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A few weeks ago, a 71-year-old man pulled his car to the roadside in Northwest Portland and stopped. He rolled down the window, turned off the engine and stared at a house.
The place, distinguished by three gables, is partially hidden by hedges and trees. Most people who pass by would never notice it. And if they did give it a glance, they'd probably think it's a nice house in a nice neighborhood. Nothing more.
The house, in the 2500 block of Northwest Westover Road, is known as the Bessie & Louis Tarpley House. Built in 1907, it's listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
The current owner is Barbee Lyon, 79.
He and his first wife took possession in 1975. When they divorced, he bought out her share.
A retired lawyer, Lyon learned Louis Tarpley, the home's first owner, had also been a Portland lawyer. Setbacks in Tarpley's life led to the house auction(拍卖) in the late 1920s.
"I'm only the fifth owner of the home," Lyon said.
A previous owner was Frank Masco.
He and his wife, Esther, and their nine children had lived across town in a tiny house needing constant repairs. In the mid-1950s, the elder Masco wanted to move to a bigger house and one closer to work. A docker (码头工人), he was on-call 24 hours a day and had to quickly get to the Willamette River docks.
He found a home on Westover Road. At the time, many people wanted to live in new construction in the suburbs. The Westover house was offered at a deep discount.
And later the family moved on several times, finally living in Vancouver.
One Sunday in July 2019, Charley Masco drove to Portland for an appointment at a computer store. When it ended, he traveled the familiar route to Westover Road, pulled over and looked at that home.
He decided to do something bold. He got out of his car and walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. He waited. No response. Nervous, he thought it was a mistake to do this and considered turning around and walking back to his car.
Barbee Lyon opened the door and saw a stranger.
"I'm not selling anything," Masco said quickly. "I just want you to know I once lived here."
Lyon opened the door wide.
"Come in."
And for the first time since 1966, Masco stepped into his childhood home.
Every room looked as Masco had remembered it: The built-in china hutch in the dining room, the hanging lights above the table and, in the kitchen, a massive wood-burning stove where his mother used to cook family meals. It was as if he had walked into his own museum.
Lyon told Masco he'd never done major structural remodeling, which meant Masco knew his way around the home.
It was as if he had never left.
There, on the top floor, was the window he and his siblings quietly opened to sneak out at night and return before their parents knew they were gone. The loft where friends daydreamed about the future. The living room – no TV ever allowed – where the family gathered to share music, play cards or just talk with each other.
Then they all walked to the basement.
In the far corner, Masco saw his father's old wooden workbench. And above it, baby food jars. Masco had forgotten about them.
He explained that his father had nailed lids from the jars to a rafter, filling the glass with different size screws, nuts and bolts, and then screwing the jars back into the lids to give him easy access while working.
Masco thought about his father, his mother and three of his siblings who have died. He thought about his father, tinkering in the basement, while his mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
He thought about the 71-year-old man he was and the boy he had once been.
Kruse, Lyon's wife, reached up and unscrewed a jar. She handed it to Masco, believing it belonged to this stranger.
Masco thanked her.
He clutched the small bottle to his chest.
"My dad," he said quietly. "This is my dad."
