Stephen Crane's House

The holidays are a good time for going home, so let's take a peek at the place Stephen Crane called home during his late childhood. 508 Fourth Avenue, Asbury Park, NJ, USA is the address of this holy shrine. Crane's mother moved her children there in 1883, when Stephen was nearly 12 years old. The Crane family retained it until 1899. Nearly a hundred years later, in 1995, Tom and Regina Hayes purchased it and rescued the home from demolition.

According to the Stephen Crane House website run by current owner Frank D'Alessandro, "Since 1995, the house has been the small venue for hundreds of literary, musical, film and other cultural programs all dedicated to the memory of Stephen and his very literary and artistic family."

The next event taking place there will be a December 13th "Season's Reading" and viewing of the film "A Christmas Story." Click here for full information.

We of the Stephen Crane Blog have not yet made it to the Stephen Crane House, but when we do it shall be an earth-shaking pilgrimage and well documented on this blog.

The bird that thwarted the feast

In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, many of us think of birds in terms of gigantic meaty turkey things, wrapped in plastic and perhaps frozen. Such birds, bred for consumption, stand little chance to ruin the feast they are destined for. Unless they are spiteful enough to fall into the hands of an unskilled chef...but even that would not be dramatic enough to compare to the grim role a bird played in the Stephen Crane story "Twelve O'Clock."

In this story a cowboy strolls into a hotel to book a dinner reservation for his troop, numbering...

"Oh, about thirty," replied the cowboy. "An` we want th` best dinner you kin raise an` scrape. Everything th` best. We don`t care what it costs s`long as we git a good square meal. We`ll pay a dollar a head: by God, we will! We won`t kick on nothin` in the bill if you do it up fine. If you ain`t got it in th` house russle th` hull town fer it. That`s our gait. So you just tear loose, an` we`ll -"

At this moment the machinery of a cuckoo-clock on the wall began to whirr, little doors flew open and a wooden bird appeared and cried, "Cuckoo!" And this was repeated until eleven o`clock had been announced, while the cowboy, stupefied, glassy-eyed, stood with his red throat gulping. At the end he wheeled upon Placer and demanded: "What in hell is that?"

This cowboy, aka Jake, then brings his gang to the hotel to see the splendorous cuckoo bird, and let's just say things don't go very well. Not when you throw a rude hotel clerk, a drunken badass, overzealous lawmen, and some mob antics into the mix. Think of The Blue Hotel with a bird replacing the cash register.

Or better yet just read the short story here.

And if that doesn't satisfy your Stephen Crane feasting desires, check out our post from Thanksgiving of last year.