The mobile home park on Barton Springs Road I attempted to
describe here and here is gone. In its place is a mound of dirt surrounded by
green mesh fencing. There is also
a sign announcing the “amenities-rich” condos that will eventually replace that
mound of dirt. I encountered this depressing site Sunday morning on my way to
work.
To be honest, I am ambivalent. My knee does not necessarily
jerk in any specific direction in the face of progress or gentrification. I
suppose it all depends on the circumstance, or my perceived connection to the
blight, the landmark or the treasure being replaced … as well as the nature of
the replacement.
My connection to the former Manor Mobile RV Park was
specious. I simply liked the look of the place. A spirit of individuality was
palpable. While walking past, I could imagine a rogue’s gallery of eccentric, lovable
ne'er-do-wells living an ephemeral version of the Life of Riley … or Good
Neighbor Sam. I’m certain the reality was less romantic. I ponder the inevitable exodus.
When an RV park is closed, those evicted can’t simply leave. They must,
as the song says, pick up their beds and walk. Or, at least, drive. Either way,
I’m sure it wasn’t pretty. Cursory Googling suggests the axe fell because of
escalating property taxes. I have no reason to doubt this, and no inclination
to dig further.
I had a second, more personal connection to this humble
community. In the fifties and early sixties I lived in a mobile home. (Now, you
must confess something that makes your eye twitch.) I was quite young, and
frayed memory has long since morphed into a shifting landscape of childhood
reverie and numbing minutia. In my mind, the experience exists in a single
place and time. It’s all connected by highways and holidays and time served. Listening
to Dylan’s Desolation Row often takes me there, even though my family was unhappily
ensconced in a jittery apartment in Houston by the time I first heard that song.
Anyway … the sight of the Manor Mobile RV Park performed a similar function. It
was a standing invitation to remember something as bland as pavement and as
glorious as unfettered youth.
I hope the residents of the new condos are respectful of any
ghosts who might choose to stay behind.
