There goes the neighborhood…

This story originally appeared in the July 15 issue of The Trussville Tribune…

I hope none of my neighbors are reading this since I’m about to say something that might make them nervous: In some ways, I am their Gladys Kravitz.

You remember Gladys. She’s the nosy Morning Glory Circle neighbor on the old Bewitched TV series who, to put it politely, kept a careful eye on the Stevens home across the street. And it often paid off. Seems like every time Gladys peeked through her living room curtains, she saw something worth seeing. Like aliens. Or Benjamin Franklin. Or Samantha’s dithery old Aunt Clara entering a hitherto non-existent second-story door without the benefit of stairs.

Gladys’ immediate reaction in each instance was to call out to her ever-skeptical husband, who never seemed to pry himself away from his crossword puzzle in time to catch a glimpse of what was going on.

“AB-ner, AB-ner!” she’d screech, fluttering between the window and his chair. And all to no avail, for Abner could not be convinced that anything was amiss, except in his wife’s head. His attitude only served to make Gladys determined to prove herself sane. In the process, she became obnoxious to the point where the Stevenses dreaded to see her coming.

But what if Gladys had taken a different approach? I mean, the Stevenses were nice enough, and Samantha had that cool hocus-pocus things going on. If Gladys had played her cards right, Samantha could have easily twitched her up a new car or a houseful of new furniture and maybe even instantly transported her to lunch in London or Paris a few times a month. But nooo… early on, Gladys positioned herself as an adversary who couldn’t be trusted to keep the Stevenses’ secret.

Despite Gladys’ shortcomings, however, I find myself admiring her in a way. As you may recall, Gladys was quite the civic-minded gal, actively participating in at least one political campaign. And she never hesitated to call upon city officials and/or her local police department whenever she felt the public good was at stake.

But to give Gladys her greatest due, she was one of the most observant individuals you could ever hope to meet. While others remained clueless (Larry Tate, for example – how such a doofus got to be the boss, I’ll never understand), Gladys was the only one who ever truly realized something was not quite normal across the street and consistently tried to figure out what was going on. In a sort of sideways fashion, she was a forerunner of today’s organized neighborhood watch groups.

So I kind of hate to admit it, but Gladys and I have a lot in common. I, too, like knowing what’s going on my neighborhood. And while I don’t have the time to be as civically active as I eventually hope to be, I like to think I do my part.

But (and I hope my neighbors agree) I’m not quite so flighty and downright snoopy as Gladys. Most of my neighborhood watching occurs only on weekends and very openly from my rocker on the front porch. Unlike Gladys, I don’t cross property lines to go peeking into windows or over fences. Especially when binoculars will do. (Just kidding, folks!) Nor do I create fake excuses to go knocking on neighbors’ doors, hoping to get a look inside their homes.

I have to say, though, that if I glance out my living room window one day and see a flying saucer in the yard across the street, Ben Franklin waving from the front porch, and a dithery old woman circling overhead on a broomstick, I’m heading right over with a basket of homemade goodies in one hand and my wish list in the other.

If there’s one “don’t be like” lesson I’ve learned from watching Gladys Kravitz all these years, it’s to make friends with the neighbors, particularly those who seem a little weird. You never know when one of them might be able to twitch you up a shiny red Ferrari, a new bedroom suite or a trip around the world.