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Source: Philadelphia Weekly
Date: October 19-25, 2005
Byline: Liz Spikol

Bring Home the Bacon

There was no one quite like Ed.

I've always been a big fan of the elderly. Sounds weird to say, I know, but I'd rather spend my time talking to an 80-year-old than a 20-year-old. The 80-year-old certainly has more stories to tell. At the very least, he's probably seen more movies.

And who better than an old person to help muddle through modernity? Before my grandmother Bloomie died, I used to grill her on the history of the 20th century--as she lived it. At our semiregular meals together at Little Pete's, she talked about going to the Cotton Club, sitting in the front of the bus, doing the Charleston, living through the Depression, and seeing an automobile for the first time. It was like going to an American history museum, only the docent always gave me candy and a wet kiss.

Perhaps because of my relationship with her, I tend to overidentify with the elderly. During this past summer's hottest months I called the nonprofit Philadelphia Corporation for Aging to ask if I could volunteer. I was worried there were hundreds of Bloomies wilting in the heat. The woman on the phone told me I was too young to volunteer, that their cutoff age was 50.

Wow. Tough crowd.

Part of my sympathy for the elderly is in keeping with general cultural stereotypes. We don't especially like an irritable, self-obsessed egomaniac in his 20s. But the same behavior in an old man can seem eccentric and endearing. The crotchety-but-lovable-old-man trope pops up relentlessly on TV and in movies.

I've noticed that the people who think old-man irritability is charming weren't generally raised by said charmer, which is why you see all kinds of eye-rolling by adult children who know their dad was a son of a bitch as a younger guy too. I wonder if Kevin Bacon has an eye-roll-induced headache these days.

Bacon's dad Ed, Philadelphia's genius city planner, died this week, and in every account of his life, from print media to blog, he's described as irascible or acerbic--kindly euphemisms he probably wouldn't have cared for. But given Ed's enormous contributions, people forgave him his interpersonal sins. I know I did.

I had a kind of crush on Ed Bacon, which is related to my fanatical crush on Philadelphia. Even before I met him, I was in awe of his passion for the city. He famously derided the city as stupid and backward when he lived here in the 1930s--but ultimately decided to stay and make it better. How often does that happen? People don't like it, they leave, life goes on. I admire those who stay and fight.

People have called Ed an egomaniac, and that may be true--I didn't know him well enough to say. I think of him more as a Phillymaniac, and as a result Philadelphia remains in many ways a reflection of Ed himself.

A few years ago, when I learned I'd get a chance to meet Ed, I got nervous and sweaty, as though I were meeting a rock star. My heart was pounding as a friend and I trudged up the stairs to Ed's house. We were there on a fact-finding mission--me as a journalist, my friend as a civic organizer. After exceedingly minimal pleasantries, Ed pulled out a raft of blueprints, his shaky finger pointing out his past achievements and future plans.

Some of those plans didn't seem very plausible, but he was remarkable. He talked fluidly about Philadelphia history, and his history in Philadelphia, and they were very much the same thing. I was also impressed by his lucidity and energy. He was trying to rebuild the city even in his 90s.

I briefly thought of fixing him up with Bloomie, who'd deflected all comers for 40 years, but I knew the impulse was just self-interest. I wanted Ed to be my grandfather.

Sadly, he had no interest in me. He didn't ask me any questions about myself, and hardly looked at me. The only time he addressed me directly was when he showed me an antique music box that had belonged to his late wife. I guess music boxes seemed more like a chick thing.

I tried to tell Ed how much I admired him, but I guess he heard it all the time, so he talked over me. He was irascible and acerbic every few sentences or so, but I felt a little sorry for him nonetheless.

Contemporary urban planners had argued against his ideas for years at that point, and until he reasserted his relevance during the LOVE Park Wars of 2002--becoming an unlikely spokesperson for shaggy-haired teenagers--he was sort of a ghost of Philly past.

After that odd little visit four years ago, I didn't have the opportunity to talk to Ed again, but I enjoyed seeing him on the news, bumbling around Rittenhouse Square and in My Architect--the crotchety-but-lovable-old-man trope in documentary form.

Ed's legacy is physically inscribed in the city's architecture and design. My grandmother's civic contributions are less notable, but something about her spirit lives on, if only over by the Dollar Store. I'll look for both my old friends in my travels around town, and be reassured by the stories they've told.

Memorial service for Ed Bacon: Wed., Oct. 23, 3pm. Central Philadelphia Monthly Meeting, 15th and Cherry sts.

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