Dad-ism #3: Push-button Lighting

Another thing we had, that absolutely nobody else in Flat Rock had was low-voltage push-button wiring. This was definitely a Dad-ism and something I think he was always proud of. I am sure all of us remember having to push one side of the button to turn a light on and the other side to turn it off. Remember pushing the button and having to wait a little bit for the light to come on? Remember sometimes turning the light off and it would come back on? And at one point, some of the push-buttons used to have lights in them so you could see when a light was on. I say "at one point" because I am pretty sure they all burned out and I think they were hard to replace.

In fact, the relays for the light (Dad always called them Remcon relays) were hard to get after a while. The switch panels also soon became hard to get and today the panel at the back door (bottom photo) is replaced by individual doorbell switches. The switch panel shown in the top photo is in the back hallway; notice the wiring harness that went through the closet. I am not sure Dad actually did this wiring - I think he contracted it out to a place that came in and did the whole thing. But I could be wrong on that. It think Dad would have at least done his usual neat job of tacking the wires down along the edges. The worst "rats nest" of wires was on the switch panel on the side of the garage where a mass of wires could be seen from inside the tool shed.

This was low-voltage wiring, meaning you could not get hurt in any way touching these switches - even if you were standing in a puddle of water. Maybe Dad was thinking of family safety when he had this switch system installed. Nah - it was our Dad - it had to be the high-tech factor.

Dad-ism #2: The Fireplace

The fireplace in the backyard has been mentioned before in other posts here, but I wanted to highlight some Dad-isms with it. My idea of a Dad-ism is something that only our Dad, through his bent toward high technology, well-engineered designs, and an obsession for perfection would do. Dad always seemed to want to be on the cutting edge of technology, yet be different from others. And he didn't just read about it or fantasize about it, he actually did it. There were many times I would have friends over and they would marvel at some of Dad's creations: push-button lighting, a miniature golf course in the backyard, and ... even a manhole! In this case, it was the fireplace. Who else in Flat Rock had a fireplace? Well, in fact Jay Jones had one right next door. But there were not many others to be found anywhere. I don't know which fireplace was built first, or if there was literally any "keeping up with the Jones's" going on, but at least OURS WAS BIGGER! And lasted longer!

In the end, nature always wins over any of man's creations and the picture shows how the vegetation is slowly swallowing the fireplace. Below the dense ivy at the bottom are stone tiles that formed a front floor for the fireplace. The back of the fireplace was also unique in that it had sort of a storage area that had a drain out the bottom. Never knew what that was to be used for. But I do remember the back of the fireplace being my secret hideaway place where I did such things as smoke my first cigarette (don't ask where I got it) and make several of my incendiary and explosive creations. Anyway, back to the Dad-ism.

You will likely have to click on the photo to enlarge it for the following description. In the photo, "A" is where Dad intended to put an electrical outlet. I am not sure why except that he was an electrical engineer and they usually find comfort in having a nearby electrical outlet. The outlet was never actually wired up and I am not sure why. Maybe it was when Dad saw how much it would cost to run wire 100 feet from the house that he felt it wasn't worth it. Or maybe he finally determined there might be a safety issue.

At locations "B" is shown genuine "fire brick". Dad got this from Pennwalt (Pennsalt back then) probably from some boiler or something. I mean it's one thing to have a unique looking fireplace in the backyard, but it is quite another to have it lined with fire brick. I am quite sure absolutely nobody else within many, many miles, or in all of Michigan, or even the country had a fire brick lined fireplace! Looking up on Wiki (see here for a short description), it says fire brick can withstand temperatures to 3000 degrees F! That's some pretty hot papers we would have to burn to get to that temperature! The article also says, "a material with the same composition, is used to make the insulating tiles of the space shuttle." Whoa, now that's high tech!!

So was it being one-up on the Jones's? I don't think so, it was just our Dad being himself.

Old Fridge

Raise your hand if you remember the old Kelvinator refrigerator in the basement!!! As I recall, Lou had added some "artwork" to the knight with a black permanent marker. What did we keep in that fridge anyway? Fresca?

