# The old days.. old house... old heater.. all gone



## mhrischuk (Jul 21, 2011)

I grew up in a 200+ year old farmhouse. It was originally a one room log cabin. It had been added onto over the years, becoming a three bedroom, two story home with an enclosed porch. It had a lot of interesting features you don't see today. The upstairs bedrooms had a landing at the top of the steps with doors to only two rooms. The steps were super steep and the stairwell was very confined. The third room was accessed through either of the other two rooms . In other words, if you were in that room, you had to go through one of the other rooms to get to the stairway. Plaster and lath throughout. Knob and tube electric wiring mixed with successively more modern forms of wiring. Porcelain push button light switches and a few two prong electrical outlets right where you don't need them.

My parents were from the "Old Country" as they called it. Dad was from the Ukraine and Mom from Germany. They met in the late 40's in Germany right after the war was over. Dad was a DP (Displaced Person) who ended up in Germany to work. We never knew a whole lot about Dad's family and life. He was 23 years old when he met Mom and swept her off her feet. Mom was 19 at the time. Life was very hard over there during the first half of the 1900's. Mom has so many stories from her younger days. My Grandfather worked in a brick factory and was drafted into the German army. From what we know, he served his term and returned to the brick factory. He was a family man who took great care of his people. Mom tells of the day when she was in school... the teacher gathered everyone together and they walked to the train station. There they saw Hitler and his entourage on the back of the train waving to the townsfolks. She was around 7 years old at the time. The regular people had no idea what was to come. She was there ... heard and saw the bombers... heard the whistling bombs coming down, warning sirens blaring. Mom tells of the Americans coming in to liberate the towns. She saw a paratrooper fall to his death when his chute failed to open. They (American troops) commandeered their homes to use for cooking whatever else they needed and went on their way. She said the Americans were very good to them. Mom was out of the house and working as a housekeeper at the age of 14. It was survival. They used wood in the cook stove and to heat. Light was mostly by oil lamp. This was in the late 40's where in the US everything was well on it's way with electricity, oil and coal. Needless to say there were no indoor bathroom facilities besides the tub. It was filled by hand.

When Mom and Dad met at the end of the war, Dad convinced Mom to marry him and leave on a ship to either the US or Australia. They choose the US. Mom's family was devastated and urged her not to go. The boat trip was an experience in itself. She said they had to clean the entire ship on the way over. Unfortunately everyone got seasick the whole time. I think it took a week or so to get across the Atlantic back then.    

They arrived in New York on Christmas day in 1951. Neither one spoke a word of English. They had a sponsor over here and were given a small amount of money to get started.

Picture this couple... Mom... pure German speaks German only. Dad... Ukrainian and knows some German. They moved into an apartment in Chester, Pa. I think the rent was like $35 a month. Both got jobs right away as the area was still booming with manufacturing. Dad became a steelworker albeit mostly a laborer. He worked at General Steel, Baldt Anchor, Baldwin Lima Hamilton, Phoenix Steel  and other smaller factories over the years. Mom worked in Ship and Shore garment factory pressing and folding new shirts for packaging. It was piece work.

Both had to deal with the language barrier 24/7.
Mom quickly learned Ukrainian because Dad's friends were "Ukies" And she learned it well. She began learning English, mastering it as well. So Mom knows three languages... very fluently. Today most people only detect a slight accent.
Dad never learned English well at all... people had a lot of trouble understanding him and his inability to fit in to the American way was very difficult for him. He became a jealous man.. eventually drinking consumed his daily routine. Another story in itself. Physical abuse in the midst of four children. Stopping at bars with the whole family in the car... leaving us on the street while he drank himself to sleep at the bar.

They "bought the farm" so to speak in 1960. Even with Dad being an abusive alcoholic, they some how managed to continue on with life. Mom just always said "I can't leave him, I love him" Go figure. Back then it was really easy for immigrants to get "fronted" .. They went to a car dealer. The dealer gave them the keys and told them to pay what they could just pay regularly. The salesman said "We know you will pay". It was their experience that the European immigrants were good with their word.
The farm they bought was the remnants of an old apple orchard. They paid $7000 for a 2-1/2 acre piece of land with the original old farmhouse. The rest of the farmland and out buildings had been subdivided and sold off years prior.

