Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Torched Hailey house was once a real home

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By KIM JONES

    On Nov. 1, valley fire departments burned down 302 Fourth Ave. South in Hailey for a training exercise. I saw the post on Facebook.
    At first, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and then I didn’t know how to feel. The house at 302 Fourth Ave. South used to be my house. I grew up there in the 1960s and 1970s. My dad lived there until 1984, and my mom until 1992. It was the only house my mom and dad owned together. Logic and reason told me it was a good thing, an expected thing. The house hadn’t been maintained at all, so it was also a needed thing.
    But then the tears came. For some reason, the photo of the fire crew kneeling before the blaze struck me in the heart. One firefighter in particular, with her sweet smile, said this was fun, and it hurt me.
    Don’t get me wrong. I have the utmost respect for these brave individuals. Thank God we have them. And thank God there are places they can practice because the real thing is a lot more serious.
    I just want—and need­—to tell you and them about the home. My home. This was the yard where my brother and I played, where we slept out most summer nights, where the whole town, it seemed, parked their campers and motor homes so our family had places to sleep and be together when, in August of 1984, my dad died.
    That leaning chimney was built entirely by his hands, with bricks from the old Hailey Elementary School just down the street. Dad was the principal of the high school then, and the School District gave the bricks to him when they tore down the school. Dad, Mom, my brother and I cleaned those bricks one by one for the chimney Dad would build. He paid us kids 10 cents an hour to help, but I would have done it for free because Dad was my best friend, and that scaffold was nothing more than my own personal jungle gym. I loved scrambling up and down, filling the bucket with more bricks for Dad to haul to the top.
    Inside, the living room was the place we gathered most. In front of that beautiful fireplace was where pictures were taken and Christmas stockings were hung. It was where Santa burst through the door one snowy Christmas Eve and where our sleeping bags from the yard ended up sometimes after one too many ghost stories. It was where Dad and I played Boggle and cribbage and where he and my brother watched sports and hung out.  
    It’s the room where Dad died in the early morning hours of Aug. 5, 1984, of a heart attack. And the room where our friends and family gathered to support my mom then and in the lonely days and weeks that followed. And, five years later, it was the room that hosted a good deal of the town at the open house and going away party when Mom decided to sell and move to Boise to be closer to me.
    I could go on and on reliving the dear, sweet memories that the house holds for me, but you get the picture, I think. As I lay awake this early, early morning trying to figure out exactly why this has hit me so hard, it occurred to me that losing this house makes it seem like we never existed, that we have been forgotten somehow, but then I realize that memories live in the heart, and they can never really be lost. I’m thankful for the amazing childhood I had because of my family, the valley, and that house.
    Thank you to the firefighters. I hope you gained valuable skills that will one day help you in your service to the community and to save lives.

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 Kim Jones lives in Boise.

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