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News News Feature

THE WEATHERS REPORT

AN EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES

My favorite columnist is Paul Krugman, of The New York Times. An economist at Princeton by way of Yale and M.I.T., Krugman eviscerates the policies of whoever is in power. He does this by using the sharpest of scalpels: hard economic facts. Krugman operates on the pages of the Times twice a week. He once dissected Bill Clinton’s policies. Now he does the same to George W. Bush, and it’s a pleasure to watch. Krugman was recently named Editor & Publisher‘s columnist of the year.

In the October 20, 2002 issue of The New York Times Sunday Magazine, Krugman wrote an essay that is must reading for everyone who is sickened by American greed. The essay is called “For Richer.” Warning: Unless you make more than, say, $2 million a year, his essay will make you angry. If you do make more than $2 million a year, it should make you ashamed.

The idea of Krugman’s essay is simple: America, he says, has returned to the Gilded Age, when the world was divided between the super-rich, who lived in obscene luxury in their Newport and Long Island mansions, and the average Joes, who lived, well, as best they could. Immediately after the Depression and World War II, says Krugman, this divide between the super-rich and the average Joe narrowed significantly. But today the divide is as great as ever it was during the age of the robber barons. Writes Krugman:

    “Over the past 30 years most people have seen only modest salary increases: the average annual salary in America, expressed in 1998 dollars (that is, adjusted for inflation), rose from $32,522 in 1970 to $35,864 in 1999. That’s about a 10 percent increase over 29 years–progress, but not much. Over the same period, however, according to Fortune magazine, the average real annual compensation of the top 100 C.E.O.’s went from $1.3 million–39 times the pay of an average worker–to $37.5 million, more than 1,000 times the pay of ordinary workers.”

Krugman points out that in the years after the Depression and WW II, corporate C.E.O.’s would have been embarrassed to make so much more than their workers. It would have been a slap in the face of the GIs who had fought the war and of the wives and mothers who had scrimped and sacrificed to keep their families alive during the greed-induced Depression.

Having taken Krugman’s point, I think it’s time to embarrass the C.E.O.’s again. I hereby propose a new piece of federal legislation: the national “Parade of Pigs” Act.

The act will work like this: Every year, after tax forms are submitted, the IRS will make a list of all Americans who made more than $1,071,200 in gross income that year. The list will include actual incomes next to actual names. The IRS will publish that list under the title “The Parade of Pigs.” (The name will be mandated by law.) The list will be made available to every newspaper and television station in America, and will be placed on a federal web site called “www.pigsty.gov.”

Why $1,071,200? Because that’s exactly 100 times the annual wage of a worker who puts in 40 hours per week, 52 weeks per year at the federal minimum wage of $5.15 per hour. (You may claim that most C.E.O.s put in more than 40 hours per week. I’ve spent a good deal of time around C.E.O.’s. Most of the C.E.O.’s I’ve seen were playing golf during workday hours, or eating at someone else’s expense. I’m sure they called it work.)

Today there is a substantial movement under way on the Internet and elsewhere to legislate an actual “maximum wage” in the United States. One of the more provocative books on the subject is The Maximum Wage: A Common Sense Prescription for Revitalizing America by Taxing the Very Rich, by Sam Pizzigati (138 pages, $15.95, The Apex Press/The Bootstrap Press). Pizzigati and most of those who agree with him recommend a maximum wage of 10 times the minimum wage. In other words, anything you make over, say, $107,120 per year would be taxed at 100%. Pizzigati makes a strong case that this will not only narrow the dangerous gap between the rich and the poor (the first result will almost certainly be to raise the minimum wage), but it will also lead to a greater demand for goods and services (since poor people spend most of their money instead of hoarding it), thereby boosting the economy. It would also create stronger companies that use job satisfaction and the opportunity for creativity as incentives, rather than mere money.