Life was good. I was 6 months old when we moved in. From the city to the country. All of the old friends loved to visit because it was like a trip to the country. Dad was a pioneer to them. 
We had a large flock of chickens. Dad raised pigeons and was a beekeeper. During the good days we really enjoyed the life... but didn't really know any better. Didn't know what we were experiencing until we grew up and moved away. We knew something was different cause all the neighbors had TV's, nice cars and modern amenities. They ate steak for dinner. As children we used to go over the neighbors after school and watch TV from outside the window. Sammy wasn't allowed to let anyone in their house while the parents were away....

Continued...


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## mhrischuk (Jul 21, 2011)

I learned alot about beekeeping. We extracted the honey and sold it. $5 a gallon at the time. The process was interesting. To get the honey out of the combs you had to shave off the cap wax with a long knife. You loaded the honey laden frames into a centrifuge machine. It was a large barrel with a square hanging basket that was suspended in the barrel. You turned a crank which spun the combs. Centrifugal force caused the honey to spray out against the insides of the barrel. A large knife valve at the bottom allowed the freshly extracted honey to flow through a cheese cloth filter and into the gallon jar. A sheet of wax paper over the mouth and on screwed the cap.

We had a cow for a while. I don't remember it. We had a goat here and there. Lot's of good memories of doing what needed to be done. Going into Chester to the Buono Bros bakery to get the bags and bags of reject and old bread and rolls to help feed the animals. That bakery is still there and flourishing today. We would go to the rail yards and shovel up corn and feed that got swept out of the boxcars onto the ground. Dad picked up bricks there for an outbuilding he was reconstructing. Yes, he was a mason too... not a very good one but he built stuff. The outbuilding was actually a pump house. There was a well under it with this crazy old crankshaft well pump. I'll never forget the sounds it made when it was pumping. Yes it was electric..... speaking of electric... that's one of the things Dad would not do. I don't think he was able to deal with something that could kill him that he couldn't see. The place was a safety nightmare.

The house had been retrofitted in the early 1900's with a large coal boiler and cast iron radiators. When we moved in, an oil conversion burner was in place. They could not afford the cost of running oil and it simply would not heat the home sufficiently. They removed the oil burner from the boiler and installed a new set of coal grates. They bought this huge bag of dry asbestos. Get a load of this. They dumped the asbestos... dust clouds galore... into one of those large galvanized tubs and added water... more dust clouds. No protection whatsoever. They mixed it up into a thick mortar consistency and applied it bare handed to the whole outside of the boiler.

Keeping that fire going was a ritual for the family. Sometimes we had it blazing so high you could hear the water percolating. Once in a while the pressure valve would blow off steam. We thought nothing of it. I don't ever remember the chimney getting cleaned. We did have a bathroom with running water. Hot water was an electric water heater. Imagine that. The real problem was the only access to the basement, and the boiler, was to go outside, remove the large pieces of wood and sheet metal from the stairwell opening and go down into the dungeon and stoke. During a bad winter storm we froze cause it was too much to get down there. We literally had frost on the bathroom mirror many a time. The roof leaked when it rained hard. Water dripped from the light bulb in the center of the ceiling. If you touched the wet ceiling you get "lit up" with 110v.

Dad had this grandeous idea that he was going to put a full second foundation around "This Old House", turning it into a brick home. I guess he always envisioned a masonry type home and wanted this to be one. Oh the stories of siding salesman come and gone. They would come... he would drive them to their lowest possible price and then chase them away. Dad wasn't capable of this project...we knew it. Needless to say he started. He hand dug and poured the foundation using only an old electric batch mixer. He did probably half of the perimeter when he started laying block and then brick. He got the enclosed porch portion up to the roof first and removed the inside walls. Unfortunately he didn't do a very good planning job and had nothing inside prepared for the internal structure. Basically everytime he ran into a snag he just moved to another part of the project. Mom laid bricks too. Trash... oh yea.. we had a place on the property where we burned our trash. We never bothered with the curbside trash pickup. Our stone driveway was a quarter mile long.


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## shawneyboy (Jul 21, 2011)

Now I found that quite interesting.  Thanks

Shawn


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## begreen (Jul 21, 2011)

Glad I raised the house and had the foundation poured for me while I was still able. It has been a great improvement for this old house.


