This post is one of a series of remembrances of various aspects of my childhood home – 1521 Ninth Street in the Fairview neighborhood of Altoona. My home, as detailed in RIP - 1521 Ninth Street, was converted into a handful of spaces in a parking lot last year.
Unlike a number of other properties in our Fairview ‘hood, 1521 Ninth Street didn’t feature a garage of any sort. So to accommodate the storage of the collection of George Carlin’s stuff that accumulated over time, a number of alternatives were employed.
These included storing stuff in the dead-end corner of the TV room (behind the Downstairs Powder Room), in the upstairs hallway (where we used to store extra furniture, mattresses, headboards, and the like), and in the tiny “back porch” (which was usually filled to the brim – almost to the point of decreased navigability).
The third floor attic, though, was where most of our junk went. Join me for a tour of our attic. (Folks, standard caveat here – I think most of these details are accurate, but corrections are welcome from the brood of Cody N™ and Joan. In the meantime, I’ll write with an “Often Wrong, Never In Doubt” voice.)
The entry to the attic was via a door at the end of the upstairs hallway that was adjacent to my sisters’ bedroom. The steps ran parallel to the next-door Shannon’s property. There was a window in the hallway at the attic door entrance and a window at the top of the attic steps. That was it as far as light sources for the steps. No electrical runs at all to the attic.
Not content with the challenge of simply navigating those steps in states of near-darkness, we would also ratchet up the “degree of difficulty” by actually storing various crap (technical term) on the steps. It was quite an obstacle course, particularly when that entry door at the bottom of the steps was closed.
With my superior athleticism and coordination, I, of course, had no problem with this challenge. Baby sister Laurey, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as fortunate. She had a nasty fall on those steps in the mid-70s, breaking her arm in the process. I can’t recall if Laurey was tripped up (cough) by the darkness, the strategically-placed landmines on the steps, or by those over-the-top bell bottom jeans that were all the rage back then (talk about your Bell Bottom Blues?!)
(I should probably use a more accurate word than confided, since that implies some level of discretion and/or confidentiality on the recipient of said information. Which I sort of just threw out the window. It also occurs to me that, after learning of the Gilligan's Island deal, I missed out on a perfect opportunity to follow-up to Joan with the timeless “Ginger or MaryAnn?” query.)
Once at the top of the steps, you turned left to enter the long attic corridor that extended to the wall parallel to the Brooks property. To the immediate left was a closet. The only notable characteristic to that closet was the heavy aroma of moth balls – I think Mom kept some clothes and coats in there as well as some hat boxes. Across from that closet there was another doorway to a completely unfinished area I called “The Rafters” – that area sort of freaked me out. There was no flooring in The Rafters – just exposed framing members and ceiling joists – I didn’t mess with that room much and I am not sure what was stored in there.
The attic would transition through multiple states. Over several months, it would start to accumulate stuff in a haphazard fashion – boxes and items scattered around. Dust of course was a big pain as well, seeping in from the lathe and plaster walls (some of which were degraded to the point that some lathe strips were exposed).
I recall when I was small
How I spent my days alone
The busy world was not for me
So I went and found my own
That stage would be followed by a massive cleanup and re-organization effort that everybody joined in (even Your Faithful Servant). General cleaning and sweeping up, everything in its place and a place for everything. In my earlier years we would even create mini “play houses” with dining and living areas following these clean sweeps. (I don’t plan to divulge the age at which I stopped playing house.) We would spread bedding over the various boxes, creating an overall clean look. The plaster walls could also be used as chalkboards in our imaginary school rooms.
Amazing how much space could get freed up and how much stuff was actually able to be stored up there. Notable items I remember being stored in the attic included this massive, cast-iron, foot-pedal-powered sewing machine (had to have dated back to the 40s or so – never remember Mom having used it). Big Bro Rich had a set of free weights (from Sears) up there that I regret not putting to better use when I was playing school ball - though it could get stifling hot during the summer up there, even with the screened-in windows open.
One of the most positive outcomes of Moore’s Law is the abundance of digitized
In the 1970s, I had my own version of a (non-digitized of course) SI Vault. This was a tiny cramped 4x8 foot or so portion of the attic that faced Ninth Street, surrounded by sloping ceilings. My SI Vault contained boxed issues of SI dating back to 1966 or so, chronologically ordered and in mint condition. Many a boring day growing up in Altoona could be alleviated by simply disappearing for hours at a time to the solitude, privacy, and quiet of that attic space – just reading and thinking. Great memories.
