CDllection of Regional History and University Archives iSSBell University, Ithaca, N, H Born In 1884 lOQ -^^^By Dudley Ward Fay The Author In 1898 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924068796493 ■-**.:t.r*:: Mother, 1904 Father, 1903 63 South Street Winter, 1901-1902 imillSif '«v.*SW,. !l.yii^.-^y^^:ll!'^^f^S<^!!mxi^>''Sf'>»,^-; Dudley , Winter 1899 Clark Printing Co.,publ ishers -3 r^^> Shelbyville, Kentucky v '•'^Ar^^ Born In i884 By Dudley Ward Fay MY CHILDHOOD HOME I was born on May 10, 1884 in the small city of Auburn in the Finger Lakes district of New York State, the first child of my young parents. The front part of our house was probably built around 1870 and had a mansard third story of no use except as an attic. It had plumbing, a hot air coal furnace, and was lighted by gas and kerosene lamps. The rear part was from an older house, and contained kitchen, china pantry, each with hot and cold water sinks, and a big laundry. Upstairs were two servant bedrooms and an unfinished "lumber room" above the laundry which contained the upper story of a double decker privy in a corner. This kitchen wing had no heat except from the kitchen stove. The cook- ing stove burned anthracite coal and was indented in the chimney, open only in front. The refrigerator was a real ice box in the cellar, about as high as a person's middle, its hinged top cover held open at any desired angle by a weight on a pulley. Delivery companies put big cakes of ice in it which melted slowly, the water escaping by a little pipe onto the earth floor. CUTTING THE ICE When the ice on a lake became thick, a portion was cleaned of snow and cut into cakes by long saws. The cakes were floated to the edge of the thick ice and pulled up an inclined plane into a farm box sleigh standing ready with its paitent team of horses. The cakes were stored in big wooden structures and piled closely together layer on layer into one large cake. Saw dust filled the interstices and the space between the outside of the big cake and the icehouse walls. Enough ice had to be stored in this way to last until the harvest of the next winter. After the cutters finished, a rectangle of clear water was left in the thick ice of the lake, which soon froze over again, but of course, this new ice was not as thick as the main sheet though it looked the same especially after a snowfall. All along the Hudson River stood great icehouses of wood; in winter the ice sheet had many rectangles marked by little evergreen trees at the corners. PAGE 1 PAGE 2 BORN IN 1884 FALLING THROUGH During the winter of 1902-1903 I was in the Hotchkiss School at Lake- ville, Connecticut. The school cut its own ice, but neglected to mark the corners of the patches of clear water, which froze over again. We boys skated all over the lake in safety and forgot about the ice cuttings. Spring brought warm days of thaw, but the ice was still thick, and we still skated. One day, with several other boys, I was skimming along on an ice sail boat. I was on a crosspiece above a skate. Suddenly the skate dipped into a small hole and ripped through the ice beyond, deluging me with small chunks of ice and water. Throughly soaked I left the boat and its crew and skated back for the school As I neared the school boathouse, suddenly I was in the water, weighted with heavy clothes and skates on my feet. I had broken through the thin ice of a frozen - over rectangle. I could see the edge of thick ice and fought my way back to it. A fellow student sat there staring at me in stupified terror and doing nothing. "Here, pull me out," 1 cried indignantly. "Don't pull me in," he warned sensibly. Slowly with no jerks the two of us got me out onto the thick ice. A SUMMER TREAT In spite of sawdust in the ice houses the cakes usually froze somewhat together and had to be pried apart with crowbars. I had an ice house on my farm. I climbed to the top of the ice, pried the cakes loose, dropped them down to the ground, washed the sawdust off them, and put them in my re- frigerator. Hard work, but pleasant; a cake of ice is a beautiful object on a hot summer day. The mass of ice cakes was built up layer by layer in the harvest, and layer by layer I wore it down. In town heavy covered wagons drawn by two horses delivered the ice. The wagons were open only at the back to prevent melting and had a step across the rear for the men to stand on when pulling out the cakes. They usually had to reduce the size of the cakes with picks. A scale with a strong coiled spring hung at the back to weigh the cakes. The man fastened tongs to the cake and hung the tong handles to the end of the spring, then carried the cake to the house icebox by these handles. Customers were furnished cardboard signs marked 25, 50, 75, .or 100 (pounds) on the 4 sides respectively to put in a window with the desired number on the top to inform the iceman