I had intended to post something a bit sooner than this, but I have failed to. I wanted to write about The Mid-Century Mile again, that is, Glenstone Avenue between St Louis and Seminole Streets, and I am due to write about the stretch of Glenstone between St Louis and Grand Streets first. Of the three sections I broke the Mid-Century Mile down into, this is the longest, and probably the section that has the least mid-century architecture to mention. It is the section of the Mid-Century Mile that is closest to the center city, and that has had the longest time to get built up. Even so, Glenstone Avenue, until after WWII, was still fairly well to the east in Springfield; there was not much east of it by the end of WWII, except perhaps a few neighborhoods and farmland. But, there are some buildings that should be mentioned, nonetheless. Glenstone Avenue north of St Louis once carried the fabled Route 66, which among other nicknames has been called The Mother Road. Route 66's original alignment brought it into town on what is now Kearney Street, then south to Glenstone, and then it turned left onto St Louis from Glenstone, toward downtown and Los Angeles, eventually. At St. Louis and Glenstone is the Rail Haven Motel. It is not really a mid-century motel, in the strictest sense of the architecture, but it is now an official historic site, and it is still going strong as a motel, targeting the Route 66 nostalgia crowd. I am all for the Rail Haven's continued successes, as it is a local business in central Springfield, and thus a brick in the wall of that part of town's commercial infrastructure. Across from the Rail Haven, there is now a large complex owned and operated by Great Southern bank. However, back in the days when the Mid-Century Mile was going strong, in the 1970s, perhaps before, there was a store there. I have recently been trying to remember the name of this store as it was called in the 1970s, but it escapes me. The building was built with a relatively tall false front that had the shape of an old barn. I can remember going to this store when I was very small, but all I remember really is that it MAY have had food, but it DID have a record section. Later, it became Smitty's grocery store, and kept the barn shaped false front for many years. Smitty's was a fairly unique grocery store, in that each location of the small chain of three or four (at its height) had a little restaurant, as well as a service they called "parcel pick-up." Instead of helping a person to their car with the groceries, the customer would take a little numbered tag out of a holder on the back of the cart, which had a copy of the tag fixed to it. The customer would then go up to a pavilion to the south of the west-facing main entrance, give the tag to an attendant who would get the matching cart, and the groceries would be loaded that way. The carts were higher up off the ground, and shaped differently than carts at other stores (I say this a s a child connoisseur of riding around on the back of grocery carts. Smitty's became Albertson's, a national chain, and when Albertson's left town, the store was closed and eventually became the Great Southern installation. When I was growing up, for a long time, Smitty's was the biggest grocery store I remember in town. Alas, it, along with the barn-shaped false front, is gone.
A little further down, and back on the west side of the street, is George's. George's is still around, and in a great red roofed mid-century style building with support rafters that extend past the end of the roof and to the ground. George's has been there as long as I can remember, and is a kind of blue-collar diner. College students, after drinking half the night, often went (or may still go) there for some chow. It must be 10 years now since I have been in Georges. But it is an institution. The building looks almost exactly like it has for at least 30 years, or longer, and has a real late-mid-century feel.
Back across Glenstone on the east side, across from George's is the old structure that is a clothing shop now, but it was once Herman Lumber. It was a kind of institution there, in its day, though not particularly stand-outish as a mid-century building. Next to it is a bowling alley, once called Walnut Lanes. Again, not a stand-out mid-century building, but there has been a bowling alley there since before my birth.
Next to George's is a filling station, I think it is called Gas Plus, that is in an old Clark filling station building. The Clark buildings are one of my favorite mid-century style filling stations. The buildings were quite small, I'd say 10 x 12, but the flat roof angled upward toward the front, giving a streamline, elegant-in-its-simplicity vibe to the building. This building has been painted to match its current company colors, and a matching canopy has been added over the pumps, but the building itself is pretty much as it was originally built.
