would need someone to hold something for him while he worked; a flashlight for instance. You knew if you were doing it right when Waldo would reward you with the phrase, “ats the stuff!” If you got it wrong, you would hear “Whoop, whoop whoop!” which was Waldo’s multi-purpose phrase to indicate things weren’t going well.

Dropped the screwdriver, “Whoop, whoop whoop!”
Took a wrong turn while driving, “Whoop, whoop whoop!”
Clarence and Gail are having a loud argument, “Whoop, whoop whoop!”

Waldo Hill Witmer was born in 1899 and he didn’t have a thumb on his left hand. He used to have a thumb but the story was that it was blown off when he was cleaning a gun (and they called ME “knothead!” clumsy or not I managed to make it this far with all my digits!) Having a thumb missing was only the beginning of Waldo’s idiosyncrasies. He never drank milk, opting instead for a big glass of water with his meals. The emphasis was always on the word “Big” and he stretched it out like this, “Gimma a B-I-I-I-G glass a water.” His voice came from deep in his throat and was loud, with very little modulation. He spoke in short choppy phrases and the words would sort of burst out of him. Another mealtime oddity was his tendency to mix all the foods on his plate together, “All get’s mixed up in your stomach anyway!” he’d tell us.

I could start a separate Journal with Waldo stories but for now I leave you with: “YOU MAY BE A WALDO.”

If you’ve ever put a rubber band around your wallet to keep everything inside safe and secure…you may be a Waldo.

If, while stopped at an intersection, you’ve ever shouted from the passenger seat of a car, “OKAY THIS WAY, OKAY THIS WAY!…you may be a Waldo.

If you’ve ever used house paint to fix up a pair of shoes…you may be a Waldo.

If you always leave early enough to allow time to change a flat tire…you may be a Waldo.

If you’ve ever felt the need to carry TWO spare tires…you may be a Waldo.

If you have the uncontrollable urge to stop when you go by the day-old bread store…you may be a Waldo.

If you can’t work on any project without muttering to yourself…you may be a Waldo.

If you’ve ever used plywood to fix antique furniture…you may be a Waldo.

If you’ve ever thought to yourself, “I guy could live in a VW-Micro bus…you may be a Waldo.

I will challenge my readers to perform this little exercise called “Where’s Waldo.” You see, each of us have a little Waldo in us. It’s time to fess up, to admit how the Waldo gene manifests itself in your life.

I expect to see LOTS of comments on this one!