The "Cellar Tales" Story

It was an ordinary day. Working in my workroom in the lower level of our house putting a few of my photos in frames for delivery to Kathy's Corner in North East, MD. Kathy has been selling my photos for almost three years now and is constantly asking for more. While in my workroom, I think back over the basement workshops I have had in other houses. Some were pretty dismal. Matter of fact I wouldn't even call them basements. They were more like dungeons or even worst, cellars. While growing up at 929 North Queen Street I watched my dad do many chores working in the dungeon. When we first moved into the house around 1948 it had a coal furnace that you had to remove the ashes from every day during the winter. I was too young at the time to help with any of the chores, but I can still picture dad shoveling the coal. Can remember the small black hand shovel with the wavy front on it. Scoop the ashes and put them in a metal bucket about the size of a small trash can, then put the lid on it. Probably was a trash can, but in about a week or two it was so covered with coal soot that it didn't resemble a shiny trash can. In the front of the dungeon, next to the furnace was the coal bin that was directly under a window so when the coal company arrived, they could use a chute to send the coal into the house. Oh, the good old days. Wasn't more than maybe 5 years before mom and dad purchased a new oil burner and the coal bin was removed and a new oil tank was installed in it's place; we lost the dungeon and it turned into a cellar. My guess is that it is still in the same place in the house on Queen Street. At the rear of cellar, consuming about 1/3 of the cellar, was an elevated concrete platform that was maybe 8 inches higher than the rest of the cellar. Dad had no explanation why it was like that, but he said that every other house on the block had the same step in it. Back in the darkness of that platform mom did her wash, first in a wringer washer then in a new automatic washer after dad could scrounge up enough money to buy one. There was also a sink back on the platform, next to the washer, but no dryer. Drying your clothes was what the outside was for, after all. I can still remember the swing that dad attached to the cellar floor joists, directly over the elevated step, in the cellar. We could swing on it in the winter when we couldn't be outside in the cold. Couldn't go high, but it still was fun until one day I was pushing my baby brother, who is 5 years younger than me, and I pushed too hard, he fell from the swing, and cut his chin on the edge of the platform. Stitches were needed that time! Along the rear wall, on the platform, was dad's workshop where he did household repairs. I can remember, even as young as age 6 or 7, watching him rewire a table lamp or taking the vacuum apart and putting new belts on it. These are chores that I never forgot how to do. Impressionable minds ......... In the front of the cellar, across from the oil tank, dad built this really neat train table for me and my brother. Mostly for me, since my brother could barely walk and was too short to see the table top at the time. Dad and I would work in the cellar on the train yard many an evening until it was time for bed. Wow, I close my eyes and I can still see that Lionel train heading through mountains that we built along the back wall. Still have some of the buildings that we bought, but I gave the train to my Aunt Lois' kids when they were about 6 years old so they could experience the same thrill of working in the cellar with their dad while running the trains. Then there was the rear outside entrance door. That was at the back of the cellar next to dad's worktable. Mom carried at least 5000 loads of wash out that door over the years. Had to be about 8 or 9 steps to get to ground level. Dad put a door at the bottom of the steps to help keep the cold from coming in the cellar during the winter. A screen on the door kept the dampness awsy in the summer. It was between that door and the sloping outside door, in the privacy of darkness, that I used to sit on the steps and smoke cigars and pipe. My grandpap used to smoke a pipe and it smelled so good and he looked so neat smoking it, and I wanted to be like him, so I "found" one of his pipes one time and did it myself. I finally graduated to a cigar after a year or so. Can't believe that my mom or dad never smelled it, but they never said anything to me. I guess, since they both smoked, that the smell blended in with their smoke. Well, we moved from the house in late 1963, when I was in college. Didn't miss it at the time, but every time I drive by the house I wonder if the hooks are still there for the swing in the cellar and if my little shelf I built to hide the matches in the outdoor basement steps is still there, maybe being used for the same reason by the kid that probably now lives there. It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy. PS - sample included

Certainly not to any imaginable scale, but it does resemble the dungeon/cellar!