Across Walnut from the former Clark station and on the west side of Glenstone is Glenstone Baptist Church. It is not a large edifice, but I think it has some nice mid-century touches. In the 1950s-1970s, many local structures were built with limestone blocks, in varying sizes sometimes in the same structure, or depending on the size of the structure. Glenstone Baptist is built with such limestone blocks. A peaked roof juts out over the main entrance to the building, the eaves being ever so slightly swept back toward the building, giving the impression of an airplane perhaps.
Back across Glenstone, on the east side of the street again, across from the Glenstone Baptist, is a red brick office or retain type building, the name of which I do not know, if it even has a name. I think at one time there was a bookstore of some sort in there, perhaps connected with a college. Not certain. The building has an L-shape, and the whole front has a series of arch-shaped members that form a canopies. A great mid-century touch on a building that is probably often overlooked as people drive past on the very busy Glenstone Avenue. I'll also mention the Mexican Villa restaurant next to this building, as I think it is a great example of a 1960s-1970s interpretation of how Americans of that era thought a Mexican restaurant should look: adobe, with arch-shaped windows, and a terracotta tile roof.
One must go several blocks, south of Cherry and nearly to the railroad tracks that cross Glenstone, to get to the next buildings I shall mention. On the west side of Glenstone, between the tracks and Monroe Street, is an Arby's. The building was redone a few years ago, and looks like a modern Arby's, but it was built in a style common to 1970s (maybe even 1960s?) Arbys' that were reminiscent a Conestoga wagon with its curved top. The roof itself was flat, with fairly sharply sloping sides, and the ceiling and front window were curved. I think the ceiling was unstained light wood, oak or pine perhaps. The light fixtures hanging from this, I think, were globe-shaped, very late mid-century style, and the floor tiles were hexagon-shaped terracotta in orange. I loved Arby's when I was little. My parents never had to demand I eat my "junior" roast beef sandwich, and I still adore the jamocha shakes.
Across Glenstone from Arby's is perhaps the most obvious landmark on the whole street: the water tower. I am not sure how tall it is, but it is not one of those simple towers with the ball-shaped top, no siree! The tank is a flattened sphere, and much larger around than a regular water tower, and has the supports to go along with it. One cannot miss it! I think the tower has been there since the 1950s or 1960s.
Back on the west side of Glenstone, several doors down from Arby's is another building that many probably don't pay much attention to, but I think is interesting and has a mid-century look. It was originally an architecture firm, and may still be. The building is flat-roofed, but the front has a sloped roof of composite shingles that runs from roof line to the ground. It is broken by two windows and the door, which reach about 2/3 of the way up the front, and the sides of the openings are native stone walls that stand at about the same height as the openings. It gives the building a vintage effect, and quite an interesting mid-century appearance.
One door down and across the street from this building is a 1960s era Firestone store. It was built after 1961, as it is not listed in my 1961 Springfield phone book, but it is clearly mid-century in its construction. The structure is long and not very wide. At the front of the building is the showroom/waiting area, which is glass windows on three whole sides. The roof overhangs the showroom by quite a bit, and "Firestone" is spelled out in free-standing letters on this roof, in its 1960s era font. The garage bays are behind the showroom.
I'll now move back to the west side of Glenstone, a bit further down, at Lombard and Glenstone. At this intersection is McDaniel Bridal and Formal. They used to be a furrier, but I guess that with furs being quite unpopular these days, it is just dresses. The building is mostly a simple red brick, two story structure, but has a couple of interesting touches. One is that on the second floor, on the right side, over the entrance, is a second story glass show window, the only window on the front, and the show window extends a bit on the side of the building, so traffic going down Glenstone can get a good look at the merchandise the store carries. The side of the building still carries the old "McDaniel Furs" sign in white lettering attached to the expanse of red brick on that side, the north side of the building. The other interesting feature is a white bear on the roof. I am not sure what this statue is made of--fiberglass maybe? Concrete even? The bear statue is older than the building; it was once at Taylor's drive in downtown, at Trafficway, where the Benton Avenue Viaduct comes into intersect that street and becomes Kimbrough on the south side of town. I am sure the bear is over 60 years old, but how much more than 60 I don't know.
