The Ugliest House on the Street

There's no doubt about it. It was the "ugliest house on the street" as it was called by neighbors. The house was one of those built shortly after World War II when men came home, took blue collar jobs and saved enough to buy a home that cost less than today's sport utility vehicles.

The home wasn't ugly when it was originally built. It was a three bedroom home with an attached, enclosed garage. It was owned by John and Millie Schaeffer. John was lucky enough to have escaped a Japanese prisoner of war camp...only barely. Millie, three years younger than John, took a job at the local grocery store after high school. In those days, blue collar parents couldn't afford to send their kids to college. Over time, John and Millie had three children they made certain went to college.

The years were difficult but there was always food on the table and at Christmas time, presents for each of their kids. By the 1960s, the town of Lindley was already seeing a huge influx of "city people" buying up homes. 

Unlike the homes built after World War II that were barely 1200 square feet, these homes were larger in square footage by at least another 1,000 square feet. The sacrifice though was the sizes of the properties. Housing developers figured out they could attract more home buyers if the homes was larger and properties smaller. Of course, this meant homes built so close to each other, it was possible to see clearly in a neighbor's bedroom window.

The Schaeffer’s loved having a larger yard and more room between their neighbors’ homes. One by one, as their children graduated from college and married, John and Millie lived quietly in their "little" home. Millie was the quintessential housekeeper. No nook or cranny was ever overlooked in the throes of one of her many cleaning frenzies. John dutifully tended to the lawn and seasonal upkeep to prevent weather damage to the exterior siding, roof and windows.

Then in 1980, John became seriously ill and had surgery to remove one of his kidneys.

"Millie, you know we should look into some kind of final expense insurance. I have my military pension so you won't have to worry about doing without," John said.

"Oh John. Don't go on like you are dying. I won't hear of it," Millie said.

"I want to make sure you have enough money so you can live comfortably as we always have," John said.

Millie looked at John's sallow color. She had to admit there was the possibility that the love of her life would pass on before her. That wasn't what she wanted. She always hoped they would just grow old together and she would "go" first. That was the way she wanted it. It just seemed right to her.

John had always been a handsome man in his youth. But Millie was attracted to his easy going ways and his ability to understand her as no one else seemed to. Millie hated the idea she would lose the only best friend she'd ever had.

They hadn't ever argued or disagreed on anything in nearly thirty-five years. Millie took great care to see that John ate properly and got plenty of exercise, usually when the two went hiking together. For years, John and Millie Schaeffer were seen taking their usual walk after dinner in all kinds of weather. They even took walks in the rain and on windy days. In their neighborhood, the older families viewed them as "inseparable" and "two peas in a pod." The newer families were too busy to notice much of anything except that the older homes owned by original owners seemed "dated" and "aging." These newer families were always in the middle of some kind of remodeling. 

For nearly a decade after the original families' children went off to college, the military or married, the neighborhood was a serene and quiet as if a dove of peace had descended upon it. Once the newer families moved in and began "modernizing," the noise of jackhammers, roofers, and carpenters sliced through the quiet neighborhood like a highly sharpened blade. Still, the original homeowners managed to overlook it. 

On weekends, the older men practiced their usual lawn mowing and garden puttering while the younger men went about installing sprinkling systems, outdoor kitchens, swimming pools and playground equipment for their growing children. 

John's only bow to modernity was the purchase of a leaf blower that made short work of a half's day's raking of leaves and other assorted debris.

Millie's only interface with the younger neighborhood women was a friendly wave as they drove their children off to the school Millie's children walked to every day of their school lives. 

"John, why on earth can't the children of the new families in the neighborhood walk to school like our kids did?" 

"Just be thankful they aren't being picked up in their driveways by a half dozen school buses," John said.

By the time John became ill, his comment became a reality as school buses began to make Tangley Lane look like a major bus depot. 

There were many times when Mary had to back out onto the street with grave caution for the young teens who were now old enough to drive at death defying speeds up and the down the neighborhood streets. She and John often had to wait until a few of the school buses were finished picking up children at the foot of their driveways as she prepared to take her husband for his dialysis treatments. 