The maximum wage is a good idea, and I wish it would happen. But it won’t–at least not in the United States, not yet. It could happen someday down the line, when the neoconservatives finally do try to grab the last dollar from the last wage worker to give to some rich guy flying off to the Bahamas in his Gulfstream, and the workers revolt.

But “The Parade of Pigs” is easy, cheap and doable, and it might have at least some small effect. The avoidance of shame, I believe, is still a powerful motivation for most Americans. I’m more generous than Pizzigati. I’m willing to give folks 100 times the minimum wage before they are pilloried for their greed. Heck, I’m even willing to compromise: As a concession to those who (unlike the current attorney general) still believe that the right to privacy should be guaranteed in our system of government, I’m willing to leave off from the final list the exact amount each Pig makes.

Back to Krugman’s article: In 1998, he writes, “the 13,000 richest families in America had almost as much [combined] income as the 20 million poorest households.”

So today let us address those 13,000 in a language they can understand: Oink.

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News The Fly-By

OLD MOTHER COHEN

According to state Senator Steve Cohen, Finance Commissioner Dave Goetz approached Senate Speaker John Wilder to inform him that Cohen would no longer be welcome at the weekly meetings between legislative leaders and Governor Phil Bredesen. Cohen has been — for lack of a better way of saying it — freaking out over how the governor is planning to implement and distribute funds raised from the new Tennessee state lottery the same lottery that Cohen championed almost single-handedly for years. Cohen has even created works of political art which supposedly suggest that the state Senate will not be bullied by Governor Bredesen in the same way Nashville’s Metro Council was once bullied by Mayor Bredesen. Goetz has been quoted as saying, “[Cohen’s] behavior is just inexplicable.” But that’s not true. Mama always has trouble cutting the apron strings when it’s time for her babies to go out into the big old world on their own. [S]he’s just going to cry sometimes. It’s natural.

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We Recommend We Recommend

friday, 9

One more art opening tonight and one big, big art party. The opening reception is at Albers Fine Art Gallery for Territories, paintings by Clayton Marsh. And the big party is Artrageous at the Tennessee Brewery; it s the Memphis Arts Council s annual celebration and features performances by Porter-Batiste-Stoltz, The Gamble Brothers Band, and yoga performance art. If you ve never been to a party at the Brewery, you are going to be in for a real surprise. Opening at TheatreWorks for a two-night show is Star Queen, The Next Generation (this one has so much promise). Today kicks off the two-day Greek Festival at the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church on Highland, with great Greek food, music, and dancing. Beanpole, Exit 7, and 40 Watt Moon are at the Hi-Tone. If you ve never been to JJ s Lounge on Walker just off Bellevue, it s well worth a visit (some of the coldest 40-ounces in town). And by all means, if you haven t made it there yet, go visit .

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News News Feature

MEMPHIS MARCH AGAINST CRIME

A march to raise awareness of the disproportionate amount of crime in the African-American and Latino communities will take place Saturday, May 10th.

The march will begin at the McFarland Community Center and Cottonwood and end at the Memphis Police Department’s East Precinct on Mendenhall.

The event, organized by Fuerza Latina Unida (United Latin Movement), is designed to raise public awareness of a study conducted by FLU in conjunction with the Advancement Project in Washington, D.C. The study suggested that communities and civic bodies enter into a partnership in order to cope with crime.

Latinos make up 3 percent of the Memphis population,” said Latino activist David Lubell. “But in 2002, 11.2 percent of individual robbery victims were Latinos.”

FLU’s Rolando Rostro, a minister and onetime migrant worker, said that beyond the obvious language barrier a number of reasons exist for the disproportionate levels of crime within immigrant communities.

“So many of these people don’t trust the police because they come from countries where the police are very corrupt,” Rostro said. “Also, they don’t trust the banks, so they always have money on them. They keep their money in their homes. This makes them easy targets.”

Plans to combat these problems include hiring bilingual 911 operators, offering incentive pay while recruiting bilingual police officers, and creating liaisons between the police and the Latino community.