There is only one more building that still exists on Glenstone Avenue between St Louis and Grand Streets that I shall mention, and that is Anton's Coffee Shop. It seems that Anton's is never open when I am going down St Louis. I know that it is still operating, as it has been for 35 years or more. The building isn't particularly mid-century, but Anton's is something of an institution. I hope to eat there one day.
There are a few other places now long gone in this northernmost stretch of Glenstone, that I could mention. There was a doctor's office plaza once upon a time, in from the late 1950's til the early 80s, called Medical Gardens, I think. I have not seen a picture of the place in some years, but I think it had a mid-century look that fit the Mid-Century Mile. My pediatrician was there, when I was very little, and I think I remember going to the building once. He was located in my active memory at the Professional Building downtown at Cherry and Kimbrough, though. There was also Glenstone Block Company, across from McDaniel Furs, and it is no longer there, as far as I know, under that name. I am not sure if the company is still around but located elsewhere. It took up quite a bit of real estate along Glenstone, though. I think the site is still functioning under a different name. And there were a few filling stations, office buildings and restaurants along that stretch that are now long gone, demolished or under new names in buildings that have been remodeled to reflect more up-to-date styles. But the real heart of the Mid-Century mile is to come next: the stretch of Glenstone from Grand to Portland-Cinderella Streets.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Springfield's Mid-Century Mile Part 1
As I was going down Glenstone Avenue Tuesday, I happened to notice that a particularly interesting (to me) building has been razed. The address was 1328 S Glenstone. The place had been a drive-in back in the 60s and later, though I do not know when it ceased to function as one of those fine hamburger joints. A look in my old 1984 Springfield phone book reveals it to have been, as I remember it, a Master Wong's Chinese restaurant. MasterWong's is, to my memory, one of the most prominent of local Asian cuisine of by-gone days. They had some great Springfield-style cashew chicken. Anyway, Wal-Mart is putting in one of its Neighborhood Markets in that block of Glenstone Avenue. I was sad to see this little mid-century gem of a building was gone. It was not very big; like many drive-ins of its time, it had little or no dining room; one ate in the car, hence the term "drive-in." I seem to remember it having a canopy across the front, though I could be wrong; if it had one, it was long gone before Wal-Mart brought about the little structure's demise. The building was of sandstone, as were many buildings of the mid-century era in Springfield, and the roof was of a bat-wing style, meaning that instead of a peaked roof as many houses have, the roof was inverted, so it formed a V, the V running the building's length. Most Springfieldians probably passed it everyday, and don't think much of it's being gone. But it was part of a length of Glenstone Avenue that I like to call The Mid-Century Mile. This section runs from St Louis Street on the north, to Seminole Street on the south. OK, the stretch is 2.4 miles, per Google Maps, but The Mid-Century 2.4 Miles just doesn't have the same ring. Humor me! I will right about my memories of this stretch of Glenstone Avenue in a few installments, and include what is there now. Who knows, 50 years from now someone might be interested in what the strip was like in 2011.
Why do I call this The Mid Century mile? For two reasons. One, the street has a lot of mid-century style buildings, of different shapes, sizes and uses. Some of the buildings really stand out, and I think are excellent exemplars of the style: modern a little space-age, unrestrained by tradition in style and building materials, unique. Two, the Glenstone Street, in the stretch I am talking about, was mostly developed between the late 1940s through the 1960s-the middle part of the 20th century. Glenstone Street, when it was being developed, was US 65, a pretty well-traveled north-south route in the days before and during the development of the US Interstate system. At the end of WWII, the Glenstone Avenue would have been, for the most part, a two lane road that was mostly outside of the hub-bub of local life. Much of the land along the road was farmland, with some notable exceptions, like the large National Cemetery on the southwest corner of Seminole and Glenstone. But it wasn't long after the end of the war before building along the thoroughfare really took off. 30 years after the war, few open spaces would exist along the road, and for a distance well south of the Mid-Century Mile. Today, of course, Glenstone is one of the busiest streets in town. The two-lane road of yesteryear is now a four-lane road, and if the street was six lanes, it would still be quite congested throughout the day, I think.