Millie drove John to dialysis faithfully; but, she saw the devastation of his renal failure. She became his virtual nurse. The once impeccably neat, handsome man was now an ashen grey color who had barely two days a week of time when he didn't feel dreadfully ill. When he had surgery to remove the second kidney, Dr. Allben told the Schaeffers John would need dialysis. Millie was given a special diet that would keep toxins from increasing in his kidneys. Still, the uremic poisoning in his blood made it difficult for him to have any freedom. His entire life was based on four hours of dialysis three times a week. In the days before dialysis, John grew weaker and weaker. The effects of four hours on dialysis made him feel nauseated and he often slept for up to 15 hours at a clip after a treatment.

"John, how do you feel today?" Millie asked so often she felt it became rote.

"Mill...I have to be honest. I don't think I can live another five years on dialysis. Look what it's doing to our lives. All I do is take medication, feel sick constantly and you end up having to be my nurse," John said.

"You are my husband, the love of my life and I love being your nurse. Besides, you would do the same for me. I know you would."

It was true. John had always and only loved Millie. From the minute their eyes met at a church festival, he knew he would never be happy until she was his wife. They married in 1949 and were a matched set for life. Millie was happy to allow John to make decisions. She wasn't raised to be the head of the household. Besides, John wasn't the least bit bossy or overbearing. She was actually impressed when he took full charge of his children's after school activities.

"John, you must be tired. I can take Darlene to ballet class and JR and Tommy to Little League," Millie always said.

"I want some time with my children and you could do with a little free time for yourself," John replied.

John Schaeffer died on Friday, May 13, 1983. Millie was inconsolable. There was that period of mourning where Millie was glad not to answer the phone or have friends and relatives stopping by offering their condolences. Inexplicably, she felt angry John had been taken from her. Yet, she knew that his last days were excruciatingly painful. He barely survived his last session of dialysis.

Now, Millie was all alone. At first, she found a lot to do. She grudgingly gave away some of John's clothes to the local charity. She kept his Lymon Steel Extruders jacket he'd earned after working there for more than four decades. She placed it on his pillow. Many nights, she cried herself to sleep.

"I have to keep busy. It isn't healthy to wallow in grief," she told herself.

When the government decided to cut the military benefits to men like John, Millie knew she had to get a job. She refused to rely on her children for support. Besides, all three lived half way across the country now. Oh, they called regularly "to see how she was." But, Millie knew they had families of their own and didn't have time for their mother any more.

Millie took a job at Hauks Apparel Factory. She was a pretty good seamstress and figured she could supplement the loss of money from the military pension by working part time at first. She'd done as John asked and purchased a life insurance policy. But, it barely covered his final expenses. It annoyed her she couldn't afford a nicer casket for John. She sensed funerals had become a highly profitable business and widows in a state of grief were a great source of that profit.

Millie liked her job at Hauks. So much so, that she decided to work full time. She left her home every day at eight in the morning and returned at four in the afternoon. The job didn't pay much and was pretty hard on the eyes. But, it kept the property taxes paid and the utilities on. There wasn't much left for anything else.

As she looked around the neighborhood, she saw that now everyone had two or three cars, expensive patio furniture and had spent tens of thousands on additions to these old homes. Some of the remodeled homes were barely recognizable from their original design.

Then, the Lindley government decided that with all of the new additions and construction, the former older homes needed a home and property evaluation. Even though Millie hadn't made a single addition or major change to their home, her property taxes doubled. She resented that the home her husband invested nearly four decades of his life in was suddenly affected by the purchases the newer neighbors made. 

Millie would have loved some of the things the newer neighbors bought to make their homes and properties more valuable. All she had was her income from Hauk's and John's military pension. 

"I won't become a covetous, greedy person. John wouldn't have wanted that. He would tell me what he always did, "Bless it and set it free." She told herself.

One day, Millie turned the key in the lock of the front door and realized it appeared to have been jimmied. When she opened the door, she was horrified. Her home had been burglarized. She called the police and was told they would "investigate." They never did recover a single item that had been stolen.

She felt utterly violated. The birthstone ring John bought her for her birthday, his wristwatch and tie clip with the tiny diamond stud she bought him for their 10th anniversary and even the bronze baby shoes on her children's photo stand were gone. 

