Roller Skating in the House

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That's OurAmericanStories.com. And up next, a listener's story. And we love doing this. And this is a story from one of our regular contributors, Joy Neal Kidney. Joy listens to our show in Iowa on WHO Newsradio 1040 AM, a great IHARD station. Her contribution today is called Roller Skating in the House.

Take it away, Joy. I grew up in an old, white, American four-square farmhouse, four miles of gravel south of Dexter, Iowa. Though none of the rural roads were labeled then, and there no longer was a creamery. When we said we lived on Old Creamery Road, everyone knew which one it was. I loved this house, but my mother did not. One of my favorite parts of the house was the front porch toward the road. My sister and I played cowgirls there, played with whatever pet we had at the time, even Rusty the squirrel, and watched rainstorms from there.

All four of us even bundled up in blankets on the porch the fall of 1957 to watch for Sputnik go sailing over the farm. The front door led to the kitchen with a round pedestal table and white Youngstown cupboards. Mom decorated the room in pink and green. She even had pink and green square Melmac dishes, which were large enough so that Uncle Bill didn't have to pile food on top of food when he worked with Dad and ate with us. The crank telephone was on the wall near the table.

Our number was 5211. Our ring was four shorts. North of the kitchen was the living room with a smaller room off of it to the west where Mom's treadle sewing machine was. An oil stove heated the larger room. I remember pulling a tooth, sitting with my back against that cozy stove. The upright piano was in that room.

Our very first television, black and white, and a maroon plushy sofa, where Dad sat with an ashtray on a stand, its handle shaped like a leaping greyhound. When the stove was taken down each spring, that room seemed so much larger. Upstairs wasn't heated. Gloria and I shared the north bedroom. Off that room were two smaller ones, one empty, and the other used for storage.

Mom's trunk with high school souvenirs and Dad's from the Air Corps. The south bedroom upstairs was Mom and Dad's. It had no closets. Dad installed some rods and Mom shirred blue sheets on poles to conceal their clothes. She'd done the same thing when they were living in a church in Texas during the war. Behind the kitchen downstairs is what we called the mud room, until Mom changed our terminology to the utility room. Men washed up for noon dinner at that sink because it was right inside the back door, the one we usually used from the garage. The old cock burning stove was in there. It was handy when the electricity went out. Once Mom sewed up a baby pig, after its mother had stepped on it, and kept it warm behind that old stove.

I decided then and there, I'd never marry a farmer. When Dad removed that old stove, Mom let us roller skate in there. All the floors in the house were covered with linoleum, and the floor in the mud room even slanted.

How I love this old house! The other special places were behind the pedestal table and under the stairway. We called them cubby holes. Dad's was the smaller one above, where he kept his watch and billfold and camel cigarettes. The one underneath was large enough for two young girls to sit on the floor with our treasures.

Birds' nests, pretty rocks, and whatever else we'd found as we explored the farm. What I remember most about those cubby holes, though, was the strong smell of mice. Mom had to set mousetraps in most of the rooms, especially the kitchen, hating to find mouse pellets among her dish towels.

The mice, the leaning floors, lack of closets, trying to heat the place. My mother longed for a new house. She'd even drawn up plans for it. Then one day when Grandpa and Grandma Neal were leaving after a visit, Grandma's foot broke through a board on the front porch. That triggered some earnest planning, and they eventually tore down my childhood mansion. But my mother finally got her small, green, mouse-proof house. Great job, as always, by Monty, and a special thanks to Joy Neal Kidney and the story of her childhood home.

You can see the large pink and green plates to accommodate Uncle Bill's, let's just say, hearty appetite. And that oil stove heating the large room in the home, no heat upstairs. And that it would get taken apart every spring, which of course the kids loved because they could roller skate in the house. And there were days when people lived like this. First black and white TV, three channels.

By the way, I'm old enough to remember three channels and a black and white TV, and how happy we were to just have three. And my goodness, just a great and beautiful voice from our affiliate in Des Moines, Iowa, WHO News Radio 1040. Joy Neal Kidney on her childhood house roller skating in the living room, here on Our American Stories. Folks, if you love the stories we tell about this great country, and especially the stories of America's rich past, know that all of our stories about American history, from war to innovation, culture, and faith, are brought to us by the great folks at Hillsdale College. A place where students study all the things that are beautiful in life, and all the things that are good in life. And if you can't get to Hillsdale, Hillsdale will come to you with their free and terrific online courses.

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