According to Pastor Ralph White of Bloomfield Baptist Church, creating an African/Latino American Credit Union may also help the two communities. Pastor White was asked to lend his resources to the march after it occurred to organizers that similar problems continue to exist in African-American communities. For instance, African Americans make up 61.4 percent of the Memphis population, but in 2002, they were victims in 79.6 percent of the reported homicides.

White explained that one way to lessen the tension that exists between these two communities as a result of economic competition is to look at the issues they have in common. “None of us can be free until all of us are free,” he said.

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News News Feature

HOW IT LOOKS

Categories
Music Music Features

Sound Advice

Though best known now for penning five songs off Norah Jones’ Come Away with Me, including the smash, Grammy Song of the Year “Don’t Know Why,” Jesse Harris is no jazz cat as a performer. Instead, Harris and his band, The Ferdinandos, offer tuneful modern rock in the vein of the Wallflowers or John Mayer, though the best of his upcoming The Secret Sun (due May 20th on Blue Thumb Records) evokes ’70s SoCal soft-rock: When Harris and Jones team up for the duet “What Makes You,” the ghosts of Fleetwood Mac’s Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks are definitely in the air. Harris & Co. will perform Monday, May 12th, at Newby’s.

A Boston guitar-drums blues-rock duo in the vein of the Black Keys or, ahem, the White Stripes, Mr. Airplane Man find their niche as an all-girl band but musically speaking more than hold their own against any of their subgenre competition (except for, ahem, the White Stripes). And these gals have beaucoup Memphis connections in the form of Jeffrey Evans, who introduced them to their label, Sympathy for the Record Industry, and the Reigning Sound’s Greg Cartwright, who did production work on the band’s most recent record, last year’s Moanin’, as well as their next, due later this year. The Reigning Sound, fresh off their first overseas tour, will be joining Mr. Airplane Man Saturday, May 10th, at the Hi-Tone Café.

The latest installment of the great local music series Tha Movement checks into bigger digs this week when it comes to the New Daisy Theatre Saturday, May 10th. On the schedule for this month’s set: neo-soul band Messiah Surrat, soul-rock band Raven, and DJ Nappy Wilson. Showtime is 9 p.m.

Chris Herrington

I suppose I need to begin with a small apology to Eric Oblivian. In last week’s Music Issue, I credited Eric’s former bandmate Greg (Cartwright) Oblivian for writing the song “Guitar Shop Asshole.” As it turns out, that little ditty was Eric’s tune. So, to make things right between me and the least visible of the three Oblivians (Jack and Greg still play out all the time) let me begin my recommendations by suggesting that you Webheads out there stop and pay a visit to his Web site for Goner Records at Goner-records.com. It’s a great resource for fans of Memphis punk and garage music. Onward.

Now I have to admit I’m not a fan of The Gamble Brothers Band. Their funky jazz, blues, and rock fusion just isn’t my cup of tea. But there can be no doubt that these guys are players — they play great together, and we can probably expect good things to happen for them in the coming years. But, I wouldn’t go out of my way to see them, unless, of course, they were playing in the coolest venue in the world. And they are. The Gamble Brothers Band will be joined by Porter-Batiste-Stoltz of New Orleans funk pioneers the Funky Meters, at the old Tennessee Brewery, a huge castle-like structure on Tennessee Street, for a Memphis Arts Council fund-raiser called Artrageous. I’ll never forget seeing Memphis legends Mudboy & the Neutrons (with Jim Dickinson, Sid Selvidge, and Lee Baker) play a show there back in the mid-’90s. The show was so rocking and the event so cool that it even lured one of the neighbors (some woman named Cybill Shepherd) from her home. It felt like the coolest event in the world. And I can promise that a double bill with the Gamble Brothers and a few Funky Meters in that amazing space will be every bit as memorable. Check it out on Friday, May 9th. —Chris Davis

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We Recommend We Recommend

A Girl This Tall, Legs Incomparable

Ann-Margret doesn’t like to talk about her Viva Las Vegas co-star and onetime kissing-buddy Elvis Presley. And it’s understandable. She is a certifiable superstar in her own right. But once you fall beneath the shadow of the King, it’s hard to separate yourself from him, and although I’m not supposed to ask Elvis-related questions, I have at least one I want to sneak in. Maybe, I think, I can charm this famous beauty into telling all. Maybe we can even become buddies.