The Hot Rock Caper

Tracee's mention of the rock garden stirred several memories, and it's driving me crazy; I've gotta confess. The story you are about to read is true; only the names have been changed to protect the guilty. It's about 1952, and I would often walk home from school east along Gibraltar, turning right onto Evergreen at Van Riper's house, crossing the street to look at the rock embedded in the tree that everyone said was a meteorite, then a left turn at old Doc Proud's house onto Hill St., which had a new coat of gravel. I'd stop to look through the gravel, and I'd find some quartz crystals and fossilized sea creatures every time. I'd stuff'em into my pants pocket and go on home.
They caused no problem unless I left them in my pockets and they ended up in the washer. Mom yelled a few times, and that was all, until I was called into conference with. . .we'll call him "Big Daddy." I thought I was in big trouble, but he handed me a Junior Geology Set, with dozens of samples of all kinds of rock.
Yup, Big Daddy was aiding and abetting, but that was just the start of it.
We began taking trips in the summer time, supposedly to see and do things, when Big Daddy would suddenly stop along a mountain road where chunks of rock had broken loose. Then he picked one up and put it in the trunk of the car! What if the cops catch us? We'll all go to jail, and I'll never become an international spy with a record! Worse yet, he did it several times! They're gonna break a hole in our trunk, the the copswillcomeandyouknowwhat!!
The cops never caught him, and he was bold enough to put the evidence on display in the flowers in the backyard! He would even remember where he stole each when, telling anyone who pretended to be interested. Thankfully the flowers ended up swallowing most of the evidence. But at least I no longer felt guilty about my fossils and quartz.

Part 4 The final Goodbye

I resisted the temptation to climb out onto the carport roof. I descended the stairs…one last time. As I headed for the basement, I remembered mom making dad’s lunches , putting them on the steps to the landing and how dad would grab his lunch as he was leaving and say “Ralph!” For you younger generation, Grandpa had morphed “We’re off” over the years to one word “Ralph”. I headed into the basement remembering the strings that used to assure that we wouldn’t fall into the sump pump that were later replaced with paneling. I walked into the laundry room remembering the tornado of July 4, 1969 when I had taken Pub by the chain with a pillow and was crouched over by the concrete laundry tub. That’s what they taught us in school, remember? Find the south east corner of the lowest level and “assume the position”. I was over there crying, everyone else had come down to the basement, except for Lou who went outside. I think dad’s words were “Oh, for crying out loud!”
I then went into the paneled part of the basement in what used to be Thom’s bedroom. I remembered the bamboo curtains that separated his “room” from the rest of the basement. I remember his animal print corduroy bedspread. I remember jumping on him to wake him up for school. Sorry I was such a pain of a little sister…
Then I went into the workbench area and around again to the laundry room. Didn’t that used to be closed with a door on it? I seem to remember having a club house in there. I noticed that the paneling now covers the “trap door” where after a bird came flying out of there was forever after the sound that would make Pub come running. I climbed those basement stairs. Through my tears I locked the back door and said goodbye to the house of 51 years of memories…. for the last time.

Good-bye 3

Remembering my “dusting days, I ran my finger across the partition ..one last time. I walked into the family room, again, half expecting to see mom sitting on the couch snoozing with her knitting on her lap. Just to hear the old familiar sounds, I went into the bathroom open and closed the accordion door, clothes chute, the door where the toilet paper was kept and the medicine cabinet…one last time. I can still picture the day that mom told me grandma had died. I was sitting on the steps to the upstairs and dad was in the bathroom shaving. I remember that I thought dad would be more upset. A feeling of absolute dread came over me as my 8 year old mind interpreted his lack of emotion to mean that he didn’t know yet, and surely I was going to be the one to have to tell him. I can see this in my mind’s eye as if it happened yesterday.
I looked in the “office” remembering the days that Lou and I shared that room and then, in later years, when we finally convinced mom to move her bed down there..2005 as I recall. I remembered how she loved to play solitaire on the computer and how she wouldn’t let her checking account go unless she balanced it to the penny. I am grateful now of all the times that she told me where the financial information was kept and how she wanted things handled. I hope and pray that I have met her expectations.

