I grew up in South Hills. I went to John Adams Junior High and George Washington High. I know every street in South Hills, having ridden my bike as a teenager on every one of them. There is indeed some enormous wealth scattered about the hills, but there are also a few pockets of real poverty. A large segment of the area's population has always been working-class folks with incomes at or below the Charleston median. Growing up there I didn't know of the stereotypes until I was in high school, and by then I was so familiar with the truth that I didn't pay much attention to the myth. The bottom line for me was I lived in South Hills and I was definitely not rich.
Although my family's economic station was no where near the median of the families of my peers I had no trouble fitting in during elementary, junior high and about one-fourth of high school. Then things changed. Big time.
Looking back, I now know what was the trigger for the change, but I was oblivious then. All I knew was that many - OK, most - of the people who had been my friends since second or third grade were quite suddenly aloof. Guys that I had played little league baseball with were all of the sudden too preoccupied to take in a Charlies game with me. My buddies wouldn't go to the Kanawha State Forest pool with me any more and didn't invite me to go to Windemere or South Hills Pools with them. No more golf at Coonskin or Shawnee for the ol' gang: Nothing but Berry Hills would suffice any longer. Girls that I had known for years and years, and even dated, would act as if they didn't remember my name if we were to meet in unfamiliar places when they were with unfamiliar friends. It was very clear: I was no longer on their level.
It seems that these striations were revealed in the second semester of tenth grade.That was when there was no more denying that there were marked differences in the societal landscape between the "haves" and the "have mores." That's when the truly upper crust kids began to disappear from school one by one. We never knew where some of them went, and some were rumored to have been shipped off to Linsly or another far-away boarding school with names I did not know. These were the future leaders of Charleston, West Virginia and the Nation: They had to be schooled accordingly.
The next lower tier were less likely to be sent away to school unless they got into some trouble, but they were still separating themselves from the chaff with the clothes they wore and, more importantly, the cars they drove. In fact it was the introduction of cars into the high school society mix that triggered all of the separation of the classes - socioeconomic class, that is.
Now there were basically three levels of vehicular status at George Washington High School in the late 1970s. There were those with no car (I would reside in this class my entire high school career), those with cars and then there were those with really expensive cars.
The No Car people, my people, were carless for a variety of reasons, but none of them would be kids from affluent families who denied their offspring a car; no, that never happened. The carless class was made up of those whose parents couldn't afford cars for them, those whose parents thought cars were an unnecessary luxury, those whose parents felt that cars corrupt kids, those who had once had cars but had lost them because they wrecked them or had some run in with the law. There were probably many other reasons that our group had so many members (lack of driver's licenses for one), but we didn't discuss it amongst ourselves.
The largest group were the regular Car Kids. They drove anything from shiny new Trans Ams or Camaros, to the ten year old Datsun Uncle Ralph had given them. This group also had lots of pick up trucks and four-door Caprice Classics, Monte Carlos and an Olds Cutlass or two. Most of these cars were second hand or were daddy's toys that the kids were allowed to drive to school.
The chasm between the Car Kids and the Expensive Car Kids was vast. The lowest of the expensive car kids had new Corvettes. Porsche, BMW, Audi, Mercedes were typical for this group. These are the people who now, 30 years later, drive the highest priced Mercedes and Lexus models, and whose wives all drive Escalades.
And they all eat pizza at Lola's; which is actually what I wanted to write about this evening.
I finally made it to Lola's. I've been trying to get there since I first heard about it last Summer, but the place is tiny and always full to overflow. So my wife and I went a little early recently and got a table with no problem. Nice little place with interesting and expensive gourmet pizzas and lots of interesting and expensive imported beer and wine to wash it down. We had two 10" specialty pizzas and water to drink. The bill? $30. That's-a some-a pricey pizza!!