At 2 p.m. straight up the phone begins to ring. The caller ID reads “private.” It’s her. I know it’s her, and for a moment I freeze. This is, after all, Ann-Margret, the slightly trashy, fiery-spirited, red-headed apple of my adolescent eye. I only came to understand the word erotic after watching her writhe about in baked beans in Ken Russell’s screen adaptation of the Who’s Tommy. And there can be no denying it, I had lusted after her since I saw a certain film where Elvis Presley and Cesare Danova chase her around America’s gambling capital, asking everyone they meet, “Have you seen a girl this tall, legs incomparable?” Well, have you?

“Hello, this is Ann-Margret,” the voice from the other end of the phone line cooed. She really cooed. Or maybe she purred. I can’t be sure. One way or the other, I felt like I should be paying $3.99 a minute to hear someone talk to me like that.

“Ann-Margret,” I answer, “I’ve told you not to call me here anymore. My wife gets so jealous.” Laughter follows. Wonderful, giddy, sexy laughter. Things are going so well.

“So, do you ever watch American Idol?” I ask casually.

“No,” she answers, and the conversation goes dead in the water. This was not a good development. You see, as an amazing vocalist, fantastic dancer, and lascivious looker, Ann-Margret embodies (or perhaps once embodied) everything the American Idol judges claim to be looking for. During her heyday in the 1960s and ’70s, this motorcycle-riding performer had the stuff to make teenagers scream and to make parents nervous. I thought she would have quite an opinion on the subject.

“I have been in a lot of talent shows,” she offered at length. “I was on Morris B. Sach’s talent contest when I was only 13. I did the Ted Mack Amateur Hour. Oh, the nerves, the nerves, the nerves.”

“Can these kinds of contests prepare someone for superstardom?” I ask.

“No,” she says. More silence follows. And then she starts to open up. “I don’t think anything in the world can really prepare you for that sort of thing, when it happens to you. But one of the things I always tell kids, sometimes young kids who don’t really understand but their parents do, is that you really have to learn how to take rejection.” Margaret lost the Ted Mack contest to a man who played “Lady of Spain” on a leaf. Yes, a leaf. So she knows. “If you can’t take rejection, you’re going to be blown away,” she says. “It’s especially true for women in this brutal industry.”

And then Ann-Margret, the actress, songstress, and aging love-goddess of my dreams, makes a slightly embarrassed admission. “I have seen an episode of American Idol,” she says a bit sheepishly. “And I could never, not in one million years, go on a show like that and have millions and millions of people judge me. And I feel so sorry for those kids, especially the ones who are really truly sensitive. Because at an audition it’s just you and three or four people in the rehearsal hall. And when you are done they don’t talk to you. [When you finish] it’s just ‘Thank you for auditioning, goodbye.'”

Having been away from performing for nearly a decade, she says the need to entertain had grown too strong. “You can’t operate that need out,” she says. “You can’t eat it out or tear it out, and, honey, I want to put on a show. I’m like the Energizer bunny — I just keep going and going and going.” But what is an Ann-Margret show like today? Surely it’s not like the days of old when she would come roaring on stage on a motorcycle.

