The House on Dexter Avenue
Some houses just have their own character, creating lives of their own. The spreading oak surrounded by ivy in the front of the three story house on Dexter would someday be the hiding place for a young detective following a story of intrigue, and the large brick mansion, with a porch from the front to the back, would one day allow the master of the house to sneak out on quiet visits to unknown places.
Enter the double beveled glass doors and face a large circular staircase, the salon to the right furnished with Duncan Phyfe . Children were not allowed into that room, as it was saved for the guests that might arrive, and needed to remain perfectly in order, clean and "at attention". The only thing a little out of place was an upright piano, played by my Uncle who loved the rhythms of Duke Ellington and other Jazz pianists.
The next spacious room was the living room with massive formal curtains, sofas, lamps, end tables and a grand piano from which we would hear Bach playing when my Aunt sat down for a bit of pleasant relaxation. The dining room sat behind the grand staircase, and we were not allowed inside except when called to dinner, since massive china closets, buffets with linens, lace on tables set with silver, classical chairs and table in mahogany sat waiting in silence. A hallway passed a workroom where a maid used an iron press or ironing board, built in china cupboards and drawers held mixers and everyday dishes. You entered the kitchen, where children ate, food was prepared. Here we conversed with the cook, laughed and played, and you could get to the TV room or the play area. We could easily go out the back porch to the outdoor acre, where there was a brick circle sandbox around a maple tree, a rope swing hanging from a large tree branch and an old French Bauer Milk Wagon, on blocks, we used as a play house.To the side and back of the yard was a large garden, in which we were not allowed, and Our Uncle used to grow all sorts of fine things. The most delicate of these was asparagus, which had to be coddled and covered and coaxed into growing just right. Children just did not appreciate it and would not even eat it with the relish that the adults that had put the effort and time into it had intended. Therefore the stalks that did finally emerge were saved mostly for the adults.
Saturday mornings were reserved for TV with cartoons or horse operas. We watched all the cowboys, from The Cisco Kid, The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Tom Steele, and there were many more. The second part of the day was spent reenacting the shows we had just seen. There was Peggy, Michael, Tyll, and I. Well, two cowboys and two Indians. I always wanted to be the Indian. The playhouse was either the jail, the farmhouse, the hiding place, the shooting hide out, or what we needed at the moment. The boys had real smoking, cap shooting guns, and we had ...nothing. So this Indian grabbed the gun from the cowboy, my brother, took it and banged him on the head with the butt of the metal pistol. He was furious. "You are supposed to PRETEND to hit me, stupid!" Indians also had, rope, and we tied up the cowboys, when we could catch them. They of course, ran faster, and would not let us catch them, so we were tied up, for long periods of time, and might I say, angrier than a hornet!
Dexter Avenue House second floor had a lot of bedrooms, and each person had their own . My Aunt had a huge bedroom, My Uncle had a bedroom with his workroom in it, and we only were allowed in there when he gave us swats when he came home from work and called for us when we had been bad. He reserved a leather hairbrush for the swats.
Peggy had a beautiful room with twin beds, a dresser with a mirror and arms that swung out with ruffles all around, and a fuzzy pink rug. Michael had twin beds and a huge room. Everyone had their own bathroom. I recall Michael even had magazines in his, so he must have enjoyed reading about trains and cowboys in the bathroom. There was also a guest room on that floor and in another section a bath and bedroom set apart for the help or guests, where we lived when we first arrived from Germany.
This house had a front staircase, for the general use, and the back one, for children and the help. We got to the third floor with the other steps, and that is where Granny lived. She was my Uncle's mother. There were several rooms upstairs, and one of them was entirely filled with Michael's electric trains. There were tracks everywhere, cars and engines with sidetracks doing all sorts of things. Smoke came out of the chimney, logs rolled off the cars, water towers, coal fell out of the cars. It was an amazing experience to see this train run through its paces. But we could not touch it. Never. Even after my Aunt tried to explain to Michael, that we should be allowed to try to run the switches, that Tyll should also try once, Michael should try to share, he would not. No one would make him, it was useless. It had been his own too long, and he would not change for anything. He would have a tantrum, yell and scream. In the attic he was King, or shall I say, Granny was Queen. She had salt in her room, where she stayed in her bed. I believe the maid brought her her meals, I rarely saw her, but Michael saw her a lot since he went into the third floor to work with his trains. She would give him salt as a treat. She was from the south, and I wonder if that is a custom in the south.
On the one side of the house was the carport, with massive brick columns and you could enter Aunt Barbi's car from the house in case of rain. The drive then went into the garage, where she kept her Buick. I don't think I ever rode in my Uncle's car, but we went everywhere in that Buick, all four children standing up and holding onto the backseat of the Buick. Seatbelts, unheard of.
