When we think of family traditions, ours consists of holiday gatherings. Christmas, the family gathered around the tree, opening gifts. Thanksgiving, the food laden tables stretched from the living room through the dining room to the kitchen. While I have many holiday stories, these are not the only traditions which bind our Duncan clan. Wallpaper has also proven to be the “paste” which holds us together.

The trigger for these wallpaper memories is my sister, Denise Duncan and her longtime boyfriend, Craig Sturgis. Their plan, upon retiring from their jobs in downtown Pittsburgh, was to sell their century-old homes in Swissvale, a suburb on the outskirts of Pittsburgh. After culling their household possessions, Craig receiving much incentive from Denise, they would move to the country away from inner-city turmoil. Neighbors were fine if they were a distance away, say a few acres. And crime should be restricted to the deer, stealing apples from the orchard. Finding such a place meant it would probably be an older home, built in the 60’s or 70’s, as these country estates would have an acre or more land.

Furniture, curtains, and even appliances date the house. Avocado green and harvest gold refrigerators and stoves send shudders through any 50-year-old woman. How did those colors become the choice for of the ideal kitchen? But appliances can be tossed and replaced with ease. A call to “Got Junk” and new life has been born in the residence.

Wallpaper is another story. Each roll was date stamped, the patterns and colors a clear indicator of its decade. Fleur-de-lis’s with muted browns, greens and blues gave a faux sense of elegance during the first half of the 20th century. After World War II and the move to the suburbs, the popular choice was floral patterns with rosebuds and daisies wound through green shrubbery. Chair railings prevented the wearing of the wallpaper in the kitchen. Then there was the thankfully short-lived period of flocked wallpaper, large patches of raised fuzz. This fell from favor as the wallpaper developed worn shiny spots next to uncleanable areas of dirt and dog hair. Next came the foil wallpaper with larger patterns, the better to sparkle in the afternoon sun and flake off onto the floors. The current trend is the Tuscan look of textured plaster, burnt oranges and darkened yellows.

My earliest memories of wallpapering occurred at my Grandmother Duncan’s apartment in Pittsburgh. The Bluff, now renamed Uptown, sits above the Monongahela River. While this section of Pittsburgh, after decades of extensive renovation, is now the desired residence of upwardly mobile professionals, it was originally the home of the working class who trekked across the river to labor in the steel mills or who daily climbed the hundred plus concrete city steps to clerk at Gimbel’s and Kaufmann’s department stores and financial institutions. The row homes built at the turn of the 20th century encompassed the entire block, a block of three’s story high apartments undistinguished from each other except for the identifying numbers at each entrance.

Ritual called for new wallpaper to be hung every five years. All adult members of the Duncan clan, including spouses, were mandatory volunteers. That was, all except for my grandfather. William Duncan, a retired Pittsburgh detective, died in 1960, shortly before his beloved Pittsburgh Pirates won the World Series. I have a difficult time visualizing him, although I can vividly remember the stench of the large spittoon from his dark and unwelcoming bedroom. It was as if he was a peripheral ghost, always just out of sight except for a few notable exceptions, such as a family birthday with cake from Sheetz Bakery.

The opposite applied to the rest of the Duncans. A family gathering meant everyone in attendance – my father Chuck, his brothers Bill and Walter and his sisters Alice and Jeanne. At the time, only Dad and Uncle Bill were married, adding my mother Helen and Aunt Florence to the work force. My grandmother was technically there but her 4’10” height limited her usefulness. The long hallway, stretching past the three bedrooms to the living room and kitchen, was always the first to be tackled. The rolls of paper appear to be a clone of the previous choice, distinguished only by the lightness of the clean paper. The soot and grit from the steel mills made it impossible to maintain cleanliness throughout the early and mid-1900s. It was not noticeable, however, as the only light for the hallway came from the bedroom windows and the lone overhead light fixture. My parents, aunts and uncles quickly got to work. Either they were experienced workers having done this chore previously or they just wanted to be done as soon as possible. A few cases of Iron City beer didn’t hurt either. The wallpaper was cut in 10-foot-long pieces, and laid flat. In the kitchen were large pans of wallpaper paste, a thick, smelly semi-liquid resembling oatmeal with oversize lumps. No amount of stirring would ever result in a finer texture. My uncles grabbed the bristle brushes and lavishly applied the paste to the outstretched wallpaper, covering it totally lest there be a dry spot which would not adhere to the wall.

Raising the slop laden paper took the strength of two men and the guidance of my mother. It was not enough that the wallpaper hung straight and butted snug against the preceding piece. No, the pattern must match perfectly from one piece to the next. It was a mortal sin, second only to not rooting for the Steelers, to misalign the pieces. The new piece was matched to the previous one, and the extra paper at the top and bottom with sliced off and discarded. Carefully, so as not to tug the paper downward, the men would firmly press the foot-wide metal blades against the wallpaper. Any excess mounds of paste were smoothed out, removing lumps and signs of sloppy workmanship. Once the hallway was covered with the hanging sheets of paper, the process was repeated with the decorative trim along the edge of the ceiling. Time to celebrate a job well done with more Iron City beer in the knowledge that it would be another five years before the next wallpaper endeavor.

