Carrying A Porch

This column originally appeared on Sunday, Dec. 6, 2009

(Editor's Note: The West Chester Old Fashioned Christmas Parade this year became corporately sponsored by Flavia, Inc., a division of Mars, Inc., and is now known as the Flavia Old Fashioned Christmas Parade.)

This country is going to hell in a hand-basket, and I know why.

Actually, I don’t know why, but the punditocracy of the current media conglomeration requires that pretend to, and have at least three easily relatable reasons why this country is going to hell in a hand-basket at any given moment. Columnists such as I are statutorily obligated to pontificate on hand-baskets, hell-bound, in re: This Country. Fail to deliver an occasional sermon on the collapse of America’s foundations at least once in a fortnight gets you an official reprimand signed by Rupert Murdoch and Warren Buffet, and a robo-call featuring a voice that sounds suspiciously like Bill O’Reilly, with Jon Stewart egging him on in the background.

Remember the “Bowling Alone” phenomenon? That’s the sort of hand-basket, hand wringing that can catch some attention, and helped me formulate my most recent explanation for the ills that beset our nation. A fellow named Robert D. Putnam back in the mid-1990s noticed that although the number of Americans who bowled on any given night was increasing annually, the number of those bowlers who participated in bowling leagues was steadily declining. “If people bowl alone, they do not participate in social interaction and civic discussions that might occur in a league environment,” the proposition went. And therewith forms the start of the decline in democracy and the dissolution of the social compact. So you look at the characters who bowl in leagues like the one in the movie “The Big Lebowski” and you don’t see ne’er do well losers, one-step-from-over-the-edge psychopaths, and the occasional Latino pederast, but the very foundation of American society.

But I’m not here to talk about bowling. I’m here to talk about porches.

It occurred to me as I watched the stream of cars rolling down West Miner Street past my home in West Chester during Friday’s coffee-and-candy-bars-themed Old Fashioned Christmas parade (soon to be sponsored by Hy-Tech Mushroom Compost of West Grove, or Enron) that the time spent sitting on a porch contributed real value to American society in the past, a value that has been eroded by the trends in new home construction that see (one), new homes constructed where people heretofore have not actually lived and (two), new homes constructed with backyard decks.

Note to residents of DevelopmentLand: Backyard decks are not porches. To be a porch, a portion of the construction needs to be at the front of the home or at least visible from the front of the home, so you can see and be seen by your neighbors. To be a deck, the construction has to be completely hidden from view, so homeowners can cook steaks on the Webber in their sleeveless t-shirts and ratty gym shorts. Porches are what bring us together as a community, America-wise. Decks drive us apart, and lead to a fractured social consensus, a decline in voter participation, and a growth in those holiday yard displays that feature vinyl blow-up Pilgrim and Frosty the Snowman dolls. Which is de facto evidence, needless to say, that this country is going to hell in a hand-basket.

I am not only a great believer in porches and porch sitting; I am also a proud practitioner in porch sitting. I am even responsible, in part, for the use of the word “porch” as a verb in the West Chester community, starting circa 1984. “Let’s porch,” I used to say to my friends and neighbors of a summer’s eve. “We could have dinner and then porch awhile,” I’d suggest to a date I wanted to impress. “I’m going to be porching tonight, so come on over and let’s seal the social compact,” I’d tell others, who I knew had college degrees and could, therefore, understand the varied meaning of the word “compact.”

Porches help you make friends; they help you understand what is going on in your neighborhood; they serve as a perfect way of getting fresh air; and occasionally they can help you stay cool when the power goes out in the summer and the inside of your home heats up like a toaster oven in a steam bath. There was a reason why George Washington included a porch on the front of his home at Mt. Vernon, and why the White House has a porch that the president can sit on with world leaders from around the globe when the power goes out in the summer. The reason is that porches helped make America strong and good and solid and the sort of place where a Christmas parade didn’t need a corporate sponsor, which is apparently where the country is today.

If you drive through West Chester or Kennett Square or Downingtown or even Modena, for pity sakes, you will see porches. And outdoor furniture placed there for the specific purpose of sitting outside and chatting with people who walk by. If you drive past the West Marlborough home of noted financial wizard and indicted Ponzi swindler Donald Anthony Walker “Tony” Young, you will see an outdoor pool, a driveway suitable for 13 cars, two chimneys, a tennis court, and a horse stable. What you will not see is a porch.

I think I’ve made my point. Now get off my back, Rupert.