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## mhrischuk (Jul 21, 2011)

There was woods all around us. Dad was a junk collector. He picked up this old table saw with a huge blade on it. He hooked a gas motor to it. We used that when we had construction wood to cut up and also for smaller rounds. He bought a brand new chain saw from Sears Roebuck. It was the David Bradley brand. That sucker was loud. I never saw eye protection of ear protection although I think my Dad did wear ear protection at the steel mill. Splitting was entirely by hand and we split as needed. Very short seasoning times. I don't think we even paid attention to it. We did burn coal predominantly so the wood was more for fire starting. Again.. I don't ever remember a chimney cleaning.

As the years progressed, the alcoholism got worse, we got older and started to "run" as my Mom called it. We didn't like being around so we just didn't stay around. It got to the point where when Dad got crazy we physically put him in his place. In 1975 Mom finally, with the help of my older brother's finances, left Dad and our home. Through all of this Mom never drove a car. She had just started driving when we moved out.

Dad lived in that house up until 2006. We didn't bother with him until he got up in age and needed help. We helped out some but he was the type that wanted to fend for himself. I remember when my brother called me and said he needed some help with Dad. I just happened to be laid off for a couple of weeks. I stopped over and discovered he had no running water. Turns out he was living off of rainwater... buckets lined up under the roof. He wasn't drinking it but would use it to wash clothes. The bathroom was totally gutted. That's right.. he was living without a bathroom probably for 15 years or more. Good old mother nature and living back in the woods.... who needs one. He didn't care. This was his life the way he wanted it. He lost his license probably back in the late eighties/early nineties from drunk driving. Picture a guy riding a 1960's bike in 2003 five miles to the market to pick up bread and milk and occasional ham shoulder. I mean this guy was a legend around those parts. Anyway, in those two weeks I was out of work I dug a trench from the pump house to the basement... about 25 feet and laid a new power line. Added circuit breakers and installed a new well pump. He cussed me out and said I was up to something but he did pay me for the materials. He was living on social security and a $175 a month pension. But hey, his living expenses were probably $2000 a year. To him, he was rich. He had no phone...."I no need". There was a chimney fire that my brother told me about. He went over and helped fix up the roof for him.

I looks like in his last 10-15 years he was no longer drinking. I think his body made him quit. He was surviving on tomatoes, ham and milk and who knows what else. Once he could no longer ride the bike he would walk with it to the market. Like it was a walker. One of the neighbors befriended him and picked up groceries for him so he no longer had to go.

Mom had since remarried twice. She lost both to illnesses. She's doing pretty good today at 80 years old. She's been on dialysis for almost five years now but still enjoys living on her own. 

One day in 2006 the neighbor called me and said they hadn't seen him in a couple of days. I went over.. He was laying on the floor barely alive. He had fallen off the back steps and drug himself into the house, only to lie there unable to move. I called the paramedics. He never recuperated from the broken hip. It was a minor fracture. The doctor said it only required a couple of pins and there was no reason he could not walk again. I ended up getting him into a good senior care facility. They tried and tried to get him walking but he refused. For three years he got waited on. I always wondered what was going on in his head through those days. Here is a man of total self sustainment  being totally taken care of. In my visits I got the impression that he was relieved and actually comfortable. I even wondered if he didn't walk because he was afraid he would have to leave. He passed away peacefully a couple of years ago at 87 years old.

The property has since been sold off and the house razed.


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## mhrischuk (Jul 21, 2011)

I have lots of pictures and there is lots more to the story. I sometimes think of writing a book.


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## mhrischuk (Jul 21, 2011)

Check out the house during demolition.


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## mhrischuk (Jul 21, 2011)

The old boiler. Not sure what happened to the asbestos. They must have scraped it off before pulling it out of the basement.


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## Jags (Jul 21, 2011)

Both interesting and fascinating.  Thank you for the story.


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## gzecc (Jul 21, 2011)

Wow, My father is 98 lives by himself. My fathers living conditions are much better/easier. People are always amazed at my fathers independence. When people are living independent lives you have to let them.


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## begreen (Jul 22, 2011)

mhrischuk said:
			
		

> I have lots of pictures and there is lots more to the story. I sometimes think of writing a book.



You should, or at least write up some good magazine articles. Great reading.

That house had history! Have to ask, why was the house being demolished? And why wasn't that beautiful hutch removed before demolition?


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## fishingpol (Jul 22, 2011)

I wasn't sure where the post was going, but it is a fascinating story.  It should be written into a book or memoirs of some type.  Folks from that generation managed to survive on what they could.  Thanks for posting.  

Yeah, I looked at that hutch too.  What a beauty with a little tlc.


