My in-laws lived in Skokie, IL in a brick, split-level bungalow next door to another house that was its mirror image. Buying their first and only house was undoubtedly a painful experience— they looked and worried for more than a year about making a mistake. They wanted three bedrooms-- clean was very important-- and in a good school district.
They seemed unmotivated by circumstance and foiled by fear. My husband spent his entire childhood and adolescence sleeping on a cot in the dining room – invaded regularly by the majong ladies-- while the parents and the 2 sisters used the two bedrooms available in their apartment on Chicago’s North side.
What drove me particularly crazy about the Skokie house were the door locks. Once the in-laws went to bed and before they got up for their morning newspaper, I was locked in. No key to get out. It seemed dangerous in case of fire, but in truth, I was made most nuts by being so confined and controlled. Worse than being trapped in an elevator, I complained to my husband. Clearly my in-laws were more worried about intruders than being entombed.
In the oversized, rickety Victorian house where I grew up we had only one key. and no one seemed to remember where it was. There were, however, turn nobs that could close or open any door from the inside. My parents purchased the house at 94 Deer Hill Avenue in a day. It was located on a nice street and it was big: 4000 square feet of bedrooms, living room, library, dining room, kitchen, giant hallways, dumb waiters and butler’s pantries.
Perhaps more important, the house was cheap… $12,000 then which in today’s dollars is $140K. Am I right in remembering that the seller lent us funds to cover part of the down payment? We couldn’t afford to heat the third floor so I viewed it as my play space. Actually, we barely heated the rest of the house with its 12 foot ceilings and leaky windows.
The deal proceeded so quickly that the former owners simply moved their possessions into our living room and camped there until they found a new residence. Once, when bringing a pot of soup to their quarters, the Dad revealed the real reason for their anxious exit.
“Don’t you hear them dragging their chains?” he whispered to my father. “We think they’re ghosts, escaped from the Russian Army, who have settled on the third floor.”
I remember the seller’s family sleeping on mattresses for many weeks, in front of the carved cherry fireplace, the second story of which was mirrored and had tiny carved pickets fencing a double sets of candlestick shelves. The living room ceilings were decorated with plaster angels holding hands around corners. A bay window looked out on the side yard and curved glass windows in the front faced a covered wrap around porch. The seller’s son showed me how to slide down the long curving banister.
I loved that house—so filled with storybook mystery and adventure. What a stage for princesses and gypsies and runaways. A giant Queen Anne cherry tree in the back cast a bit of shade on the back steps. The barn, complete with horse stalls and a room upstairs for my imagined stable boy, provided yet another place to become a visiting doctor or peasant or orphan. Pretend school teachers or archeologists could leave their belongings anywhere and no one really noticed.
Eighteen years later, when my parents sold the house on Deer Hill— too big, too hard to heat— my father climbed to the top of the barn and grabbed the weather vane for me. a green copper horse that now graces the wall over our fireplace here in Stone Ridge.
The Skokie house remains as it was—a manicured, middle-class fortress, sold to another family looking for brick construction, reliable neighbors and “good schools,” though not quite as good as they once were.
These days I am thinking a lot about fear and confidence as two opposites on a continuum. My mother’s last words— “I think I need a cup of coffee” — attest either to her undying confidence or her sense of humor.
Somewhat similar to my old home in Ellenville. The Webb mansion, an old postcard proclaims. It still stands. Loved by its owner.
Wait til you hear what happens next. xo