In future installments, I shall take a geographical approach to my description of The Mid-Century Mile. In the first, I shall discuss the segment between St Louis and Grand Streets. Then, I shall discuss the section between Grand and Portland/Cinderella Streets, and finally the section between Portland/Cinderella and Seminole Streets. Stay tuned!
Why do I call this The Mid Century mile? For two reasons. One, the street has a lot of mid-century style buildings, of different shapes, sizes and uses. Some of the buildings really stand out, and I think are excellent exemplars of the style: modern a little space-age, unrestrained by tradition in style and building materials, unique. Two, the Glenstone Street, in the stretch I am talking about, was mostly developed between the late 1940s through the 1960s-the middle part of the 20th century. Glenstone Street, when it was being developed, was US 65, a pretty well-traveled north-south route in the days before and during the development of the US Interstate system. At the end of WWII, the Glenstone Avenue would have been, for the most part, a two lane road that was mostly outside of the hub-bub of local life. Much of the land along the road was farmland, with some notable exceptions, like the large National Cemetery on the southwest corner of Seminole and Glenstone. But it wasn't long after the end of the war before building along the thoroughfare really took off. 30 years after the war, few open spaces would exist along the road, and for a distance well south of the Mid-Century Mile. Today, of course, Glenstone is one of the busiest streets in town. The two-lane road of yesteryear is now a four-lane road, and if the street was six lanes, it would still be quite congested throughout the day, I think.
In future installments, I shall take a geographical approach to my description of The Mid-Century Mile. In the first, I shall discuss the segment between St Louis and Grand Streets. Then, I shall discuss the section between Grand and Portland/Cinderella Streets, and finally the section between Portland/Cinderella and Seminole Streets. Stay tuned!
Monday, November 7, 2011
Whatever has become of the porch?
Drive through an older neighborhood residental neighborhood, preferably one with single family homes built before the Second World War. On the front of nearly every house, you will see a porch. The porch may not be the veranda at Tara, but it will quite often be large enough that the house's residents can put out a porch swing or some wicker chairs, maybe some plants and a wrought iron table. Now, drive through a newer neighborhood. Barring custom built homes, you will likely see few if any porches. Entry into the house is usually gained from a small stoop or a couple of steps. Where did all the porches go? Why, to the BACK of the house, of course! The porch has been rechristened "the deck" and folks put their patio furniture, plants and wrought iron tables and such on those.
The front porch seems such a happy invention. It conjures up images of Mrs Jones standing on the top step and speaking to the letter carrier, teenaged couples in poodle skirts and letter sweaters rocking slightly as the sun goes down, and smiling graduates in caps and gowns waiting for their pictures to carry them forever into a moment of family lore. Decks are probably happy inventions for many people; personally, I could take em or leave 'em. I suppose it is more seemly to barbeque on the back deck than it would be on a front porch. The deck is more private, I will admit. I'd have to say that most of them look rather uninspired, though. They tend to be made of wood, and seem almost an afterthought. One may have a white colonial style, or a spit level, a ranch, but the decks tend to be plain old wood, sometimes stained to look like redwood. They are generally simple and unadorned, and where aesthetics are concerned, I have seen few decks that enhance the appearance of the houses they often seem slapped up against.
So why a backyard deck, instead of a front porch? What prompted the move change of the outdoor living space from a frontward looking one to a rearward one? I think it has a lot to do with more interest in our private lives. Once upon a time, neighbors often relied on each other, they knew each other, they chatted about the weather or what fertilizer to use on the yard, and brought food to each other when there was a death in a family. My grandmother could drive past a house she lived in 30 or more years in the past, and tell who lived in each of the surrounding houses back then, what they were like, some anecdote about them. I've lived in the same residence now for over two years, and I've never even met some of the neighbors who lived in their homes before I moved here. I don't think the neighbors care to meet me any more than I do them. I see few of my neighbors talking to each other, except for the kids playing or hanging out with each other; presumably, they know each other from school, where familiarity is more likely to breed. I think people today are less trusting of other people, and there are far more outlets for socialization today than ever before.
