Viro Road

It’s a Wonderful Life

Our La Canada house was on Viro Road. Don’t remember the number. Okay, let me check with Google maps again, street view. Ah, yes, rings a bell. 4581 Viro Road. Yup, that’s the one.

One very cool thing about our house is that in the film “It’s a Wonderful Life” it is (as in real life, of course) situated next to the house (4587 Viro Road) where, toward the end of the film, they are moving that family, goat and all (as I recall). That scene was shot as the Skunk Hollow estate (which another La Canada resident once informed me was where I now lived — it’s not called that, but only known as such by long-time residents) was brand new, and as the camera pans up the west-hand side of Viro Road to end at the Wonderful Life House, it shows our next-door 4581 very clearly: our small, plain (and now a little famous) la-di-da house.

To be honest, it was not much of a house — like Eyeore’s tail, not much of one, but I was kind of attached to it by now.

And, yes, a better school district — the ostensible reason for having to move (according to then-wife).

Interestingly, moving from La Crescenta to La Canada saw me blow my top for the first, and (actually) the last time this life.

Why?

Well, I’ll tell you why. We had booked the movers (on the suggestion of friends) to arrive at eight am on the morning of the move. No problem, we’ll see you then.

“You have to be here at eight,” I stressed, “for the new owners will arrive at ten, to move in.”

“No problem. We’ll be there at eight.”

Okay. Next day. Moving day. Eight rolls around. No movers.

Eight fifteen rolls around. No movers.

Eight-thirty: ditto.

I am getting a little nervous. Oh, just caught up in traffic suggested Deven. Yes, it was rush hour after all. Still.

Eight forty-five. No movers.

Nine. No movers.

I called them. No answer — voice mail. “Where are you guys?” I asked the recording.

Nine fifteen. No movers.

Nine thirty. No movers.

Still, no answer when I call.

So I called the recommending friend. “Any idea where they might be?”

“No, not a clue.”

Nine forty-five. No movers. And here, a little early, come the new owners and their huge moving truck. New owner lady with them. “Have you moved out already?” Seemingly happily surprised.

“No. Afraid not. Our movers haven’t arrived yet.”

“Oh my.” Not a pleased Oh my. At all.

Ten o’clock rolls around. Still no movers. I’m trying to keep the new owners calm and patient — with increasing difficulty, since I have mounting troubles keeping myself calm and patient.

Ten twenty, or thereabouts, our movers finally arrive. The main guy, the one who had guaranteed their arrival on time, no problem, saunters up to me. No apology, just the explanation: “We had a late-night move in Orange County.”

I shook my head. “I don’t care. You promised eight o’clock.”

“Yes, I know. So we’re on a tight schedule now, I realize that. That’s why I’ve brought some extra guys so we can get it done fast. But,” he then has the incredible nerve to add, “we’re gonna have to charge you a little extra for the additional manpower.”

Top. Blown. Mine.

“Get the FUCKING HELL out of here! NOW!” I had never screamed so loudly and vulgarly and angrily at another human being in my life, and, as I said, have not done since.

A little stunned, he got the point and sauntered back to the truck, climbed in a drove off with his extra, unpaid guys.

Me, I told the by now also-stunned new owner lady to sit tight for just a little longer.

“We’re doing our own move,” I told Deven. Take me up to U-Haul on Foothill.”

So, I rented a small moving truck and with the help of our plumber (who for some reason arrived about the time I came back with the truck), we loaded all of the stuff we had not already moved, including a two thousand pound Yamaha upright (well, a little less) on to the truck. Secured things as best I could (which was not very well, given the time pressure) and drove, very, very carefully the few miles from Encinal to Viro Road. It was probably noon by the time we left the now empty house to the new owners and their movers. Sorry guys. So, so sorry.

Very strained smiles, but smiles nonetheless.

As I said, Viro Road was not much of a house. Two bedrooms and one bath. Over the next year, we added a master bedroom and a second bath, and I worked the yard and such as you would expect of a La Canada homeowner. Well, that’s not entirely true, a La Canada homeowner usually hires a gardener who rolls around weekly with his lawnmower and leaf blower and wakes up the neighborhood.

Moving to La Canada shortened my commute by three exits, down to passing two 210 Freeway exits and taking the third for the Parsons Complex in Pasadena. Travel time during rush hour never to exceed ten minutes.

By now I had learned not to bring this up with my colleagues. Still, there is no denying that I loved it, especially considering that some LA commuters spend nearly 20 percent of their lives in the car, to and from work. That is both grim and cruel and a very good reason to get out of Dodge. Nearly twenty years later I finally did.

© Wolfstuff