Every neighborhood needs a Mayor Joe
Corn
This is a column more than 35 years in the making.
It started with a neighborhood of postage stamp lots near the UNC-Charlotte campus. Newcomers were welcomed by Home Owners Association president Jim.
He of course resided in one of the first homes built in the subdivision, and a two-story home at that. Jim’s nightly neighborhood patrols were long on mouth and short on action.
Topics ranged from a reminder to trim overgrown pampas grass at the end of our driveway to notification that the Methodist minister around the corner had separated from his wife.
Standing in sharp contrast was our next-door neighbor Bill. A weekend deck building project was completed in only three weeks thanks to Bill’s expertise and tools.
A joint (and failed) lumberjacking experience which resulted in a pine tree through the windows in our family room. Instructions on the proper use of a push mower to enhance the curb appeal of freshly cut weeds in our front yard.
Bill’s lending library included the use of his high dollar self-propelled Toro mower when my $60 K-Mart 20-inch push mower failed to start.
The skillful use of a gas grill and a pan of lard to prepare a meal when Hurricane Hugo left us without power for a week.
Next stop, an older subdivision in Huntersville. Larger lot. No HOA. Two doors down from the stately home of Bob.
His Cub Cadet the envy of the neighborhood. This long-time Duke Power employee spent several evenings teaching and helping me replace electrical outlets in our home.
The “go to guy”. Every neighborhood has one. Allow me to introduce Mayor Joe.
The neighborhood we have called home for almost 30 years happens to be a dead-end road. One of those neighborhoods which make driving directions short and simple to compose. “Go to the row of mailboxes at the end of the road and bear right.”
The neighborhood Welcome Center, home of Mayor Joe and the First Lady, is instantly recognizable. Lush green manicured lawn. Gorgeous flower beds. Perfectly arranged and annually refreshed mulch.
Lawn maintenance elevated to an art form. Covered front porch equipped with rocking chairs and a swing. An invitation to stop and chat awhile.
An open garage door typically means Hizzonor is in residence, and the neighborhood Harbor Freight store is open. It also reveals that which separates the men from the boys, the professionals from the pretenders. The orange Kioti tractor.
Wisdom shared. A fine mesh gutter guard will keep you off the roof. That foul odor is the lake turning over. A zero-turn mower is best for a large flat yard with lots of obstacles.
Buy some lime and fertilizer at Gragg Farm Supply, then apply both within the next week.
Tools loaned. Voltage tester. Purple potion glue for the Christmas Day water pipe repair. Cutting torch. Wrenches of all shapes and sizes. Pole saw. Tandem-axle trailer equipped to haul mulch.
Solutions provided. Bush hog at our son’s house. Aerate a neighbor’s yard. Mow another neighbor’s grass. Scrape our gravel driveway. Offload boulders from the utility trailer and place them in our yard.
Roadside mowing after N.C. DOT failed to show. Snow and ice removal in neighborhood driveways. Trash removal when some thoughtful citizen dumped an old sofa and bags of garbage along our road.
Assist a Hurricane Helene debris removal crew from eastern North Carolina when they needed help procuring new hydraulic hoses for a large excavator.
It is more than tools, services, and advice. Upon learning that our son was interested in hunting, Joe gifted him a deer stand and rifle from his heirloom collection.
Even the dogs get in on the action. Meathead and Black Dog are routinely rewarded with treats when walking by Joe’s house.
Our shared interest in collector cars means I will find the latest edition of Hemmings Motor News resting atop Joe’s mailbox when I walk the dogs.
An Army veteran who saw active duty in Vietnam, Mayor Joe takes genuine interest in our youngest son as he progresses through Green Beret training.
How does one express gratitude when none is expected; reciprocate when it seems there is nothing I can offer?
We have written thank-you notes, enclosed gift cards, baked cookies, and delivered a pot of country-style steak with mashed potatoes & gravy. Is there something more meaningful to offer?
The question was on my mind as I drove by North Green Street Presbyterian Church a few days ago. Their sign offered this simple phrase. “The time is always right to do what is right.”
That’s it! A core belief not only shared by Bill, Bob, and Mayor Joe, but translated into action by all three. Perhaps gratitude might best be expressed by paying it forward.
Make their conviction my conviction, their response my response. With gratitude for the life lesson, I salute our Mayor Joe and all the Mayor Joes out there.
May I borrow your gimbal ratchet?
Ken Corn is an occasional columnist for The Paper. He may be reached at cornke2013@gmail.com.