Perhaps it is a generational thing, to some extent. I do a lot of walking, for fitness sakes, and there are many nice streets in my part of town to walk down. I see older people working in their yards, and older people seem to talk to their neighbors more. I rarely see younger homeowners out talking to their neighbors. If I pass someone on the street, younger people don't wave, nod, or say hello, nor do I do so. However, when I pass an older person, they almost always wave, nod or say hello; when they do I do so in return. But I rarely initiate the greeting.
In the end, I'd much rather live in a house with a front porch. I may not use it all that frequently, but just knowing it is there makes it seem an asset. Perhaps if I had a porch, I'd be more inclined to chat with the letter carrier and my neighbors.
The front porch seems such a happy invention. It conjures up images of Mrs Jones standing on the top step and speaking to the letter carrier, teenaged couples in poodle skirts and letter sweaters rocking slightly as the sun goes down, and smiling graduates in caps and gowns waiting for their pictures to carry them forever into a moment of family lore. Decks are probably happy inventions for many people; personally, I could take em or leave 'em. I suppose it is more seemly to barbeque on the back deck than it would be on a front porch. The deck is more private, I will admit. I'd have to say that most of them look rather uninspired, though. They tend to be made of wood, and seem almost an afterthought. One may have a white colonial style, or a spit level, a ranch, but the decks tend to be plain old wood, sometimes stained to look like redwood. They are generally simple and unadorned, and where aesthetics are concerned, I have seen few decks that enhance the appearance of the houses they often seem slapped up against.
So why a backyard deck, instead of a front porch? What prompted the move change of the outdoor living space from a frontward looking one to a rearward one? I think it has a lot to do with more interest in our private lives. Once upon a time, neighbors often relied on each other, they knew each other, they chatted about the weather or what fertilizer to use on the yard, and brought food to each other when there was a death in a family. My grandmother could drive past a house she lived in 30 or more years in the past, and tell who lived in each of the surrounding houses back then, what they were like, some anecdote about them. I've lived in the same residence now for over two years, and I've never even met some of the neighbors who lived in their homes before I moved here. I don't think the neighbors care to meet me any more than I do them. I see few of my neighbors talking to each other, except for the kids playing or hanging out with each other; presumably, they know each other from school, where familiarity is more likely to breed. I think people today are less trusting of other people, and there are far more outlets for socialization today than ever before.
Perhaps it is a generational thing, to some extent. I do a lot of walking, for fitness sakes, and there are many nice streets in my part of town to walk down. I see older people working in their yards, and older people seem to talk to their neighbors more. I rarely see younger homeowners out talking to their neighbors. If I pass someone on the street, younger people don't wave, nod, or say hello, nor do I do so. However, when I pass an older person, they almost always wave, nod or say hello; when they do I do so in return. But I rarely initiate the greeting.
In the end, I'd much rather live in a house with a front porch. I may not use it all that frequently, but just knowing it is there makes it seem an asset. Perhaps if I had a porch, I'd be more inclined to chat with the letter carrier and my neighbors.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Starting Randomly: Men in my Family, And Their Garages
I am quite a random thinker, and my inaugural statement will reflect this personality trait. I wanted to talk about the fact that none of my male ancestors (at least the ones I knew personally!) used their garages for what I think most people use them for: storing the car. This will mean my piece on the demise of the porch in America will have to wait.
I'll go back to my oldest childhood memories. In my suburban neighborhood, which I think was much like any neighborhood in the late 1970s, men and women came merrily home from work (some more merrily than others, no doubt), turned in their drives, pushed magic buttons on little remote control gadgets that opened garage doors, and pulled their gigantic cars into clean garages. Cue kids running out to greet Mommy and Daddy, getting hugged, being handed sacks of groceries and other "Welcome Home" activities. Everyone would head inside, and the last one in would push a button, closing the garage door on the happy scene, and presumably, family life would continue its regular course of evening rituals. Not at my house.
