Written on 2014-04-23

My Grandparents’ Apartment

The row homes on both sides of Locust Street were one long, continuous building. Three apartments were in each section with one doorway which led directly to the stairwell, winding up to a little landing and the front doors of the apartments. The side with my grandparents’ home was set very close to the hillside, such that each floor was able to anchor a clothes line into it. A fire escape, accessible through one of the kitchen windows allowed the women to climb out and hang their laundry. To get to the basement, you either had to go down the fire escape or out the front door, walk up a few homes, and go through a tunnel, a small passageway to the narrow area between the long building and vertical hillside. This tunnel was the only way for the garbage men could get to the garbage cans. No garbage containers were set out on the curb in those days.

There was a courtyard in the middle of the two sections of the row building. Each apartment, first to third floors on both sides, looked out on this space. The ground was covered by red bricks but the area was never used. In all of my visits, I never once saw anyone in the courtyard. Its main purpose must have been to let light into the bedrooms and pantry.

Partway down the street was the “Dugout,” the Bluff’s equivalent of the soda shop. You had to go down a few steps to get in. On the right side was a long counter, complete with the spinning stools and little juke boxes every so many spaces. You could put your nickel in and listen to the latest heart throb sing the number one hits. I think my Aunt Alice worked there at one time. It was definitely the teenage hangout.

I could go on describing the Bluff and the homes but it is the stories of my father’s side of the family I want to relate. But first, I want to tell one of my grandmother’s, Marie Duncan, stories.