What goes up must come down also applies to wallpaper. In 1964 my mother purchased a home at 1916 Wayne Street in Swissvale. She noticed the left side of the duplex was for sale, made an offer and then informed my dad of the deal when he arrived home for dinner. The houses on Wayne Street and the surrounding blocks were built in 1906, with gas lines for lighting, coal furnaces, pocket doors to the dining rooms and fireplaces in the living rooms and front bedrooms. While the gas lines for the fireplaces were long gone, much of the original, identical layout of the homes remained. It became the mission of each woman on the block to uniquely customize her own home, most of the labor being “do-it-yourself.” Mom’s projects included replacing the coal furnace with natural gas, tearing out the hall entrance to expand the living room, and remodeling the master bedroom, primarily to replace the incredibly small closet with two deeper closets with overhead storage. If you ever saw how many pairs of high heel shoes my mother owned, you would understand the need for more closet space.

Remodeling for my mother was a never-ending story. Satisfaction would only be achieved when each room had a total makeover. Wooden bedroom doors were sanded by hand, varnished, then re-sanded and varnished, should there be any rough spots. Like a general advancing in battle, my mother’s neck targeted the front bedroom. Mom saw no need for a non-functional fireplace and mantle which limited the available space for five daughters in two bedrooms. And the wallpaper had to go, down to the plaster board. Latex paint, with pale fern green walls and sandalwood brown baseboards, were the in shades. However, as with many home improvements, there is always a problem. Sixty years of wallpaper isn’t that simple to remove. Wallpaper paste had one job to do – keep the wallpaper on the wall – and it did it well. Over the decades, each subsequent layer had morphed into a thick, non-removable entity. It was Mom, Dad, Bonnie and I against the wallpaper. We had met our match. The blades of our putty knives managed to remove only small chunks, leaving a pockmarked wall and everyone frustrated. Everyone, that was, except for my mother who was not to be deterred. There must be someone who was not only strong enough but dedicated to defeating the monster wallpaper. Dominic LaVerde was just that person.

At that time, I was in high school and Bonnie, who was five years older than I was, had already graduated. She had remained close friends with many of her classmates. Dom was one of the many guys who, I suspected, had a crush on Bonnie. He would visit, sometimes double dating with his latest girlfriend and Bonnie with Ray Marone, her steady boyfriend for several years. Dom became a member of the family, like a big brother and would often help with the remodeling jobs. Since my father never figured out which end of a hammer to hold (or never let on he knew), Dom’s muscular assistance was appreciated. He took one look at the front room, eager to take on the challenge. He knew just how to handle this job and had the right tools to do so. Mom had no problem with Dom working alone in the house. We left for an afternoon of shopping at the Monroeville Mall. Before leaving, Mom reminded him to open the windows in the front bedroom. Stripping the wallpaper during the summer months was a sweaty job and the afternoon breeze would help.

We returned refreshed, having checked out the sales at JC Penney’s and Sears, then enjoying a meal and a double sundae at Kings. That feeling of relaxation was torn away as Mom opened the front door. Nothing prepared my mother for the sight that met her eyes. Thick, white dust covered the furniture, carpet, and curtains throughout the downstairs. This blizzard continued to drift down the staircase from the second floor. It was then we heard a sander, joined by Dom’s muffled whistling. Mom climbed those stairs like she was climbing Mount Everest, leaving naked hand prints on the stair railing. The powder had made its way into the middle and back bedrooms, dwarfing the mounds below. Finally, Mom reached the open front bedroom door. She stared at Dom, the electric sander in his hand, as he removed the last of the wallpaper from the fourth wall. Dom turned, pulled the handkerchief from his mouth and nose, and broke into a big smile. “Hey, Mrs. D. Bet you didn’t think I would finish this job so quickly?” For once, mom was speechless.

I am reminded of these wallpaper escapades as Denise describes their dream home, a split-level ranch, built in 1969, in Latrobe, Pennsylvania. She tells of sitting on the back deck, deer wandering through their acreage or her “city” cat discovering the joy of chasing rabbits. Labor Day was celebrated with a gathering of friends around the fire pit, enjoying hamburgers, hot dogs, potato salad and cool bottles of Iron City Light beer. Denise and Craig marveled at the evening sky filled with shimmering stars, incomparable to the indistinct Pittsburgh night where only the moon would be visible. They had found their country paradise.

Being a true daughter of our mother, a home is defined as perfect once all remodeling is accomplished. Craig’s man cave was first on the agenda, new carpeting, fresh paint and optimal location of the television. New flooring in the living room and stairs was next, with the master bedroom following close behind. The house was evolving into their home, reflecting their personalities and taste with completion of each room.

These renovations were only the prelude, a warm-up for the main event – The Kitchen. It was a total do-over, new floor, new appliances, new fixtures and new cabinets. Once the room was stripped bare, Denise attacked the faded wallpaper. How difficult could it be to remove the wallpaper? It was the type you hung by just wetting and sticking it to the walls. Yet, like its oatmeal paste predecessor, wallpaper has one job – to stick to the walls – forever. Denise soaked the wallpaper with hot water, doused it with vinegar water, even applied fabric softener to no avail. Not as single strip of wallpaper relinquished its death grip. Turning to Craig and with a sigh of someone who acknowledges she has met her match, Denise remarked, “We’ll just paint over the damn paper.”

Wallpaper most assuredly is the “paste” that holds the Duncan clan together.