No, the evening scene was much different. My father would pull his pick-up truck into the drive, parking next to my mother's Oldsmobile, and from that position the other rituals would proceed as elsewhere. Why the difference at my house? Vehicles, except in very VERY special winter weather conditions, did not go in the garage. Our garage was for storing my father's carpentry tools, as well as junk my parents did not wish to deal with. Oh, and at one point, it housed a chicken and periodically a cat or two. But I digress.
My father welded in the garage. He cut wood propped on saw horses with a hand-held electric saw in the garage. He painted things in the garage. He disposed of things he didn't want in the house but couldn't bear to part with in the garage. He swore up torrents of curse-words like a foul-mouthed wizard reciting spells in the garage. But he didn't park the vehicles in the garage.
My father also had a shed behind the house, one he built himself. I don't mean just a garden shed, I mean a building composed of left-over construction materials that was the size of a small bungalow. One end had doors so large that they took up nearly that whole side of the building, for driving up to and loading the truck. The shed was an odd, ugly building, full of the same kinds of junk that were in the garage. I think the idea was, when he built it, perhaps a compromise so that my mother might one day know the joys of parking her car in the garage. If this was the case, her desire was never fulfilled. The garage was full til the day we left that house.
If you are wondering where my father got this interesting idiosyncrasy, one need look no further than his father. Grandpa's house was, like ours, of owner design. It had a one car garage, which was convenient, as I never remember my grandparents having more than one car. Others in their neighborhood, as in my own, parked their cars in their garages. But not at Grandpa's house. You'll never guess what was in the garage! Well, you probably already have: tools and stuff my grandfather couldn't bear to part with. Grandpa built canoes in the the garage. Grandpa had a custom-made mailbox that caught mail from a mail slot on the side of the house in the garage. Grandpa kept his lines, lures and tackle in the garage. But he didn't park vehicles in the garage. It never bothered Grandma, I guess, as I never heard her complain. Likely, though, when she got up to go to work (she was a school teacher, later a Junior High Dean of Girls and then a high school guidance counselor) on bitter-cold Ozarks mornings, she'd have loved a car that wasn't icy cold and covered with snow.
When I was nine, after my mother passed away, my father and I moved to my aunt and uncle's house. My aunt and uncle had a two car garage. By now, you'll know what wasn't kept in the garage: the cars. The Toyota and Chevy station wagon were kept in the drive. My uncle kept and used his power tools in the garage. My uncle kept the freezer and his home-canned food in the garage. He kept bikes and old coolers and junk he couldn't bear to part with in the garage. But he didn't park the vehicles in the garage.
When my father remarried, must I say that his wife's car was no longer kept in the garage, as had been her custom? My father's stuff replaced her car as the garage's sole tenant. I don't think my stepmother ever fully took to this arrangement, but as long as they lived in THAT house, the garage was used for powertools and things my father, and eventually the whole family, could not bear to part with but did not want in the house.
Other people in my family had garages in which cars were kept. My mother's mother lived next door to us, and kept HER car in a garage kept so neat you could eat off the floor of it. About the only time her car wasn't in the garage was when she was having one of her periodic-and much loved-garage sales. But that was only a day or two, and in fair weather to boot. Great Aunt Anne, who lived down the street, had a garage in much the state my grandmother did, neat and with cars kept in it. My mother's cousins, whom we visited quite often, kept their cars in the garage. Great Aunt Goldie in Wheatland kept her car in a rattle-trap old garage with wasp nests in it and old spoons and other metal things hanging by strings from the rafters to scare off birds from nesting in it. Great Aunt Oryene in Weaubleau kept her car in the carport--almost a garage, but they had no conventional garage.
The apple falls not far from the tree. The car at my present residence is not kept in the garage unless it is bitterly cold or snowy weather; it is full of things I cannot bear to part with but don't keep in the house.
I'll go back to my oldest childhood memories. In my suburban neighborhood, which I think was much like any neighborhood in the late 1970s, men and women came merrily home from work (some more merrily than others, no doubt), turned in their drives, pushed magic buttons on little remote control gadgets that opened garage doors, and pulled their gigantic cars into clean garages. Cue kids running out to greet Mommy and Daddy, getting hugged, being handed sacks of groceries and other "Welcome Home" activities. Everyone would head inside, and the last one in would push a button, closing the garage door on the happy scene, and presumably, family life would continue its regular course of evening rituals. Not at my house.