“Oh yes, we do have a motorcycle in the show,” she says. “I still ride bikes. I have one very girly bike. It’s lavender. Harley-Davidson is hand-painted in white script, and there are daisies painted all over it. It’s SO girly. And we are doing all kinds of music [in the show] — rock-and-roll, blues, and standards. I realized that I had never actually performed anything from Viva Las Vegas or Bye Bye Birdie live, so I’m singing the song “Viva Las Vegas” in the show and doing things from Bye Bye Birdie.”

At last the opportunity has presented itself. She has brought up the subject of rock-and-roll and Viva Las Vegas. Now, it seems, is my chance to ask about Elvis, but I decide to ease into the conversation with an easy question.

“What’s the best rock-and-roll film of all time?” I ask. “Bye Bye Birdie, Tommy, or Viva Las Vegas?”

“Well, Bye Bye Birdie isn’t really rock-and-roll. It’s Broadway. So it’s not Bye Bye Birdie. And Tommy isn’t really rock-and-roll either. That’s the ’70s, right? So it’s a completely different era. So it’s got to be Viva Las Vegas.”

“So,” I ask cunningly, “while on the subject of rock-and-roll “

“Oh,” she interrupts, sensing the inevitable, “look at the time. I really do have to run. I have another interview to do.” We say our thank-you’s, and she hangs up.

All I wanted to ask was, “You’re so talented, and your career has been fantastic, with Oscar nominations and tons of critical praise. Do you ever feel like your association with Elvis eclipsed your talent? Has that relationship become a burden over the years?” And although she never heard the question, I suppose I got my answer. It began “Oh, look at the time” and ended with a click.

Ann-Margret at Gold Strike Casino, Sat., May 10th

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

Twentieth-Century Blues

My country right or wrong.” It’s a sentiment you hear a lot these days from flag-waving patriots ready to shout down (or worse) those who disagree with the current administration’s thuggish foreign policies and increasingly oppressive domestic agenda. We have been promised more jobs, but unemployment is on the rise. We were promised compassion, but instead we see offensive, flagrantly prejudicial commentary coming from elected officials, the very people sworn to promote equality. Freedom of expression has been challenged, and due process has, in certain quarters, been all but done away with. And in the midst of all this social unrest there are the flag-wavers singing patriotic odes and making their snarling pronouncement of blind alliance, “My country right or wrong,” as if they were actually proud to embrace the possible consequences of being entirely wrong.

I bring all of this up for one reason: E.L. Doctorow’s novel Ragtime, which commingles fact and fiction to provide a snapshot of life at the beginning of the 20th century, reminds us that while we may have come a long way in the past 100 years, we haven’t really changed all that much. Playhouse on the Square’s production of Ragtime, a brooding musical based on Doctorow’s novel and smartly adapted to the stage by Love! Valour! Compassion! playwright Terrence McNally, hits all the right notes, and whenever a character is brought down for expressing an unpopular belief or an act of unspeakable violence is committed against an African American or an immigrant Jew, there is always plenty of flag-waving to accompany it. If there is a musical for the interesting times we live in, it’s Ragtime, and Playhouse very nearly gets it right.

Director Dave Landis has, with the aid of choreographer Jay Rapp, worked a minor miracle. They have staged a modern megamusical with a gigantic cast and crew in a relatively small space and without all the outlandish, over-the-top set changes we’ve come to expect from such extravaganzas. They have put their faith in Doctorow’s powerful and upsetting but ultimately hopeful story of cultural upheaval, and for their faith they have been rewarded with a powerful, upsetting, but ultimately hopeful production that, at this past Sunday’s matinee, elicited mid-song “bravos.” There are awkward moments when the stage becomes so crowded that near-collisions are inevitable, and the action gets lost in the crush of bodies. And when the lights went down at the end of the first act, there was an eruption of self-congratulatory voices from backstage that completely shattered the illusion of professionalism. But these are small complaints in the light of Playhouse’s achievement.

