The "The Coalman Comes To Town" Story

It was an ordinary day.  Sitting on my tricycle on the pavement in front of 929 North Queen Street in Lancaster, Pennsylvania watching the driver of the coal truck run his metal chute from his truck to the our basement window at 929 North Queen St.   My mom, dad and I had moved to 929 North Queen St. when I was about four years old and watching the man deliver coal became one of my favorite things to do as a youngster.  My dad's mother, known to me as Nannan, worked for Bushong Coal Company in center city Lancaster.  Dad would call Nannan when we were low on coal and she would schedule for a delivery of coal to our home.  I had a few friends who lived nearby and they would all gather to watch the coal man, dressed in a dark colored uniform, set up his metal chute into the fancy wrought-iron window along the side of the house at 929.  The back of the truck would elevate and the black coal would begin to tumble from his truck, down the chute and into the coal bin under the window in the basement. A cloud of black dust would begin to rise from the chute as it tumbled into the coal bin in the basement.  

Drawing of a coal truck making a delivery.

Those standing in the basement, near the wooden coal bin, would also see the cloud of black coal soot as the quarter-sized pieces of coal filled the coal bin. Most houses in our neighborhood had coal delivery until the early 1950s when oil burners became popular and homes changed from coal to oil.  I also remember my dad setting up a train table during the Christmas season in our basement next to the coal furnace.  The dust from cleaning out the coal ash a few times a week was awful and put a light coating of dust on the Plasticville buildings and trains that were on the train yard.  After starting elementary school at the age of 6, I gained some extra household duties, one being responsible for cleaning out the ashes from the coal furnace.  Wasn't bad until the weather turned cold and we had to run the furnace most of the day.  I gathered the ashes from the coal furnace and placed them in a bucket which I took to the trash can in the rear alley.  My mom and dad knew just about everyone on our block of North Queen Street and at times a neighbor would knock on the door holding a bucket, and asking if they could borrow a bucket or two of coal to keep their house warm that evening.  Wasn't unusual to run out of coal at times, and neighbors usually returned the favor if we might have been low on coal.  Eventually, my Uncle Bob, who owned and operated BRW Fuel Company, installed a brand-new oil burner in the basement where the old coal furnace sat at one time.  Had to install all new shiny pipes for the hot air to go through after being warmed by the oil burner.  For me, the best part of the new oil burner was the fact that I didn't have to clean out the ashes and my Christmas train yard no longer got dusty.  Also had the chance to watch the oil man deliver oil in his truck.  That didn't draw the same crowd as the coal man, since it wasn't as dirty or noisy a job.  When I married, Carol and I moved into a home at 925 Janet Ave. that had an oil burner.  Wasn't long before it went bad and my Uncle Bob had to put in a new oil burner in the basement.  When we moved to our current home we found it had a gas burner and we no longer needed deliveries of fuel oil.  Much easier and less costly.  Also less harmful to the environment.  Only thing better would be solar heat.  After all these years, I still have memories of the coal truck pulling up to the semi-detached house at 929 N. Queen and sitting with my friends on our tricycles, watching the coal run down the chute into the basement.  Some things you just never forget.  It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.