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## jimbom (Jul 22, 2011)

I have some written family histories from the past.  I love them.  Write this all down with the pictures.  Put a copy in the local historical society.  Our local library has a section of these.  Check the state archives to see if they want a copy.  Hand out copies to family and friends.  Some of the good ones that I have were written by neighbors of my ancestors.  People will appreciate it today and certainly in the future.  It is a story that needs to be told again and again.  

When working on the cemetery, I tell the boys the stories I know.  This gggrandmother was born at sea two weeks  out of New Orleans.  She ran away with gggrandfather when he worked building the railroad through her town.  That then is the hook to tell them why people would flee Germany for America in 1835 and what the railroad meant to Missouri in the 1860s.  All because I had the stories.  Gave them a personal sense of the value of our country.  The younger plays college football and one of the schools they have on their schedule was founded by a Catholic Bishop that was a brother to our ancestor.  When he plays them, he has a different take on the game than others.  It would be a better story if the Bishop was the ancestor. :lol:


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## mhrischuk (Jul 22, 2011)

The hutch was nice in it's day and I'm sure some craftsman could bring it back but it was in really bad shape. No one was interested in it. It was falling apart. Veneers were almost all gone on the big drawer. Dad had a huge wood burning stove hooked up to the chimney, right next to the hutch. The hutch was literally dried to a crisp. That picture was taken after the new owners bought the place and they didn't want it. The demo company wasn't interested in it either and they were really good at separating everything for a buck.

I guess the reason for this story is twofold. I had wood and coal burning in my life but haven't since those days. Only recently with the home we are in now did we get back into wood.. with the open fireplace. Just thinking about the past and being a new member here I got the impression that the folks here would enjoy the story. Really there is lots more. 

Remembering cool evenings and the sounds of the cicadas and the wind in the late summer days up in the bedroom. No A/C meant all windows open all the time. Hot summer nights we had the box fans in the windows lulling us to sleep... panting. As children we were always changing bedrooms as we grew up. I went from the boys bedroom to up in the attic for a while. It was crazy up there. I was so afraid of something being under my bed that I tied a string to the light chain so I could get in bed first and pull the string to turn out the light. Then I moved into the enclosed porch. That was my favorite room. You could hear the ship horns all the way from the Delaware river late in the evening. I had this old AM radio that would pick up radio stations as far away as Indiana on the right nights.

The crazy episodes with my Dad in his drunken stuper.. literally almost getting killed or killing someone. One time the family was going somewhere... I think it was to church. Dad had the breakfast of champions before we left, Seagrams 7 we figured. One of his favorites. We ended up driving off the road with one side of the 51 Ford riding up a steep dropoff at the edge of a residential yard. The car went over sideways. We all had to climb out the passenger windows. I'm talking a car load.... four kids all 2 years apart with the youngest probably 2 or 3.
Another time we were stopping to pick something up at a store. This time we were in our modern used 62 Pontiac Bonneville. Dad hits the gas instead of the brakes. We go flying across the street and ride up on top of this little red Triumph convertible, literally turning it into a pancake on the steps of this little old cobbler shop. Fortunately no one got a scratch. No one was in the car but if they were..  The cobbler shop steps had this big chip in the concrete from the "accident". This happened back in the late sixties and that chip was there for the next 20 or so years to remind us of that exciting day. They tore that shop down about 5 years ago. 

Oh the story of the Bonneville...
I know we had other cars but the farthest back I remembered was the 1951 Ford. Three on the tree. We would go to the A&P for groceries. There was this big momma steep hill on the way back. Something was amiss with the car. Dad always said it was the fuel pump. We would have to race towards the hill to get up it. Many times we would loose power just before the top. Had to coast back down and try another running start.
Finally we had enough money to get another car. We were ecstatic. Dad sends us down the basement into the dirt crawlspace. Here, for years, they had been dropping silver dollars through a gap in the floorboards. We gathered handfulls of those suckers. We head to Laughhead Pontiac in Chester and get this... two socks... filled with silver dollars. $2000 face value. Came home with the Bonneville.
I'll never forget the first drive in that car. It was big... real big. It was quiet... real quiet. It was automatic... and power steering. That steering wheel practically turned ny itself. We loved that car. 

