Strange Bedfellows on Fravert Avenue

Strange Bedfellows on Fravert Avenue

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

-           Ancient proverb.

Throughout the course of human history, bitter rivalries have always piqued the interest of the masses. The Hatfield and McCoys, the Greeks and the Persians, Godzilla and King Kong quickly come to mind. But on Fravert Avenue in this small Colorado town, the unsettling hostilities between Herb Farnsworth and Scottie Shlep will forever reign supreme over the topic of guys who just couldn’t get along.

No one remembers how it started, not even the principals themselves. Some say it was the monsoon of leaves falling from the mighty elm in Scottie’s yard slowly wafting their way into Herb’s yard. Others suggest it was a harmless spat between the Farnsworth and Schlep children that lit the fuse. More likely than not, it was the incessant barking of Herb’s dog, Rambo, a large Great Dane possessed of incredible stamina and volume at all times of the day and night.  Intolerance begets anger, anger begets hostility, and hostility begets revenge. Revenge, the ugly perpetual motion machine that creates an unending circle of increasingly disturbing acts representing the worst of the human spirit.

Despite the intensity of ill will between Herb and Scottie, incredibly, their wives remained good friends.

“Herb, this is nuts. Scottie is a good guy… and Florence is my best friend.”

“Scottie is a viper, Marge. The son-of-a-bitch bags his leaves and dumps them over the fence into our yard. She married the guy so she’s got to be as evil as he is.”

“Herb, you're consumed by it. Let it go.”

But Herb couldn’t let go after five years of exchanging insults and annoying shenanigans: bright lights aimed at a bedroom, flaming paper bags of poop left on the doorstep, a 25-pizza delivery (with extra breadsticks), wheelbarrows of snow dumped in a driveway in the middle of the night, burning stuff that stinks during a high school graduation party, and blasting Herman’s Hermits’  annoying hit“I’m Henry the 8^th I Am” for hours at a time. It was an exercise in M.A.D. -Mutual Assured Destruction- as every devious act invited stepped-up retribution, but inflicting pain and discomfort upon their nemesis had become a reason to live for each of them.

“Scottie, let’s invite Marge and Herb over for dinner. I think it’s time you two buried the hatchet.”

“Yeah, I’d like to bury the hatchet right in his head.”

And then…

“Scottie, it looks like the Jacobs house across the street finally sold. A moving truck is in the driveway.”

Most moving trucks bring chairs, sofas, a refrigerator, a few lamps, and the like. This one was hauling misery to the neighborhood.

The housewarming party defied any sense of propriety or measure. Cars were double parked for three blocks in both directions, and the revelers spilled out onto Fravert Avenue and the lawns of Herb and Scottie. Music blaring, dancing in the street, men peeing in Marge’s flower garden, wanton PDA’s (Public Displays of Affection), all topped off by a massive fireworks display at midnight. Freddy’s bash made the ancient Roman orgies look like the tea parties of a refined, high-society women’s club. Beer cans, wine and booze bottles, plastic cups, cigarette butts, party streamers, and balloons littered the landscape. The Farnsworth and Schlep front lawns looked like Woodstock the morning after. Most disturbing was the rather large man passed out on Herb’s porch swing wearing only his underpants.

“Jesus Christ, Marge, that was the worst night of my life. Those bastards were still going at 5:00 A.M.”

“They were a little loud.”

Similar sentiments next door.

“I was about ready to turn Rambo loose on ‘em. This guy has to be a real jerk, Marge.”

“Maybe it was just a one-time thing, Scottie, you know, to celebrate moving into a new home.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Sadly, opening night was a mere prelude to regular bouts of bacchanalia hosted by the fun-loving Freddy Franks, a trust fund ne’re-do-well living alone for the first time. Although limited in all endeavors requiring thought, the young man certainly knew how to throw a party.

The raucous events were not limited to Freddy’s “friends”. The only requirement to attending one of Freddy’s parties was that one must have heard about it. Facebook posts and notices affixed to car windshields in the Walmart parking lot assured good attendance.

 At first, the infuriating events were monthly, then weekly, and then near-nightly havoc was visited upon the once quiet neighborhood. Herb finally reached that place best described in the immortal words of Popeye the Sailor Man- “That’s all I can stand, I can't stands no more.”

One early morning, as Herb surveyed the debris field stretching from Freddy’s house to his own front door, Herb spotted a visibly upset Scottie. In moments of extreme stress and agitation, strange things can happen. Herb spoke to Scottie.

“Dammit! Look at this mess. I’ve had it!”

Scottie was so absorbed in his own anger and misery that he too forgot the two warring neighbors weren’t on speaking terms.

“Me too. This has to stop. I can’t take it anymore!”

An alliance born of common self-interest. Years of taunting and torment set aside in the face of a common enemy. Herb vs. Scottie transformed into Herb and Scottie vs. the unsuspecting menace across the street.

Years of hostile acts were forgotten as singleness of purpose dramatically altered their relationship. That very afternoon the two unlikely allies sat at the picnic table in Scottie’s backyard, thinking, planning, scheming, strategizing, and plotting. There was even a little sketching going.

The new bromance did not go unnoticed.

“Well, look at t that, Marge. They look like best buddies out there.”

“Miracle of miracles, Flo. Starsky and Hutch in my own backyard.”

“Starsky and Hutch? More like Fuddy and Duddy.”

“Ha, ha, ha, ha…”

“I wonder what they’re up to.”

What they were up to was a large-scale assault against a common foe, the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Athens and Sparta set aside their differences to take on the Persians.