how many pounds were wanted. Cutting the cakes down to required size produced many chips which we boys washed clean of sawdust and sucked like lollipops. BELLS AND TUBES Our door bell hung on a spiral spring on the wall of the china closet. To ring it a nickel plated knob like a small doorknob at the front door had to be pulled smartly, a wire attached to it ran over pulleys invisibly through walk and along the cellar ceiling to the pantry where it yanked BORN IN 1884 PAGES the spring which vibrated for an appreciable time causing the clapper- bell to ring. The warning wasn't all tinkle; the pulled wire could sometimes be heard scraping in walls and under floors. There was no electricity in the houses, but there was a convenience for communicating between master's bedroom and the kitchen, called a speaking tube. The tube, perhaps an inch in diameter, made of metal, probably lead, ran invisibly through walls. At each end was a white porcelain mouthpiece in the wall at the height of a person's mouth. A whistling button filled the aperture of the tube, hinged so it could be turned to open the end of the tube. Mistress in bedroom opened her button and blew into the tube. Air pressure whistled the button in the kitchen. Cook turned her button and answered, and conversation could begin. I can remember when I, very young and sick in bed, watched with great interest my mother blow into the tube and order an eggnog for me, which in due time arrived. HEATING THE HOUSE Houses were heated by anthracite-burning furnaces from which pipes for hot air about a foot in diameter, as they ■ ^ft the furnace, delivered the hot air through registers, metal grilles wi. -ats that could be opened or closed. These grilles usually were in the floor but sometimes were placed vertically in walls. In our house they were of nickel plate and of attractive design. A "cold air box" brought outside air from a cellar window opening to the furnace which distributed it through the house without a fan with enough force at times to send tissue paper dolls flying up into the air. Some rooms were apt to be overheated and others underheated, and the direction of outdoor wind affected the working of the system. Registers, of course, could always shut the heat off. The other method of heating was by stpnm, orginating in a boiler over the furnace and reaching the radiators, Vo*^.. stood on the floors, through pipes the size of water pipes. By this method the heat throughout the house could be kept more equal than by the hot air system. But it had disadvantages too; it made noises ranging from gurgles to bangs that sounded as if a Hercules was striking a radiator with a maul, and it brought in no fresh outdoor -air. A radiator could be cut out by closing a valve on its intake pipe. A little valve on the radiator itself could be opened toreducesteam pressure or to let water escape. Little metal pails often hung from these valves to catch any leaking water. When steam escaped, the valves whistled. Both hot air and steam systems used coal furnaces, whose steady heat was a lot pleasanter than the off and on thermostat -controlled oil and gas systems of today, TO HEAT OR NOT In spring and autumn it was always a problem whether to start a furnace fire or not. If warm weather ensued after cold, the fire had to be banked, and coal gas often flooded the house, and was very disagreeable. Or if the fire was allowed to go out, building it again was no matter of turning a handle or pushing a button, it was real work. Coal was brought by railroad from Pennsylvania to the various local PAGE 4 BORN IN 1884 distributing companies of the city which delivered it to houses by heavy wagons drawn by a team of horses. Often the wagon could be brought close to a house, and a metal chute placed from the wagon through a cellar window, aided the driver to shovel the coal into the cellar. The rattle of the coal sliding down these chutes was a familiar sound of those days. If the wagon couldn't be driven close to a house, another man was needed who carried the coal in strong cylindrical bags to the chute. THE 'SECOND' AND ME At first my parents had a maid of all work, but when 1 began to take notice a "second girl" had been added. She did everything the cook didn't. I can't remember that our cook ever left the kitchen. Our second girl was waitress, washed dishes, cleaned the rooms, answeredthe door bell, washed windows, made beds. She got me up in the morning, and dressed me, before my parents were up. I can recall seeing men and women walking past our house to work at a nearby factory. It was probably 7 a.m. for the ten hour day ruled then. She opened the window blinds and set the breakfast table. I ate breakfast and noon dinner with my parents. Around 5 p.m. she served my supper in the dining room and put me to bed, if my mother was out. Mother was usually in and put me to bed