Back in those days (60's) around this area, littering and trash disposal wasn't the most important thing on peoples minds. It is mostly country type roads but relatively close to Chester, Pa and about 15 miles from Philly. People were always drinking and driving without concern. Dad would buy two quarts of Schmidt's beer. They came in the brown paper bags. He would often be drinking a nice cold quart while driving the family around. Seriously, Dad's nickname at the bars was "2 quart Alex". When we got to that hill we always had trouble getting up, we would chuck the empty bottles right out the window into the side weeds. They just disappeared into the brush. Everybody did it. It wasn't even frowned upon. Get this... he would pass the bottle around to all of us. We didn't drink much but it was refreshing!

to be continued....


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## firefighterjake (Jul 22, 2011)

Very interesting reading . . . with no attempt to gloss over the "uglier" aspects of the past and make it into the Great American Success Story . . . but that's why it's so interesting . . . because one knows it is reality and personal. Thank you for sharing. Well written.


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## mhrischuk (Jul 25, 2011)

I gotta tell you I don't know how the man lived to be 87 years old. This is a man who loved to eat, smoke and drink back in the day.
A screaming alcoholic, probably didn't miss a day in his life up until probably his 70's
He ate the worst stuff. He loved the fat from the meat. When we bought the ham shoulder, he would pick out the one with the largest areas of fat.
Mom made his lunches for work... Jewish rye bread with slabs of half boiled ham and half ham fat. I remember meals with meat in the pan and all that left over fat in the pan. Dad would scoop up the liquid fat with all that meat flavor in it with pieces of Jewish rye bread.  

Smoking... he smoked Lucky Strike LSMFT.... non filters all of his life. He saved the butts. When he ran out of cigarettes he rolled one up using newspaper and the tobacco from the saved up butts.

BTW I found some pictures of the old boiler in place... at the time of these pictures it was no longer in use. He allowed the upstairs to freeze over the winter many many years ago, causing the radiator pipes to crack
Farther down you see the Schrader wood stove he was using for his winter whole house heat. Notice the living conditions. 






























This is the kitchen... exactly in the condition he was living in. He made it like this and had no problem living in it.


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## Backwoods Savage (Jul 25, 2011)

Good story about some people from the old country. Be sure to write down as much as you can for future generations. They will appreciate it for sure.


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## Stegman (Aug 17, 2011)

Compelling stuff. You should write a memoir about your folks and their interesting journey to the States and your own childhood, which in some ways is typically American and in other ways quite unique. As a writer and editor, it's clear you have a knack for it. A comfortable, plain style with an eye for detail.

Cool pics, too. That shot of the boy watching the demo work is sort of heartbreaking.


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## amateur cutter (Aug 20, 2011)

I don't even know what to say. It amazes me how durable those folks were. The silver dollars, & 60's Pontiac remind me very much of my childhood. Went from a '51 International pickup to a '67 Impala, 4 door. Dad came over from Germany with His parents, before WW II served in the 8th air force,  married mom in the early 60's, & started a small beef farm in Ark. We didn't have much, but thankfully my father wasn't a drinker. Died young of a heart attack, & mom worked herself to death literally, trying to keep the farm going, & work as a teacher. My brother & I came to Michigan with an aunt &  uncle, & been here ever since.

 Please record your story if you're so inclined, that sort of personal history seems to be getting lost these days, & contains many valuable nuances & accounts that the "history" books will always lack. Thank you for sharing that. A C


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## madrone (Aug 20, 2011)

Thanks for sharing your stories. I hope you'll keep writing them down. A book is a great idea. You're inspiring me to write down some of the family legends before they're forgotten. (A similar situation in my wife's family. An uncle who lived in similar conditions in the old family home in TN. The original log cabin was out behind the 1906 Sears house. After the rest of his family had died, he let the place fall down around him. It had been beautiful, and the property in the family for 150 years, but he was the end of it.) I wish there had been a better tradition of storytelling in my own family. My grandfather used to re-tell his life story over and over, and I never got tired of it. None of my other grandparents ever talked much about theirs or their family's history. Someone needs to record this kind of stuff. You seem to have a natural ability.


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## begreen (Aug 20, 2011)

You're on your way to a book or at least some articles. I would suggest starting a blog. There are some nice, free options out there. Or host your own site. This would provide a location to collect thoughts and share them. You'll have tighter creative, editing and formatting control and you can protect your work with copyright. Plus, you will start generating an income off of it with Google Ads or the like. 

http://www.blogger.com/home?pli=1
http://www.weblogmatrix.org/
http://www.blogtrafficexchange.com/blog-copyright/


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## wildwildwest (Oct 22, 2014)

Amazing story, thanks.


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