The little old house that is home to Lola's sits below Bridge Road in the curve that signals the end of the Bridge Road Business District. Its tiny parking lot and the overflow lot across the street is full of expensive machinery anytime the restaurant is open and especially on Friday night. The drivers of said machinery sit or stand around on the front porch waiting for one of the eight tables and few bar stools inside to become vacant, or for their to-go order to come out of the oven. Inside the patrons order from the pricey menu and sip their wine and guzzle their beer until their pizza comes, then they eat their crispy crust pizza with Gorgonzola cheese and caramelized onions with a knife and fork. They chat with their neighbors about the trip they took to Tuscany last summer and how dreadful the champagne is that is served in Delta's first-class.
It was like deja-vu. Like I was back in the GW cafeteria, except that none of these people would have eaten in the cafeteria.
By the way, the pizza at Lola's is good. Not to die for good, but very good indeed. All things considered I think I'd rather go to Lorobi's in St. Albans: They have pizza that is to die for, and my Ford would fit in better in the parking lot.
The next lower tier were less likely to be sent away to school unless they got into some trouble, but they were still separating themselves from the chaff with the clothes they wore and, more importantly, the cars they drove. In fact it was the introduction of cars into the high school society mix that triggered all of the separation of the classes - socioeconomic class, that is.
Now there were basically three levels of vehicular status at George Washington High School in the late 1970s. There were those with no car (I would reside in this class my entire high school career), those with cars and then there were those with really expensive cars.
The No Car people, my people, were carless for a variety of reasons, but none of them would be kids from affluent families who denied their offspring a car; no, that never happened. The carless class was made up of those whose parents couldn't afford cars for them, those whose parents thought cars were an unnecessary luxury, those whose parents felt that cars corrupt kids, those who had once had cars but had lost them because they wrecked them or had some run in with the law. There were probably many other reasons that our group had so many members (lack of driver's licenses for one), but we didn't discuss it amongst ourselves.
The largest group were the regular Car Kids. They drove anything from shiny new Trans Ams or Camaros, to the ten year old Datsun Uncle Ralph had given them. This group also had lots of pick up trucks and four-door Caprice Classics, Monte Carlos and an Olds Cutlass or two. Most of these cars were second hand or were daddy's toys that the kids were allowed to drive to school.
The chasm between the Car Kids and the Expensive Car Kids was vast. The lowest of the expensive car kids had new Corvettes. Porsche, BMW, Audi, Mercedes were typical for this group. These are the people who now, 30 years later, drive the highest priced Mercedes and Lexus models, and whose wives all drive Escalades.
And they all eat pizza at Lola's; which is actually what I wanted to write about this evening.
I finally made it to Lola's. I've been trying to get there since I first heard about it last Summer, but the place is tiny and always full to overflow. So my wife and I went a little early recently and got a table with no problem. Nice little place with interesting and expensive gourmet pizzas and lots of interesting and expensive imported beer and wine to wash it down. We had two 10" specialty pizzas and water to drink. The bill? $30. That's-a some-a pricey pizza!!
The little old house that is home to Lola's sits below Bridge Road in the curve that signals the end of the Bridge Road Business District. Its tiny parking lot and the overflow lot across the street is full of expensive machinery anytime the restaurant is open and especially on Friday night. The drivers of said machinery sit or stand around on the front porch waiting for one of the eight tables and few bar stools inside to become vacant, or for their to-go order to come out of the oven. Inside the patrons order from the pricey menu and sip their wine and guzzle their beer until their pizza comes, then they eat their crispy crust pizza with Gorgonzola cheese and caramelized onions with a knife and fork. They chat with their neighbors about the trip they took to Tuscany last summer and how dreadful the champagne is that is served in Delta's first-class.
It was like deja-vu. Like I was back in the GW cafeteria, except that none of these people would have eaten in the cafeteria.
By the way, the pizza at Lola's is good. Not to die for good, but very good indeed. All things considered I think I'd rather go to Lorobi's in St. Albans: They have pizza that is to die for, and my Ford would fit in better in the parking lot.