No, the evening scene was much different. My father would pull his pick-up truck into the drive, parking next to my mother's Oldsmobile, and from that position the other rituals would proceed as elsewhere. Why the difference at my house? Vehicles, except in very VERY special winter weather conditions, did not go in the garage. Our garage was for storing my father's carpentry tools, as well as junk my parents did not wish to deal with. Oh, and at one point, it housed a chicken and periodically a cat or two. But I digress.
My father welded in the garage. He cut wood propped on saw horses with a hand-held electric saw in the garage. He painted things in the garage. He disposed of things he didn't want in the house but couldn't bear to part with in the garage. He swore up torrents of curse-words like a foul-mouthed wizard reciting spells in the garage. But he didn't park the vehicles in the garage.
My father also had a shed behind the house, one he built himself. I don't mean just a garden shed, I mean a building composed of left-over construction materials that was the size of a small bungalow. One end had doors so large that they took up nearly that whole side of the building, for driving up to and loading the truck. The shed was an odd, ugly building, full of the same kinds of junk that were in the garage. I think the idea was, when he built it, perhaps a compromise so that my mother might one day know the joys of parking her car in the garage. If this was the case, her desire was never fulfilled. The garage was full til the day we left that house.
If you are wondering where my father got this interesting idiosyncrasy, one need look no further than his father. Grandpa's house was, like ours, of owner design. It had a one car garage, which was convenient, as I never remember my grandparents having more than one car. Others in their neighborhood, as in my own, parked their cars in their garages. But not at Grandpa's house. You'll never guess what was in the garage! Well, you probably already have: tools and stuff my grandfather couldn't bear to part with. Grandpa built canoes in the the garage. Grandpa had a custom-made mailbox that caught mail from a mail slot on the side of the house in the garage. Grandpa kept his lines, lures and tackle in the garage. But he didn't park vehicles in the garage. It never bothered Grandma, I guess, as I never heard her complain. Likely, though, when she got up to go to work (she was a school teacher, later a Junior High Dean of Girls and then a high school guidance counselor) on bitter-cold Ozarks mornings, she'd have loved a car that wasn't icy cold and covered with snow.
When I was nine, after my mother passed away, my father and I moved to my aunt and uncle's house. My aunt and uncle had a two car garage. By now, you'll know what wasn't kept in the garage: the cars. The Toyota and Chevy station wagon were kept in the drive. My uncle kept and used his power tools in the garage. My uncle kept the freezer and his home-canned food in the garage. He kept bikes and old coolers and junk he couldn't bear to part with in the garage. But he didn't park the vehicles in the garage.
When my father remarried, must I say that his wife's car was no longer kept in the garage, as had been her custom? My father's stuff replaced her car as the garage's sole tenant. I don't think my stepmother ever fully took to this arrangement, but as long as they lived in THAT house, the garage was used for powertools and things my father, and eventually the whole family, could not bear to part with but did not want in the house.
Other people in my family had garages in which cars were kept. My mother's mother lived next door to us, and kept HER car in a garage kept so neat you could eat off the floor of it. About the only time her car wasn't in the garage was when she was having one of her periodic-and much loved-garage sales. But that was only a day or two, and in fair weather to boot. Great Aunt Anne, who lived down the street, had a garage in much the state my grandmother did, neat and with cars kept in it. My mother's cousins, whom we visited quite often, kept their cars in the garage. Great Aunt Goldie in Wheatland kept her car in a rattle-trap old garage with wasp nests in it and old spoons and other metal things hanging by strings from the rafters to scare off birds from nesting in it. Great Aunt Oryene in Weaubleau kept her car in the carport--almost a garage, but they had no conventional garage.
The apple falls not far from the tree. The car at my present residence is not kept in the garage unless it is bitterly cold or snowy weather; it is full of things I cannot bear to part with but don't keep in the house.
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