You can own my childhood home. That’s right. Buy my childhood home and turn it into a Graceland or Hearst Estate. My house embodies the American Dream. A small town boy with a dream in his heart who changed the world of theatre. For all my fans, my house will be the ultimate pilgrimage.

Here’s what you’ll get.

↑ This classic mid-century charmer was purchased in 1964 by my parents. There wasn’t a single tree on the property. My dad went to the woods at the end of the street (There were only 4 houses on the street at the time), dug up some trees and planted them in our yard. These trees have been here the entire time we were here and they have seen things.

We had a stone driveway the entire time my brother, sister and I lived there. We begged our parents for a paved driveway so we could set up a basketball hoop. It wasn’t until we all moved away that my parents paved the driveway. My parents were cruel. This is also the site where one winter my dad fell and couldn’t get back up. He laid in the ice covered driveway, turtle-like, for about half an hour. We never let him forget it.

At about the place where this picture was taken was where I heard the news that John Lennon had been shot. I was in my old convertible on my way to school.

The upper right window was my bedroom.

↑ The living room, where my brother and I honed our soccer skills by kicking a nerfball around the room, much to the consternation of our mother. A nerfball basketball hoop was fastened to the front door for us to play Bob Cousy versus Dave Cowens. The window was the site of many a bird ending it all by flying head-on into it.

↑ The kitchen, where my father made blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies. He was a cook during WWII so he always literally made enough cookies to feed an army. The window was the site of a long running family joke about a broken slushy machine.

For April Fools Day I would put a rubber band around the sink sprayer and point it straight ahead. When someone turned on the water they got soaked.

↑ If this room doesn’t scream mid-century I don’t know what does. Just look at that woodwork. Amazing. This was our TV room. For a long time we had the old antenna box that you had to adjust to get a better picture. One way pointed towards Philadelphia, the other way pointed towards NYC.

I’d spend hours here watching the Marx Brothers, Abbott and Costello, Soul Train, H.R. Pufnstuf, Wonderama, the Gene London Show, Professor Popeye and Pals, Hogan’s Heros, F-Troop, Gilliagn’s Island, Dennis the Menace, Batman, and movie after movie. I remember sitting here with what seemed like a thousand friends watching Nixon leave office for the last time.

For the museum I suggest getting an old TV and showing these shows on a loop. Just sayin’.

↑ Feast your eyes upon the room where my fans will break down and cry. My old bedroom. This is where it all happened. Where my genius began. It’s also where my allergies began.

It’s here where I learned to play the guitar, made models, worked on my ventriloquist act, read countless books, and listened to The Wild, The Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle over and over and over,

The window on the right looked out on the driveway. I can still remember lying in bed when my parents were out for the night and  then seeing the light of their headlights shining through the window and up on the ceiling. I knew they were home. I was happy and could sleep.

During the summer, the window on the left was home to the world’s best air conditioner. We’d turn it on about half an hour before bedtime and close the door. When it was bedtime it was arctic cold. My brother and I would drag a mattress into the room for my sister and we’d sleep the night away in frigid goodness.

↑ The glorious backyard where every sport was played. My brother and I had epic whiffle ball games there. My mom used to hit baseballs to us. Full contact croquet. Football. Soccer soccer soccer.  I once made a miniature golf course to raise money for the Jerry Lewis Telethon. I can see visitors playing whiffle ball and pretending they’re me and my brother.

↑ For the longest time we had a patio made out of white pebbles. Weekend fun consisted of weeding the patio. When I say “fun” I mean “misery.” Eventually my dad and a teacher from the junior high school built this deck. Set up some chairs here and visitors can watch the whiffle ball games.

There used to be a huge tree right near the deck. I had rigged a coffee can on a string and hung it from the tree. I would then climb the tree and have my mom put my lunch in the can. I would pull it up into the tree and have lunch up there. Tarzan had nothing on me.

↑ My parents room. On Halloween give tours of this room. They say my dad haunts the room and sings happy birthday off-key.

↑ The main bathroom. Both the wall and floor tile are the original tile. That’s mid-century tile, baby. During my high school years I went through many Stridex pads to clear up teenage acne.

So there it is folks. My old house. Soon to be a museum. Buy it now. It won’t be on the market long.