"Mrs. Schaeffer, you live alone. You should invest in a burglar alarm system," Jack Chaffee, the investigator from their homeowner's insurance company warned.

"We never worried about burglaries before. Why now?" she asked.

"Well, you have to understand that this neighborhood is no longer a 1950s blue collar neighborhood as it was when you first moved here. A lot of very expensive remodeling and additions have been made to increase the value of homes on Tangley Lane," Jack Chaffee said.

"I can't keep up with these younger people. They are earning ten times what John ever earned. This is my home. I won't be put out of it," Millie said.

"If you don't mind some advice, there is a very nice subsidized apartment complex for seniors. It's ideal for people your age. You wouldn't have younger children making noise and you'd have all of the amenities of your home right at your finger tips," he said.

"Let me explain something to you. This is my home...It isn't just a house. When we bought it, we both expected to live in it for our entire lives. Now, you are telling me that because these younger, more affluent families have moved in, 38 years of investment in property taxes and your homeowners insurance was all for nothing?"

"All homes must have homeowners' insurance," Jack Chaffee said.

"We never once missed a monthly payment and never once filed a claim. That means you have 38 years of pure profit." 

"You don't understand how insurance works," Jack Chaffee said.

"Oh, I think I do. Suffice it to say, I'll find a way to pay the increase in taxes," Millie said.

She found a way...even when the basement flooded during a wild hurricane event on top of three prior days of snowfall. She continued working long past her eligibility for her own government social security. But, she began to realize that she was unable to afford to make repairs to the roof or replace the water heater or furnace without having to do without heat or hot water. 

"I'm a hardy old soul. I know I can manage," she told herself.

She never mentioned the hardship or mindless austerity she was enduring year after year. Soon, she would be retired and living only on John's small military pension, her own social security and would only be able to afford paying the monthly utility bills, the insurances and property taxes. She often cried herself to sleep. Sometimes, she was scared to death of what the mailman would deposit in the mailbox for fear it was another cut to her income or another increase in taxes. 

She began to notice one of the formerly new neighbors, now a middle aged woman of forty-seven chatting with another of the younger neighbors and pointing at the Schaeffer home.

One day shortly after Millie arrived home from grocery shopping, these two women approached her.

"Hello. I'm Joan Wharden from across the street? This is Diane Stazziano. She lives next door to me...in the house with the new brick facade?"

"Yes. Hello," Millie said.

"We were wondering when you are planning to remove that old siding from your home and have those old windows replaced?" 

"Really? You were wondering about that? Well, I tell you when...When I win the lottery! How do you have the gall to come here and make such a statement?" Millie said.

Millie was shocked more by her own aggressive response than by the women's question.

"You see...a home as old as yours decreases our property values. It is becoming rather in need of a fresh new look," Joan Wharden said.

"I am going to be seventy years old next year. I've been working since my husband died. I live on a fraction of what you young people live on," Millie said.

"We realize that. But, we've spent tens of thousands on renovations to make our properties and homes more valuable," Diane Stazziano said.

"If you can't afford to live in this neighborhood, perhaps you should consider selling and moving to a senior condo complex. There is a very nice one across town," Joan said.

"Here is my suggestion. What if you mind your own business and I'll mind mine. You seem to forget that when my husband was so seriously ill, you had no problem with the noise you brought into a quiet neighborhood. And you, Mrs. Stazziano, you'd do well to tell your teenage son this neighborhood street has a speed limit of 25 miles per hour, not 65 as he seems to prefer," Millie said.

"I can see you feel that your "ugly" home is as good as ours. It is the ugliest house on the street," Joan said.

"I can see you feel you are showing off and trying to keep up with the Joneses. You live as if you are millionaires on a beer pocketbook," Millie said, angrily.

The two women walked away buzzing in each other's faces all the way back to the Wharden home.

Millie brought her few parcels into the kitchen and sat down at the table and cried.

The phone rang and it was her son, Tim. 

"Mother? It's Tim. How is everything going there?" he asked.

Millie tried to hide that she'd been crying.

"Mother, you said sad. Are you alright?" 

"I'm...yes. I just had a slight "to do" with two of the younger neighbors. They are insisting I have it remodeled to look like theirs," she said.