“Look, Herb, I’ve come up with some pretty nasty pranks over the years. You’ve done the same to me, although yours weren’t nearly as creative as mine. So, together we should be able…”

“What do you mean mine weren’t as creative as yours? A lot of your stuff was downright childish, like the time…”

“Who are you calling childish, you stu… Whoa, wait a minute. We can’t go there. We’re on the same team… at least for now.”

“Agreed. This will be hard to do in view of what a jer… oops. Sorry about that. Yes, same team. Let’s get on with it.”

Many of the old gags they had pulled on each other naturally made the list:

- Poop-filled bags lit on fire on Freddy’s porch.

- Roving bands of the religious bent on saving Freddy’s soul.

-Jimmy Johns’ orders to the point every driver knew the house.

-The usual loud music, laser beams,  and leaf dumps.

“I don’t know, Flo. I think we might just be encouraging them.”

“I guess feeding them won’t make us accomplices. I told Scottie if it bothers him he should file a complaint with the city, but he says he’ll handle it himself, well, that he and Herb would take care of it.”

“Scottie and Herb working together. Who would have thought?”

“Marge, did you ever…well… think about sneaking over to one of Freddy’s parties, you know, just to see what it was like?”

“Flo! Shame on you!”

The lowering of the eyes and head gave it away.

“Well… maybe just to see what was going on…”

“Shame on both of us, you naughty girl.”

“To be honest, his parties take me back years, back to those crazy college days… before work, kids, and… well, before Herb. Our one fun night out a year is the Annual Knights of Colombus Bowleree.”

“I wish we could ever have a fun night. The only thing Scottie and I do together anymore is digging for worms at the town dump leaf piles before his big fishing weekends.”

A quick lunch and the boys were right back at it. The devious minds kicked it up a notch and added new, exciting instruments of war:

-All future Rambo droppings would be strategically placed on Freddy’s sidewalk and driveway.

-Loudly buzzing drones circling the house from sundown to sunrise.

-Generous amounts of Roundup vegetation killer artistically sprayed on Freddy’s lawn spelling out, “Freddy’s a Fink” and other insults too offensive to mention.

-Regular rounds of a childhood favorite, “Ding Dong Ditch”.

-A flock of tame geese released on Freddy’s lawn pecking away at generous helpings of corn.

“Fight fire with fire, I say. We’ll give him a dose of his own medicine.”

“You got that right, Herb. Vigilante justice. Fight fire with fire…or dog poop, heh, heh, heh.”

“I like the way you think, partner.”

Implementation was even more fun than the planning stage. The two former foes, now dedicated teammates, spent the next Saturday procuring the necessary weaponry that would surely drive the invader from their midst- drones, paper bags, spray bottles of Roundup, lasers, 50 lb. bags of corn, and cages for the geese. The hard part was getting the geese. A 25-mile drive to the Merton Feed Mill yielded just six of the honkers which were placed in the cages in the back of Scottie’s pickup truck.

“We’ll keep the geese in your yard. I don’t think they’d get along with Rambo.”

“My yard? Why my yard? That’s just like you, Mr. Selfish.”

In another time, the exchange could easily have reignited the Fravert Avenue feud, but today the mission outweighed all other considerations.

“Sorry, Herb. How about three in my yard and three in your yard?”

“That sounds like a nice compromise, my… friend.”

Damn close to the lion lying down with the lamb.

Freddy… poor Freddy. Incessant loud noise, bright lights, shoes covered with dog poop, knee deep in leaves, pizza boxes piled 8’ high, hurtful messages on his front lawn, and attacked twice by one particularly ill-tempered goose. In just one short month, Freddy threw in the towel.

“Herb! There’s a moving truck in Freddy’s yard!”

“Alleluah! Ding dong the witch is gone!”

Herb raced outside to continue his celebration. Scottie was in his front yard doing a clumsy version of an Irish jig.

“I did it! I got rid of the neighborhood curse!”

“Yeah, he’s gone, Herb. But it might be better if we said we did it.”

“Sure…we, if you want to think that. But we both know your contribution was pretty minimal. I had all the good ideas.”

“You stupid goof! Poop in a bag. Oh, yeah, that was sheer genius. It was my drones that got him.”

“Oh yeah? Well, keep your freaking leaves out of my yard!”

“And you keep your ugly dog’s mouth shut!”

‘Ugly? You’re ugly.”

And after the brief Freddy interlude, normalcy was restored to Fravert Avenue.

“Well, Marge, it was interesting while it lasted.”

“I wasn’t all that confident they’d stay in BFF mode, Flo.”

“I feel a little sorry for Freddy.”

“He’ll be ok. I bet he’ll be throwing a big bash tonight at his new place.”

“Huh, I wonder where his new place is.”

“I know.”

“How’s that?”

“I got the address from one of the moving guys.”

“Marge, you’re a genius.”

“Do you want to drive, or should I?”

“Let’s take an Uber, you know, just in case we get wasted.”

Back to sworn enemies… until they were once again reunited by the powerful magnet of common cause. One early morning as Herb and Scottie were pulling their garbage carts to the curb, they each wondered if they were thinking the same thing. Curiosity can also break down barriers.

“Uh, Scottie, I’m sure you’ve noticed our wives going somewhere together a few evenings a week.”

“Yeah. Florence says they got involved in some kind of group at church.”

“That’s what Marge says. But she always comes home happier than when she left. It’s like she can’t stop smiling.”

“I guess church nourishes the soul.”

“Don’t be a fool, Scottie. They’re up to something. I think it’s time we found out.”

“How?”

“We set up 24-hour surveillance. Tracking devices on their cars. I don’t know, things like that. ”

“I guess I’ve been getting a little suspicious too, Herb. Flo’s been acting a little frisky lately.”

“If we work together, I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“I’m with you… partner.”