Dad-ism #1 - The Hidden Wiring

Linda, I don't mean to break up your picture installments, but I just had to get the Dad-isms going. Dad-isms are the little things that Dad did to the house that absolutely nobody else in Flat Rock would do. Nobody else would have the flare and finesse Dad had. Here is a picture of one. This is a wall socket on the door side of the partition with a power wire running through the partition to probably a light on the other side. Actually, I think it went to a 3-way receptacle so several things could be plugged in: a light, the answering machine, the caller-ID box, the creche at Christmas time - whoa, that's more than 3, time to double-up the 3-ways! Dad would do this all the time - everywhere. It was particularly evident upstairs in their bedroom where wire could be found neatly tucked in along the floor and up and down the sides of doorways. Telephone wire, 110-volt wiring, it didn't matter. If Dad could tuck it in and make it look neat he would do it. Upstairs, Dad wired things so he was able to control the speed of a fan in their bathroom from his bed! Talk about convenient living! Maybe he got some of the ideas from watching The Jetsons with us on TV. Dad always tried to make our home a modern home technologically. Remember the Philco television with the plunger remote control?!

Saying good-bye part two

As I ascended the stairs I remembered that I used to scale this mountain quite a bit faster than I do now. I remembered that I used to have it memorized exactly which steps to skip or which side to step on so they wouldn’t squeak and wake mom and dad when I got home...late. Then I went into my old bedroom, open and closed the closet doors and looked out the window ...one last time. I remembered the old windows and how they had those little holes at the bottom of the storms. Even on the coldest winter days, dad would open those at night so that we might have “fresh air”. I stood over the upstairs heating grate and let it billow my pant legs, remembering cold winter mornings when I would stand over it and let the heat do the same to my nightgown. Or the mornings when I was in high school when I would stumble into the bathroom in my night shirt to hear dad say, “They'll never let you in!” I walked into mom and dad’s room remembering even back to when it was grandma’s room. Did anyone other than me ever stop to realize that both dad and his mother died in the exact room? I know dad’s official place of death is the hospital, but I was there that morning and I can tell you that both mom and I knew as we left the house that he was already gone. I opened and closed the attic doors to hear that unique sound and walked down the hallway snapping pictures the entire way.

The last Goodbye (first of 4 installments)

This is so long that I will be posting it in 4 installments.

October 13, 2009 7:20pm The Last Goodbye I turned the key in the back door...one last time. A rush of memories came flooding back…Mostly of mom sitting in her office chair at the kitchen table where I saw her every day of August 2007, her last full month. The house was eerily quiet…no sounds of clocks ticking, voices, the dog, or mom. I picked up the phone and started to cry when I saw her blush still staining the phone where her cheek had touched it. I miss our daily phone conversations. I turned the heat up and looked at the register in the living room, remembering crouching there on cold winter mornings until dad would catch me and grumble “Stop blocking the heat!” I remembered the day when I tried to convince mom that I was sick and touched the end of the old mercury thermometer to that register only to have it read like 108…yep, mom caught on and I went to school that day.

House of secrets

As a little boy, often playing by myself in the house, I appreciated the things built into the house which would prepare me for my life's work...as an international spy. The clothes chute has already been mentioned, but I used it to spy on Mom and/or Dad while they were in the basement. You had to open the metal door in the bathroom verrrrry slowly, or the rusty old spring would make a horrible screeching noise and give you away. Then you could listen to even the slightest noise with ease, except when the washer was discharging water into the laudry tub during a spin cycle. There were a lot of hiding places for a spy; the closets in the main hall and side door hall, and of course the two bedrooms. But the best place was one where you could observe your environment: The space under the basement stairs. Because of the sump pump, the only easy way to gain acess was to enter the workbench area, pass between the water heater and furnace, duck into opening, and wait to see if anyone came downstairs. In later years I also liked going into attic under the pretense of finding something in an old National Geographic, when I really just wanted to hang out.