Fifth Avenue Apartments: 52 Ancestors Prompt “An Address with a Story”

 

Our First Home in Texas and Our Daughter’s First-Ever Home: 11530 Vance Jackson Road in San Antonio

 

In response to the prompt “An Address with a Story”, I originally planned to write about my ninth-great-grandfather’s home in New Hampshire, which is now an inn. But after reading Amy Johnson Crow’s email about the prompt, I changed my mind. She wrote, “So many stories are tied to a place. (For me, it would be my Grandma’s house.) What is a place that has special meaning for your family?” Suddenly, I started thinking about how my children won’t remember the first homes they lived in, since they were toddlers when we moved away. I decided they should know about the places that were their first-ever homes when they were born. I decided to start with my daughter, our eldest child, who was born in San Antonio, Texas.

In 1987, Bruce completed his PhD and got a post-doctoral position at the University of Texas Health Science Center in San Antonio—more succinctly known as UTHSCSA. We moved from the University of Chicago’s Married Student Housing in Hyde Park to an apartment complex in northwest San Antonio. The complex was known as Fifth Avenue, and it was an attractive collection of two- and three-story tan buildings with white trim set on rolling, wooded terrain.

Our apartment was the second story on the right. Drainage basin visible to right, big trees made the grounds attractive and homey.

Fifth Avenue was quite the change from our apartment in Chicago. We’d been living on the third floor of a brick walk-up at 56^th and Maryland Avenues in Hyde Park, a location at the very edge of the white area surrounding the University of Chicago. Crime was high—the building’s exterior wall had a white emergency phone attached to it, and all you had to do to alert the University Police Department (which was a huge force for a college police department) was to knock the receiver off the hook as you ran by if you were being pursued, which actually happened to students while we lived there. The apartment was old—probably built in the 1920s, with hardwood floors and huge windows. Roaches were a problem. Appliances were ancient.

In contrast, Fifth Avenue was a newer complex with new appliances, including in-unit washer and driers—a huge plus. Our second-floor unit had two bedrooms, one of which was in the third-floor loft area with a view down into the living room. Our cats loved to romp up and down the staircase. We loved the fireplace and the balcony, which looked out on trees and a grassy drainage basin that wandered along the edge of the complex. There were only eight apartments in the building, which kept it quiet, especially since we were at the rear of the building away from the parking lot.

Fifth Avenue Balcony similar to ours. This is a current photo. Complex now called the Henry B. 

The area felt safe and walkable, and I took advantage of that. I would walk along Wall Road, which led downhill to a neighboring complex. Huge live oaks and pecan trees lined the street. Fifth Avenue was conveniently located near a branch of the public library, so I would walk there once a week to find books. The commute to UTHSCSA wasn’t bad, and there was easy access by car to a bank, a drugstore, a supermarket and a church I sometimes attended.

Wall Road and the neighboring complex, Sutton Place. I walked here while pregnant and with the baby.

Here are some of the little stories about our nearly two years there:

When we first moved in, it rained every day for two straight weeks. The drainage area next to our building became a raging stream. My former co-workers in Chicago had talked enviously of my move to “sunny San Antonio”. I started to wonder if we needed to build an ark.

The lot across the street from Fifth Avenue was vacant, but far from empty. The house that was once there had been torn down, but stone and low walls remained, and the land was lushly covered in trees and underbrush. I found an old arbor on the property with a blooming maypop or passion flower climbing it. I had never seen passion flower before, and was delighted. There was also an amazingly fragrant wisteria in bloom there.

Fifth Avenue was the home of the players from the local minor league baseball team, the San Antonio Missions. They were the Double A affiliate of the Los Angeles Dodgers pro team. Most of the players were young and single, and spent a lot of time in the pool area when they weren’t playing ball. They were pretty nice guys—I never heard about any problems from them.

Pool area at Fifth Avenue, favorite hangout for the San Antonio Missions ball players.

There were huge pecan trees growing along the drainage basin, and I couldn’t believe that the nuts would fall and just lay there, uncollected. Pecans were an expensive luxury back in Minnesota, while here they littered the ground and were ignored. I was hugely pregnant with Amanda, but would waddle around in the drainage area with a paper grocery sack, collecting nuts. I’d shell them to eat and to cook with, and sent boxes of them to relatives as Christmas gifts. I also discovered, to my chagrin, that fresh nuts would go rancid in less than a year.  

When Amanda was born, we had the crib upstairs, along with the baby swing. I had a c-section, so shouldn’t have been running up and down the stairs, but I did anyway. When she had colic, I would walk with her in the Snugli, a front-facing baby-carrier, out to Wall Street, and around the outer parking areas of Fifth Avenue. Bruce could hear us returning—the poor little baby would still be crying. I’d put her in her carseat on the dryer as it ran—the vibration from the motor and rotating drum would put her to sleep.

Amanda in her crib in the loft bedroom at Fifth Avenue

Our cats loved Fifth Avenue, although they tried frequently to escape. We bought a harness for Schmutz so we could walk him, but he went berserk every time we put it on him and would flail and contort himself until he somehow managed to wriggle free. He was a regular Houdini. Once he made it to the bottom of the stairs from our front door, and then froze, confused about where to go. He started circling the building, pressed so tightly to the exterior wall, but still streaking faster than our legs could carry us. I think he was even more relieved than we were when we caught him partway through his second circuit around the building and dragged him inside.

The two-story apartment felt more like a house than any other apartment we lived in. It was a good place to start our lives as parents.

Sources:

Family photos.