And today there is a parking lot where that house stood. A school was built on the other side of the block, a school yard. Children walk and cars drive without knowing anything about the life of that house on Dexter Avenue.
Enter the double beveled glass doors and face a large circular staircase, the salon to the right furnished with Duncan Phyfe . Children were not allowed into that room, as it was saved for the guests that might arrive, and needed to remain perfectly in order, clean and "at attention". The only thing a little out of place was an upright piano, played by my Uncle who loved the rhythms of Duke Ellington and other Jazz pianists.
The next spacious room was the living room with massive formal curtains, sofas, lamps, end tables and a grand piano from which we would hear Bach playing when my Aunt sat down for a bit of pleasant relaxation. The dining room sat behind the grand staircase, and we were not allowed inside except when called to dinner, since massive china closets, buffets with linens, lace on tables set with silver, classical chairs and table in mahogany sat waiting in silence. A hallway passed a workroom where a maid used an iron press or ironing board, built in china cupboards and drawers held mixers and everyday dishes. You entered the kitchen, where children ate, food was prepared. Here we conversed with the cook, laughed and played, and you could get to the TV room or the play area. We could easily go out the back porch to the outdoor acre, where there was a brick circle sandbox around a maple tree, a rope swing hanging from a large tree branch and an old French Bauer Milk Wagon, on blocks, we used as a play house.To the side and back of the yard was a large garden, in which we were not allowed, and Our Uncle used to grow all sorts of fine things. The most delicate of these was asparagus, which had to be coddled and covered and coaxed into growing just right. Children just did not appreciate it and would not even eat it with the relish that the adults that had put the effort and time into it had intended. Therefore the stalks that did finally emerge were saved mostly for the adults.
Saturday mornings were reserved for TV with cartoons or horse operas. We watched all the cowboys, from The Cisco Kid, The Lone Ranger, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Tom Steele, and there were many more. The second part of the day was spent reenacting the shows we had just seen. There was Peggy, Michael, Tyll, and I. Well, two cowboys and two Indians. I always wanted to be the Indian. The playhouse was either the jail, the farmhouse, the hiding place, the shooting hide out, or what we needed at the moment. The boys had real smoking, cap shooting guns, and we had ...nothing. So this Indian grabbed the gun from the cowboy, my brother, took it and banged him on the head with the butt of the metal pistol. He was furious. "You are supposed to PRETEND to hit me, stupid!" Indians also had, rope, and we tied up the cowboys, when we could catch them. They of course, ran faster, and would not let us catch them, so we were tied up, for long periods of time, and might I say, angrier than a hornet!
Dexter Avenue House second floor had a lot of bedrooms, and each person had their own . My Aunt had a huge bedroom, My Uncle had a bedroom with his workroom in it, and we only were allowed in there when he gave us swats when he came home from work and called for us when we had been bad. He reserved a leather hairbrush for the swats.
Peggy had a beautiful room with twin beds, a dresser with a mirror and arms that swung out with ruffles all around, and a fuzzy pink rug. Michael had twin beds and a huge room. Everyone had their own bathroom. I recall Michael even had magazines in his, so he must have enjoyed reading about trains and cowboys in the bathroom. There was also a guest room on that floor and in another section a bath and bedroom set apart for the help or guests, where we lived when we first arrived from Germany.
This house had a front staircase, for the general use, and the back one, for children and the help. We got to the third floor with the other steps, and that is where Granny lived. She was my Uncle's mother. There were several rooms upstairs, and one of them was entirely filled with Michael's electric trains. There were tracks everywhere, cars and engines with sidetracks doing all sorts of things. Smoke came out of the chimney, logs rolled off the cars, water towers, coal fell out of the cars. It was an amazing experience to see this train run through its paces. But we could not touch it. Never. Even after my Aunt tried to explain to Michael, that we should be allowed to try to run the switches, that Tyll should also try once, Michael should try to share, he would not. No one would make him, it was useless. It had been his own too long, and he would not change for anything. He would have a tantrum, yell and scream. In the attic he was King, or shall I say, Granny was Queen. She had salt in her room, where she stayed in her bed. I believe the maid brought her her meals, I rarely saw her, but Michael saw her a lot since he went into the third floor to work with his trains. She would give him salt as a treat. She was from the south, and I wonder if that is a custom in the south.
On the one side of the house was the carport, with massive brick columns and you could enter Aunt Barbi's car from the house in case of rain. The drive then went into the garage, where she kept her Buick. I don't think I ever rode in my Uncle's car, but we went everywhere in that Buick, all four children standing up and holding onto the backseat of the Buick. Seatbelts, unheard of.
And today there is a parking lot where that house stood. A school was built on the other side of the block, a school yard. Children walk and cars drive without knowing anything about the life of that house on Dexter Avenue.
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