Getting it done

A PLACE NAMED GINSBURG

 

The big billboard sign at the edge of the narrow path into a wooded area gets my attention. It is a real eyesore to the residents of the lovely, well-established surrounding area. 'Construction to begin April 1, 2000. 30 large residential homes offering all conveniences. Plans and plots available now. Contact: Charles Bradley-302-954-1060. We will work together to build a new paradise.

 

Marilyn and I look at that sign every day for two weeks, see no action, no stakes going into the ground, no basic markers of property sizes. Our interest is more than curiosity. We are at the point in our lives where we can afford our dreams. 'Let's at least inquire, Larry. It can't hurt.' And so our adventure began.

 

Mr. Bradley was delighted to go over the firm's plans at our convenience, which we arranged for the following afternoon . His office at Grand and 12th, Suite 2001, was attractive in a flashy sort of way. My Marilyn happens to be a constant planner. She makes lists, plans ahead. Her grocery list is in order a week before she'll shop. Appointments are written down and what she will wear two or three days later await her, being checked off when accomplished. To meet Mr. Bradley she had prepared two full pages of questions. He was ready to answer them all.

 

The model homes will fit architecturally with the surrounding community. Anything at all we want, we shall have. Marbled walls? Stainless steel kitchen with eating island? A lanai? Hardwood floors?
All included! Two fireplaces? A large lot with nice view? All we had to do was give a substantial deposit to get started. I saw stardust already in Marilyn's eyes. I, on the other hand, was not yet convinced. I shook hands with Mr. Bradley and told him we'd think about it. We played it cool and didn't call him for two weeks. Marilyn finally did the calling 'just to go over a few things.' She was told that two prime lots had already been sold. Names were in ink on the plans. 'Mr. Bradley,' she asked, 'if we give a small deposit will you hold lot 308 for us for ten days?' He agreed to only one week as another couple was considering that very lot. I figured he was pushing our buttons, but he accepted my check for half the required deposit. That set up another red flag.

 

Marilyn and I had a great deal to do, turn our present home over to a real estate agent and wait to get lucky.  Buyers were not ringing our chimes. Nothing had started at the site by the proposed April 1. May 10, after a hard spring rain, two trucks laden with equipment were mired in the narrow muddy lane. It took 3 days before they were extricated. Trees, beautiful old trees, were knocked over like bowling pins, quickly sawed into moveable pieces and were hauled away. Marilyn used wide red ribbons to mark every tree on our lot that we did NOT want cut down. The workers were either stupid, blind or deaf. They cut down all the ones Marilyn marked to be saved in one sad afternoon. Mr. Bradley was angry at us for being angry. We had no right to give orders to his men. 'We have no time to take care of everyone's whim's, Mr. Kaplan. Those trees were in our way. We will plant new trees when construction is complete.' With his tirade over, he said, 'Good day, Mr. and Mrs. Kaplan.'

 

Six homes were growing taller every day. Ours was under roof by the middle of October. In the meantime, the quagmire of mud had not ended. A bronze Lexus was trapped, its wheels spun until they smoked.
Raging with anger, Mr. David  Goldburg (with a 'U') stepped into the muck and introduced himself and his wife, Miriam, who will be moving into 304 eventually. He was not going to stand for this mess any longer.'Don't worry, Mr. Kaplan. I will take care of it.' Trucks got thru. Men dug out heavy dead tree roots, storm drains and sewers neared completion. In one week the lane was widened, leveled and paved.

 

That did not stop the complaints. Twelve homes were ready for inspection. Ours was not. Complaints, complaints echoed amongst us. Bathroom tiles were not installed properly. They looked like checkerboards. Blind men must have put them up and then had to take them down, resurface the walls and do them right. Our stainless steel kitchen had a white sink. The lanai hadn't been started. I mentioned these things to Mr. Goldburg and he told me not to worry. 'I'll take care of it.' Marilyn almost blew a gasket when the electric range was gas fired. Mr. Bradley told her she will get used to the gas range.  Mrs. Goldburg had the same problem.' Don't worry, Mrs. Kaplan, my husband will take care of it.' Three days later we and they had electric ranges in our kitchens.

 

As spring approached more grumbling hit the fan. No promised sod was down, no beautiful shrubbery had arrived. As a group we met with Mr. Bradley and complained about the poor everything. Mr. Ginsburg, who by then we all called 'Davy', gave his usual sigh, turned his hands up to heaven and proclaimed, 'Don't anybody worry. I will take care of it.'

 

Mr. Bradley was a wreck and, without telling any of us, flew off for a rest in Europe. Before he returned, miracles had happened. Green grass, bougainville trees, tall bamboo plants, exotic shrubs were taking root. Street lights were in.

 

At our first neighborhood get together in our handsome club house we met to discuss many things. The first was regarding the street name on our two corners, 'Bradley Lane.' There was talk, dislike of the name. We were not going to let that nincompoop manager be in our faces forever. Mrs. Finklestein, who bought lot 101, suggested we name our street 'Ginsburg Place' and be sure it is 'Ginsburg' with a 'U' she added.
I piped up. 'How can we do that? The Bradley Lane is registered with the state, the police, fire departments. One familiar voice was louder than all the others. Mr. Ginsburg rose, smiled, waved to everyone and said , 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it.' And he sat down.

 

So now you know how Ginsburg Place became the only street with such a name,