"Can you afford that?" 

"No. Of course not. I am barely able to keep the repairs up to date. They seem not to get that I cannot unring the bell of the past. Your father and I and you children lived here quite comfortably. Now, these younger neighbors are spending their money wildly mainly to show off and act as if they are affluent people," Millie said.

"Mother, you should consider selling. You know Sandra and Alan and I cannot run out to Lindley. We three have jobs and families. I know we are better off than you were at our ages. That's just how things are," Tim said.

"How things are? You mean widows should just disappear so as not to cause the younger families any discomfort because we didn't earn the salaries you all do now?" Millie said.

"Mother, you know you cannot remain in that house!" Tim said forcefully.

"I CAN and I WILL. This is the home your father and I intended to live in our entire lives. I'll die here before I will move. I am resolute on this son. Don't try and change my mind. Besides, neither you, nor Sandra or Alan would want your elderly mother to live in your expensive homes, would you?"

"If you wanted to move in with us or Sandra or Alan, for that matter, we'd have to have an extra room built for you," Tim said.

"Why? You already have five bedrooms with only two children. When you lived in this three bedroom home, there were five of us and we didn't have a problem," Millie said.

"Mother, times have changed and you must learn to change with them. If you can't, you'll end up living in a home that is unsafe and then your children will have no choice but to relocate you to a nursing home," Tim said.

"So...that's it, is it? You'll dump me off in a nursing home? How is it one mother was able to care for three children and now those same three children cannot take care of one mother?" 

Millie felt as if her stomach had a load of bricks in it. She slammed the phone down. 

What on earth happened to the children we raised? How did they manage to become so self-centered?  Millie wondered.

Joan Wharden and Diane Stazziano continued to do their daily finger pointing. At one point, Diane Stazziano called the local municipal inspector to Millie's home. They were furious that he found nothing amiss, save the interior could do with a little paint.

"I'm sorry ladies. Mrs. Schaeffer keeps her home impeccably clean and there isn't much in the way of repairs. What was it you particularly had a problem with?" the inspector asked.

"It's the ugliest house on the street! Look at it! It needs those old cedar shakes torn off and replaced with new siding. And those windows make the place look like something out of a black and white movie. I'm sorry, but if you cannot get rid of this woman, we'll find another way. We'll call our lawyers and force her out," Diane said.

"I doubt any lawyer will make any case stick. There just isn't any reason to take her to court. She has no garbage lying around and the interior of her home is as neat as a pin," the inspector said.

Joan Wharden and Diane Stazziano were furious.

"That house is bringing our property values down. That's not fair. She should have moved out years ago," Joan said.

"I think you two ladies need to stop obsessing over this particular home. My advice is to wait it out. She is nearly seventy years old. I'm sure she won't remain in the home forever," the inspector said.

But Joan and Diane had other ideas. They circulated a petition signed by the other younger neighbors on the street. They were angry when the only other original owners, Henry and Barbara Collette, refused to sign the petition. 

"We will be next on your "hit" list? We won't sign it. The Schaeffers were our neighbors for nearly 50 years. There is nothing wrong with that home. If you continue to harass Millie, I will be forced to report it," Henry said.

The two women dropped the petition into Millie's mailbox. Millie said that only the younger homeowners signed it. The Collettes didn't sign and neither did the Ambrose family at the end of Tangley Lane. Walter and Anita Ambrose weren't one of the original owners but they had moved in shortly before the city people began to buy up the older homes and renovate them. Millie knew the Ambroses were blue collar like she and John were. 

They must be having a hard time of it now that the cost of living in Lindley has gone sky high, she thought

From that day on, Joan Wharden and Diane Stazziano continued to wage their war on Millie Schaeffer. Million kept out of sight as much as possible. But these two weren't done with Millie just yet.

When Diane's son, Tony, came flying down Tangley Lane, he nearly missed Millie backing out of her drive way. Millie yelled to him to slow down. There were two young children on the next street who had a habit of playing near the curb. 

Millie grimaced when she heard the screech of Tony Stazziano's brakes and the loud thud. She ran to the end of the street and saw that one of the boys was lying motionless near the curb. 

Diane came running out of her house, past Millie.

