Not much has changed over the last fifty years on Logan Avenue – our house has white shutters (made by my grandfather)!
I have no recollection of the date that we moved to Logan Avenue, but it was before I started junior kindergarten and likely just before my first sister was born. It’s a good time to move when a family starts to grow.
The house itself was constructed in 1884 and it is described in the public record as REINEKING BROTHERS ADDN LOT 20. My mother told me that the house was built at a different location and later moved to Logan Avenue. It had a look that differed from the other houses on the block – definitely an older look.
The house itself was ordinary and overdue for renovation even when we moved in. It did have one charming feature that I would guess was a factor in my parents decision to buy it (or at least my mother’s) – a stunning dark hardwood beamed and planked dining room ceiling with sculptured plaster walls. It was a feature that one would expect in a far more stately home, and to this day I wonder why the previous owner would have invested in such a grand feature in such a modest house.
Although later in life, especially my teen years, I found the home an embarrassment to live in, at three and a half years old all seemed just fine. Off to the side of the dining room was a small “play room” which was full of my toys. Eventually I would move down stairs and that would become my bedroom.
Another distinctive feature of the house was a large double deck porch. On the rare summer days when the humidity was a bit much it was a great escape, as a breeze always seemed to kick up around dusk.
My mother loved serving iced tea on the porch to visitors in the summer. And if the occasion warranted, brandy old fashions were substituted, usually prior to dinner.
The upstairs porch was off the second bedroom, and although less used, was a great place to hang out and play. There was not much to view except for the alley directly across Logan Avenue. In the winter time when I was older I was task to shovel the snow off the porch to prevent its possible collapse. I recall snow drifts so high that I could only get the door open with great effort.
The final remaining feature worth noting was the house had the largest tree in the neighborhood – indeed maybe in the city. What type of tree it was I will never know and I have no recollection of any others like it in the neighborhood. Many of the city’s elm trees died from Dutch elm disease, including some on our block. But even the largest elm tree did not soar to the heights of the tree in front of our Logan Avenue house.
That tree, favorite of all trees to my mother and I, is now gone, as are most of the original trees on the block. A grand maple tree still survives on 9th Street. I will never forget its brillant colors each fall.
But our tree was the focal point of playing “50 Scatter” – a hide-and-seek games we played when we were older. Of course its greatest benefit as a kid was the massive amounts of fallen leaves it produced in early autumn. We would rake up huge piles of the yellow leaves and have endless fun diving and hiding in them. Likely the only thing better was playing in the snow just after a big blizzard.
The actual block that we lived on was idyllic in terms of kid population. My buddy Larry lived next door to me. He was a year older than me and summers we’d play every day. In the mornings I would go to his back door and yell out his name until he came out. Why I didn’t knock or ring the doorbell I am not sure. It’s just the way we did things. His two older sisters would later become our babysitters.
It took a few years for the block to get fully populated with kids and there were a few homes where older people lived alone. About everyone was a long-term resident except for those living in a double flat next to Larry’s house.
Note that I’m on my way to Piney Point and I’ll finish this post during my layover in Houston. When complete, it will become Part II to my continuing autobiography (oh boy). 2nd note: Houston was nothing more than mad rush from terminal B to terminal C with Immigration and Customs lines to intense to imagine. I did, just barely, make my connecting flight and I am now home in Piney Point about to soak in my man-size Jacuzzi tub with a glass of wine. Enough said!
