An American Original

One more small town institution has made way for ‘progress’.

There is a hole now where Lanny Casterwalder’s house once stood and also, I must admit, a little hole in my heart at it’s passing.

Lanny was what I like to call an American Original. He owned the last unofficial salvage yard in Madison Heights. His neighbors called Lanny’s place an eyesore, like a black tooth in a supermodel’s smile. Folks wondered whether it was a salvage business or just a hobby grown out of hand; like people who collect too many stray cats. Passing by you’d always see Lanny out hip deep in his collection, but as his was the sole human life I ever detected, any other bodies possibly being interpreted as customers (or health inspectors), locals were confident in labeling him a ‘collector’, and not an entrepreneur.

If you’ve ever known a collector you will know how loathe they are to part with their treasures. My father was a collector, a Depression-era collector. Mother called him a pack rat. He was loathe to part with anything – bits of string, old rubber bands, broken wristwatches. His argument was, “you never know when these things’ll come in handy”. Dad’s ‘junk drawer’ included his night-stand drawer, his desk, our garage, the shed and three kitchen cabinets. After he died we got rid of most of his treasure hoard. Those things never did come in handy but I’m pretty sure somewhere in the attic there’s a box filled with bits of string, old rubber bands and a busted watch or two just waiting for their moment.

Lanny’s front yard was just Dad’s junk drawer on a grand scale. I like to think of it as Madison Height’s own Watts Towers. In one sense it’s demise closes out a chapter in our local history. A Summit man, on learning I was a Madison Heights resident remarked, “Madison Heights? We used to dump our garbage there”. I think there are even a few Super Fund sites in the Grand Swamp awaiting clean up. Digging in my own backyard I’ve unearthed a variety of antique crap – old plumbing fixtures, bits of wire, asbestos shingles. Just makes my tomatoes tangy.

Never be ashamed of your heritage.

Why am I sad? It’s another piece of Americana disappearing into history – the rugged individual with some small stake making a go of it off the grid. There’s a sign streetside at the hole reassuring the neighborhood that a shiny new home will be Coming Soon!

The supermodel’s smile is getting a new cap.

Bud F.X. Landry