"I warned you about your son. He nearly smashed the back end of my car racing on the street."

The boy's mother came out of the house screaming. The sound of an ambulance raced toward the child. 

After the ambulance took the child to the hospital, Diane Stazziano yanked her son by the arm. As she passed Millie, she said,

"The little boy raced into the street. My son couldn't stop," Diane said lamely.

"Your son was racing again! I saw him before he turned that corner," Millie said.

"You say one word and you'll be sorry!" Diane said.

Millie walked back to her house. About forty minutes later, a policeman was at her door.

"I understand you saw the accident around the corner?" the policeman asked.

"No sir. I only saw the car heading toward the corner and heard the screech of his brakes and the loud thud," Millie said.

"Can you identify the driver of the vehicle?" the policeman asked.

"Yes. It's the young man who lives in the house with the brick facade," Millie said.

"We may have to call you as a witness," the policeman said.

"But, I didn't actually see the accident, sir," Millie reiterated.

"You saw the driver. All we need is for you to identify the driver of the vehicle," he said.

"I'm afraid I am not on very good terms with the mother of that boy," Millie said.

"As you may guess, I'm a widow and they hate the sight of my older home," Millie said.

"Have they threatened you in any way?" 

"No. They put a petition in my mailbox telling me I must make renovations on my home," Millie said.

"And you can't afford that?" 

"No. I live on a very tight fixed income. They seem not to understand that," Millie said.

"They cannot force you to make renovations. Has the town's inspector been out here?" 

"Yes. He found nothing wrong. He even complimented me on how neat and orderly my home is," Millie said. 

"Yes. I see that too. Who is doing all your outdoor work?" he asked.

"I do it. I use the old push mower even though my husband has...had used a gas mower. I'm just afraid of those things."

"A push mower? That must take you a long time to do the entire lawn." 

"Not really. I do it on Saturday like my husband always did. It only takes about an hour and a half to mow the entire lawn. But, I do use that plug in leaf blower he loved so much. It saves me from a lot of raking," Millie said.

Two weeks later, Millie was in Lindley court as a witness. Diane Stazziano glared at her and her husband gave Millie a menacing look. 

She made her statement as she was required and left. When she returned home, there was a knock on her door. It was Diane Stazziano.

"I know you think you are getting back at me by testifying today. I assure you, you'll wish you had never done that," Diane said.

"Are you threatening me on my own property?" Millie asked.

"I'm telling you to watch yourself. That's all," Diane responded and hurried off.

Anthony Stazziano was sent to jail for involuntary manslaughter for five years. Every time his father saw Millie in her front yard or the driveway, he'd yell curses at her. Whenever Diane and Joan walked past the Schaeffer home, Diane spit on the property. 

Millie ignored the childish behavior. But, she knew that the more she ignored it, the more it got out of hand. At one point, Diane dumped a trash can at the curb in front of Millie's house and called the Health and Sanitation department. 

Millie had already cleaned it up and placed the trash bag in her own trash can. When the Health and Sanitation inspector arrived, he saw nothing and headed to the Stazziano house. She watched from her bedroom window as Diane came out of her house to see the trash removed. 

The situation worsened when Millie walked down to the bottom of her driveway to retrieve her newspaper and saw a dead rat near the curb. This time, Millie decided to call the Health and Sanitation inspector herself. He walked around the Schaeffer and found nothing that would attract rats.

"Mrs. Schaeffer, it looks as if someone put this here purposely," the inspector said.

"Oh really? Well, you see, this past spring, I testified about the little boy who was killed around the corner. It may be his parents trying to get even with me. Course I don't like to accuse. I don't have any proof," Millie said.

She saw Diane Stazziano peering out of the window of her living room. Millie knew who put that dead rat there.

Now, Millie felt frightened. If Diane was so hateful as to put a dead rat in Millie's driveway, what else is she capable of? Millie wondered.

"Diane, maybe you'd better leave Millie Schaeffer alone," Joan Wharden warned.

"My son is in jail because of her. That dead rat is just the beginning," Diane said.

"Then, I want no part of whatever it is you are planning to do. This has already gone too far," Joan said.

