Dear readers,
Loyal readers Marybeth and Ty Bott were recently surprised to discover that the exact place of my birth on Oct. 31, 1955, was in their family room just left of their television.
So how did Marybeth and her husband make this astonishing discovery you might ask. I knocked on their door myself and told them the great news.
I explained how I made this archaeological discovery about my own origin. It involved a slide rule and some stargazing. Of course, I didn’t know the exact location in their home until they let me in to take some final measurements.
You see, I am a medical pioneer in my family. I was the first member of the Meltzer clan in the entire history of time to be born in a hospital. My parents, Philip and Charlene, were born at home. So were their parents and their parents before them, stretching all the way back to when my ancestors were living in caves and, presumably, being born in caves.
I broke this long-standing tradition with my arrival. According to my mom, it was just after she passed out the last candy bar to little Tommy Allen that Halloween night. My dad drove her to the original W.S. Major Hospital on West Washington Street.
Now, here’s the twist: that hospital was not always a hospital. It was the former home of Mr. and Mrs. William S. Major, which they had generously donated for the purpose.
Years rolled on. The old home-turned-hospital was eventually torn down to make way for a new, modern W.S. Major Hospital (which itself has been replaced). The land on Washington Street once again became a residential plot, and new houses were built.
One of those houses belongs to Ty and Marybeth Bott (photo).
Being wonderful sports, the Botts have decided to install a plaque to memorialize this sacred site. As a retirement side hustle, sometime in the future they plan to offer tours of the Kris Meltzer Birthplace.
“It beats having a garage sale,” Marybeth told me.
Ty, ever the pragmatist, added, “And if we do have some stuff to sell, we can always just tag it and put it next to the plaque.”
EPILOGUE:
After this column was written, the Botts double-checked my celestial calculations. They have issued a minor correction: the exact location of my birth it turns out is not, in fact, in their family room, but in their garage, positioned directly above the tool bench.
Marybeth says this is even better.
“On second thought, we really didn’t want a bunch of people walking through our house to see Meltzer’s plaque. Now we can just open the garage door, and folks can gawk at it from the alley. We can even feature it during our garage sales.”
So, there you have it. My legacy is now cemented not in a hallowed hall, but next to a socket set. I can’t think of anything more fitting.
See you all next week, same Schwinn time, same Schwinn channel.
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