The plunking, asymmetrical rhythms of ragtime music form the base from which Ragtime‘s songs emerge, but for the most part the songs are closer in spirit to modern musical theater than to anything Scott Joplin ever penned, and that is a little disappointing. It’s disappointing because the songs fail to distinguish themselves as songs but rather blend together in a kind of bland tapestry. Again, a minor complaint, and one that has more to do with the play than with the production. It is the content here that matters; the form is almost secondary.

Ragtime tells the story of an upper-middle-class white family from the suburbs of New York. They are untouched by the problems facing African Americans, laborers, and immigrants and allowed to practice a sort of benign snobbery. They aren’t a part of the problem, but becoming a part of the solution would be unseemly. Of course, all of this changes when an abandoned black infant is discovered in the garden. Shortly thereafter the mother is discovered, and both mother and child are brought into the household. Before long, they will learn that even those whose hands are scrubbed clean and who do not involve themselves in cultural politics must shoulder as much of the blame for intolerance as the bigots who promote it.

To single out any actors for praise would be inappropriate, as this is truly an ensemble piece. The performers work together and successfully bring to life a time of unrest not that much unlike our own. It’s a time when opportunity is still golden. Success in the light of overwhelming odds is still possible. But the deck is stacked against those who are perceived as physically, morally, or intellectually different from the flag-waving pack. This show may have debuted in 1996, but it could have been written yesterday. See it. Think about it. Talk about it. Then talk about it some more.

Through June 8th.

Categories
Opinion Viewpoint

Acting Our Age

Watching world leaders over the last few months, I have taken to dividing them into two camps: the adolescents and the grown-ups.

Among the adolescents are George W. Bush and Jacques Chirac, as well as Kim Jong Il, (the late?) Saddam Hussein, and nearly all other dictators. Among the grown-ups are Tony Blair, Colin Powell, Kofi Annan, and Vladimir Putin.

There are a few adolescents who make a good show of pretending to be grown-ups: Donald Rumsfeld comes to mind. On the other hand, there are a few grown-ups who seem on casual first glance to be adolescents: Bill Clinton, for example.

The adolescent/grown-up divide does not match up with age or political positions. It has to do more with a certain tendency of mind.

The defining characteristic of the adolescent world leader is his unwavering belief (or, at least, his pose) that, when it comes to world affairs, he knows all the answers, the same way your 16-year-old son or daughter knows all the answers. The adolescent’s defining mode of communication is bluster. His language is moralistic and repetitious. He entertains no contradictions; he will not even listen if you tell him he is wrong.

In contrast, the defining characteristic of the grown-up world leader is his recognition that everything in world affairs is complicated and that no one knows how things will turn out. The grown-up’s defining mode of communication is debate — that is, he listens to his opponents and shapes answers that directly address their objections.

A grown-up will sometimes appear to contradict himself, because he feels it when the tectonic plates of the world are shifting beneath him. A grown-up is not afraid to express his uncertainty, even while making the either/or decisions all leaders must make.

U.N. chief arms inspector Hans Blix is a grown-up, and so of course are Nelson Mandela, Vaclav Havel, and Jimmy Carter.

Among leaders from the not-too-distant past, Mao Tse-tung, Lyndon Johnson, Charles DeGaulle, Nikita Kruschev, Margaret Thatcher, and the Ayatollah Khomeini were adolescents. Winston Churchill was pretty much an adolescent blusterer to the end, though a valuable one.

The difference between an adolescent and a grown-up is most vivid in George W. Bush and Tony Blair. In the run-up to the Iraq War, Bush gave a single press conference, at which, no matter the question asked by whatever preselected reporter, he gave one of three prefabricated, always-on-message answers.

Blair, on the other hand, regularly stood scriptless before the House of Commons in full debate mode, taking on the inflammatory objections, not to mention the catcalls, of the opposition, and he had to answer them extemporaneously and directly, else he would have been the laughingstock of his nation.