"Suit yourself. Millie Schaeffer will wish she was never born before I'm done with her. All she had to do was fix up that ugly house she lives in. That's all we wanted. We spent over $55,000 on our remodeling. We're still paying off the loan for it. Why should our property values decrease because of one stubborn old woman? She only ratted out our son to get even." 

"Because...Diane, she keeps it clean and the inspector told you that you cannot force her to replace the siding and windows just because you want her to," Joan said.

"I don't give a damn. My home isn't going to look as if we live in a slum because of her."

Joan didn't like the look in Diane's eyes. It was one thing to be angry about the ugliest house on the street and quite another to exact physical revenge. Joan and Diane parted company and rarely spoke again.

Diane stole in the dark of night to put sugar in Millie's gas tank. 

I'll get her out of this neighborhood by making her pay out for things like this, Diane thought.

Millie took her car to the garage. Dave, the garage owner told Millie there was sugar in her tank.

"How did it get there?" she asked.

"Do you have any enemies?"

Millie didn't answer. She knew the only person who would do this was Diane Stazziano. The cost of the repair meant Millie had to delay payment of her utilities. So...this is how she's going to get rid of me? She'll cost me for repairs I can't afford?

Millie began to feel trapped and depressed. She made do without electricity for a week until she received the check from John's military pension. She felt enraged that Diane Stazziano had plotted and cost Millie the loss of the use of her car, the cost of the car repair and the loss of electricity. She wanted to punch something...she'd never in her life felt like this. She wondered what John would have thought. She knew John would have stayed in their home no matter what the Stazziano's thought. 

The end for Millie Schaeffer came when she got into her car and planned to drive to her doctor's office for her annual physical. She turned the key in the ignition and put her foot on the brake to prevent it from rolling down the driveway. Instead, the brakes gave way and the car pitched and reared in reverse onto the street. The brakes were gone. Once again, she took the car to Dave's Garage. 

"Mrs. Schaeffer, I've known you a long time. What? About forty years? Your husband always brought his vehicles here for work. First, you had sugar in your tank. Now, your brakes were tampered with. Are you sure you don't have any enemies?" 

Millie Schaeffer felt as if she was losing her mind. It was like her mind was spinning around and around in dizzying circles. She must have fainted because the next thing she remembered was a nurse hovering over her in a hospital room. 

"Why am I here? I can't afford hospital care. I'm fine," she said.

"No, I'm afraid you have a concussion. When you fainted at the garage, you hit your head on the cement floor. You'll have to stay in the hospital for a day or two for observation," the nurse said.

When the ambulance services returned Millie to her home, she looked around the kitchen and walked into the living room. 

"John, what would you do? If I stay, I'll end up in the street," she said aloud.

Her eyes cast a glance at the old sabre John bought at a garage sale over thirty years ago. It had been hanging over the fireplace ever since. 

She heard a knock on the front door. She looked out the living room window.

"What is she doing here? Millie thought.

It was Diane Stazziano. 

Millie grabbed the sabre off of the shelf on the wall. She opened the door. 

"What are you going to do with that thing?" Diane said with a mocking laugh.

"This will always be the ugliest house on the street," Millie said.

She plunged the sabre deep into her chest cavity and crumpled onto the floor, blood pouring out of the wound.

"You crazy old witch!" Diane yelled. 

Diane frantically phoned the police and emergency services from her cell phone. When they arrived, they interrogated Diane Stazziano.

"I came by to see how the old lady was. She'd been gone for two days and the house was empty and her car is gone," Diane said.

When Dave saw the newspaper account of Millie Schaeffer's death, he went to the police station to report that she'd had two incidences of tampering with her vehicle. He told the police he had to call an ambulance because she fainted when he told her that her brakes had been tampered with. 

Diane Stazziano was brought to the police station and booked for reckless endangerment for tampering with Millie Schaeffer's car. As Millie was being laid to rest by her three children, Joan Wharden, at graveside was heard to say, "The ugliest house on the street won't ever be sold now."

She was right. Once rumors went out that someone in the neighborhood caused Millie Schaeffer to commit suicide the ugliest house on the street remained forever vacant. The Stazziano house was also empty when word went around town that Diane Stazziano was the one who drove Millie Schaeffer to her death. Now Tangley Lane had two of the ugliest houses on the street.