Beautiful Days in the Neighborhood: Remembering Conrad from the Block

“If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person.”
Fred Rogers

And sometimes that meeting comes every day with the same person on the same street for about half a century. What is left stays … in the neighborhood heart.

“How ya doin’?” It’s what I heard in a friendly, mellow cadence from across the street pretty much every day for most of my life. It was a soothing, subtle reminder that I was home and a good neighbor was always there, looking out, never judging, nitpicking or naysaying. Caring, instead, with a knowing smile and a few simple words.

Knowing. Knowing that we were all there for the same reason. Neighborhood. Simple gestures. That’s all it really takes. And take it to microcosmic heights unknown is what this one neighbor did. Daily.

The neighbor was Conrad. Conrad Decher. The forever Fair Haven guy from my 54-year block was laid to rest on Monday. His spirit, however, will always be fluttering around. The flutter. It’s gentle. It’s not grand, not intrusive. Still, it’s deliberate. It stays — a subtle, soft, strong, consistent gesture. Like a heartbeat. After all, here, in the heart, stays the neighborhood.

For the longest time, I didn’t even know Conrad’s last name. Didn’t matter. He was a fixture on the block. The sort of one that all too often gets overlooked in the face of social climbers tripping over one another to prove who’s got the carefully organized kindness campaign down pat, checking that list as they rush to pick on that neighbor who’s down. Lifting was Conrad’s unknowing speciality with the seemingly littlest of things — a “How ya doin’?” hug.

He got it —the essence of neighborhood. He didn’t even have to try, either. It just rolled right off his persona. The reality that you shouldn’t have to be told how to be nice, how to just be … a good neighbor. Something that mattered more than he knew.

He was always there with a smile, a greeting or a tidbit, keeping his sense of humor intact in the face of any adversity, mishap or misadventure. I grew to count on that greeting from the brush trimming or daily garbage can trip from across the street. Yeah, the cans were in the street. It was his quiet protest. He hated the “newfangled” things.

I don’t know that I offered him the same howdy-done-good consolation, though I do know I gave him a few good laughs and some intel on dry-as-toast borough biz. He told me so at that garbage can water cooler pow wow. If there was a little story, or snippet, he’d meet me in the street or just talk across. It was our shout-out-the-window city way in the burb.

His constant source of amusement from my side was seeing me leave the house for acting work. He’d chuckle as he told me how he loved to get a gander at which character was getting in the car and what crazy get-up was involved.

What he saw? Anything from a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, to a Big Bird head going into the trunk, to a gypsy, a grandma with a babushka, a hillbilly with braids, blacked out teeth and a Minnie Pearl hat, a ghoul, or a senator’s well-coiffed and dressed wife. You get the idea. He got the eyeful and the laughs. While another Gladys Kravitz may have dialed the looney bin or the cops, calling for an “unwellness” check, he sopped it all up, laughing and knowing it was all good as was his neighbor.

He knew what I was up to, because he cared to know. He knew who I, and everyone else on the block, was. He saw me. He saw them, good and bad, in light. What was someone else’s nosy-for-no-good was his “Hey, could you use a hand?”

Sometimes he didn’t even ask. He just did. Like the time during Superstorm Sandy I was alone and working 24/7 out of my car to charge the computer. While one gave me the stink eye and scolding for running my car to do necessary work they deemed the “silly” informing people of updates and where to go for help, he plopped a case of bottled water from FEMA on my porch, knowing.

And then there was the great dog escape debacle. As another may have rushed to scream foul from the freaky actress and writer’s house with, no doubt, some dastardly off-suburbia-center doings going on, he laughed and memorized each minute so he could recount the story. And that he did — with vigor, a chuckle and a cold one.

Even the dog knew his voice, his boxy ears perked like a happy Flying Nun as he sighed contentedly with a cheery woof and tail wag at the sight and sound of Conrad. He knew. They know.

I knew. Others didn’t. “Who is that guy?” someone immersed in Fair Haven doings once asked me after seeing Conrad chat with me, wanting to understand some townie issues. “Oh, that’s Conrad. How do you not know Conrad? He’s been here forever,” I said. I guess he just never made enough noise. He certainly never extended his hand to his own back to give it a large pat. I did. “He’s one of the good ones,” I added. Neighbor, that is. Everyone should have known him. He was that hello that was left behind. That something of himself.

I can still hear it, see it. That “How ya doin’?” That decades-long gesture sustained me. Reminded me that home is home because of neighbors like Conrad. Always will be. And even when you have to say goodbye to the daily from-the-porch wave and garbage can greeting and, eventually, them, a piece of them stays. Always.

I doubt that Conrad ever knew that whenever I’ve been paralyzingly homesick, I take out my garbage or get to work, odd outfit or camera in hand, and imagine his “How ya doin’?” from across the street. Then the drooping corners of my mouth turn upward as I remember how very lucky I was to have known what neighborhood really means. Lucky to have grown up and older with a neighbor like Conrad. I remember. Always will. And each time I remember, I wave to someone and ask, “How ya doin’?”

There goes the neighborhood? Where goes someone like Conrad, here stays the neighborhood. In the heart.

Rest In Peace, neighbor. Thank you for the countless moments … making every day in my neighborhood a more beautiful day. How am I doing, Conrad? Much better for having known you.

About Conrad …

Forever Fair Havenite Conrad W. Decher passed away peacefully on July 28. He was 73.

He joined his longtime Parker neighbors — Sally and Bill Van Develde, Bob and Cathy Dougherty, Bob Jones, Ken and Peg Lockwood, Lucia, Barbara Babcock, Mrs. Dangler, Bill Lang, Pam Young, Don Young, Kevin and Sharon Reed, Morris Black, Brent Williams, Dorothy Breckenridge, and Iris Bluford — in a likely heavenly block party. Mrs. Faust, who lived in his home before him, is surely there giving out sour balls as everyone sings her favorite song — the one she asked all the kids on the block to sing … In the Good Ol’ Summertime.

Born in Long Branch and raised in Fair Haven, Conrad graduated Rumson-Fair Haven Regional High School in 1968. After graduation, Conrad joined the U.S. Army and served two years honorably.

Conrad met his wife Vanda in California where he spent three years. They returned home to Fair Haven where he was a butcher for more than 20 years, working at Fort Monmouth and Dearborn Farms. His pastimes were Nascar, Giants football, and attending the Fair Haven Fireman’s Fair.

Conrad is predeceased by: his parents Kenneth and Helen Decher; and his brother, Ken Decher, of California.

He is survived by: his wife of 44 years, Vanda Twist Decher; his son, Charles Creel (Margarite Scanlon), of Howell; daughter, Kim Barkow, of Wisconson; sisters-in-law, Joan Decher, of California, and Muriel Fallon, of Florida; grandchildren, Robert, Adam, Zack, Amanda (Wisconsin) and Joseph and Brian; and six great grandchildren.

In lieu of flowers memorial contributions may be made in his name to : The Fair Haven Fire Department or First Aid Squad.

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