Go back and look at how Bush and Blair made their arguments for the Iraq War. For Bush, it was all simplicity: We’re good, Saddam is bad, we’ll make the world a better place in short order, by golly, and anybody who thinks otherwise or worries about what this means for the world’s future (read: the French) is a weasel. For Blair, it was more complicated than that: Saddam is dangerous and, regretably, we must risk the sad, uncertain consequences of war to get rid of him, and anybody who thinks otherwise may be well-intentioned but is, well, mistaken.

Bush seemed downright eager to go to war. Blair, at least, seemed reluctant, although committed.

Though I think he was wrong on the Iraq War, I respect Tony Blair. He’s a smart grown-up in a grown-up country. George Bush, on the other hand, is like a 15-year-old with a gun: He simply makes the world afraid. And as for the United States, well, we will earn the respect of the world when we once again elect a grown-up.

Ed Weathers is a former editor of Memphis magazine.

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Hot Properties Real Estate

Bungalow Bill

It was as if the government mandated so many bungalows per lot in Midtown in the 1920s. I am sure there was a congressional act tacked onto some weightier matter, no doubt called the Bungalow Bill.

Bungalows were easy to build. A rectangular, shoe-box shape with a moderately low pitched roof, they usually had a full-width concrete-floored porch across the front with brick and/or stone columns. The simple shape made them fit on any width city lot, leaving room for a side drive and a carport in the rear. There was often a small basement and permanent stairs to the attic providing easy access for storage. Inside, floors were oak, and trim and doors were often tupelo or black gum, a local wood that rivaled mahogany in color and grain pattern.

Bungalows are easy to maintain. One reason that home buyers have always loved bungalows is the uncomplicated layout. Halls were kept to a minimum, and public rooms opened directly to each other, and sometimes to the front porch, through pairs of glazed French doors.

Materials like oak floors and black-gum trim needed little maintenance and certainly weren t designed to ever be painted. Likewise, the outside (brick and stone) was built to withstand the test of time. The only wood outside to paint was the window and door surrounds and the deep overhanging roof eaves. This was the first easy-living house after the Victorian era.

The expansiveness of the Victorians demanded not only a different fork for each course at dinner but likewise a different room for every function (morning room, sun room, music room, parlor, library, ad nauseum). Bungalows were the standard-bearers whose motto was Stop all that nonsense. Simplify life. Bungalows were a response to the passing of the Victorian Age when bigger was not always better or even attainable.

Bungalows remain flexible. Rooms were designed to be multifunctional. The use of French doors allowed a room to be thrown open as needed for bigger gatherings but just as easily closed and used as a guest room or office. The kitchen usually had an attached breakfast room with built-in cabinetry and, frequently, a rear-latticed porch to hold garden tools and the icebox.

Both of these rooms remain invaluable. First, the rear porch could be easily enclosed providing the perfect spot to add a washer and dryer when the outdoor clothesline went the way of the icebox. Secondly, the breakfast room can easily be incorporated into the kitchen by removing the wall and thus gaining space for a breakfast bar or a seating area.

This week s house exhibits all the best attributes of the bungalow. The white-oak floors need only a good buffing, and the red-gum trim and French doors remain unpainted and breathtaking. Regretfully, the rustic stone surround of the fireplace has been painted, but a little love and some paint remover can fix that. There is also that second front room that doubles as private or public as needed.

The kitchen has been nicely updated and finished in a palette of creamy whites. The back porch has been enclosed and the attic is fully floored. The breakfast room is still discreet, but a small amount of indiscretion and a sledgehammer would change that. The rear yard is privacy-fenced, and there is a freestanding carport with attached storage room. What s needed here is a little imagination with the color scheme, a few nifty light fixtures, and some fresh landscaping. Nothing too difficult, and this easy-living bungalow in Evergreen remains as rock-solid as an act of Congress.

414 N. Willett St.

Approximately 1,450 square feet

2 bedrooms, 1 bath

$139,000

The Hobson Company

Charlotte Liles, 761-1622