herself, turned the gas flame in the jointed bracket by the door into the hall down until it was no larger than a candle flame, and leaving the door open descended the stairs to have supper with my father. I went to sleep hearing the sound of silver on crockery. LIGHTING THE HOUSE As evening approached the second girl closed the window blinds and lit the gas. The parlor, library, and dining room had a brass chandelier of four gas jets in the center of the ceiling. Each gas jet was in a bowl-shaped ground glass globe. The gas flame resembled a maple leaf. We had a special tool to light the chandeliers. Underneath each flame was a flat handle to turn it on and off. On the end of the tool (which I think we called a lighter) was a slot to fit over the jet handle, and along the side of the tool was a metal tube bending out at the end, which contained a long thin taper resembling a malleable stick of spaghetti. With this indispensable tool the maid turned on the gas and then lit it with the burning tapers. At the bottom of the tube was a movable plunger with which she pushed the candle up as the tip was consumed. These tapers were sold in long cardboard boxes looking like packages of spaghetti. In the front hall above the newel post was a single jet chandelier of rectangular design, the flame of necessity being under the stem, where the brass bars from the corners of the glass box converged. To protect them from the heat a clapperless brass bell hung over the flame. This bell often became so hot that it swung violently, jangling loudly against the bars. The usual gas fixture was a wall bracket stiff or jointed. All jets were encased in glass globes for safety. In our library we also had a large roundwick lamp which we called a Rochester lamp. It gave an excellent light, pleasant for reading, but also much heat. Once a box of chocolate candies was left on the table beside it and melted into a soft chocolaty mass. BORN IN 1884 PAGE 5 FISH ON FRIDAY Most well-to-do families had a cook and second girl. The servants were usually girls from Ireland, sometimes with strong brogues. For their sake it was the custom to have fish on Fridays. We always did, and liked it. When I grew older I was surprised to hear a Catholic friend growl over being deprived of meat on Friday. Fish on Friday I had regarded as a part of life. When children accumulated, families usually hired a nurse, often an inexperienced young country girl. Home wasn't lonely; there were two or three grownups in addition to one's parents. Maybe the servants weren't stimulating company for our parents, but they knew more than we did, and we spent much of our time happily with them. INDOOR SHUTTERS When lights were lit, blinds of wood containing some louvers fastened on an upright stick so they all opened or closed together were moved across the windows. They were in pairs, both upper and lower like a Dutch door. Usually only the lower pair were drawn so that the light of a room shone out above them giving a cheerful air to the street. When not in use these blinds folded back into the window frame. When in the early 1900' s opaque roller shades began to displace these blinds my father complained bitterly. The opaque roller shades covered windows completely, and, he said, made a house look unoccupied, and the street dark and dismal. THE STREET LAMPS I can remember seeing a big boy running up our street from lamp post to lamp post. He must have been lighting their gas lamps, but I don't remember the lights. My first recollection of street lights was of electric arc lamps hanging from arms projecting from holes at street corners. They hung loosely and swung wildly in winds throwing shadows of tree limbs and poles on the surrounding houses. The carbons had metal cones above them but no glass around them. Springs pushed the long carbons towards each other and the spark gradually wore their tips away. When they became too short, a man let the lamp down on a pulley, removed the blackened stubs and inserted new ones. He either threw the stubs away or we boys wangled them from him for we used them as pencils to write and draw pictures on the flagstone sidewalks. Into the 1890's the gas poles stood along the curbs unused. In 1896 the city decided to try using them with Welsbach mantle gas lights. These gave a very bright, white light, but the mantles were delicate and easily broken. The city didn't keep them long. In houses people tried these Welsbach lights too. My grandfather had such a standing lamp on a center table in his sitting room, a rubber tube from the chandelier feeding it. The mantles were so delicate they disintegrated at a touch. PAGE 6 BORN IN 1884 CLEANING HOUSE Our parlor, library and dining room and the bedrooms upstairs, as well, were furnished in the taste of 1883, not a particularly fortunate period. Elderly relatives didn't like the contemporary furniture, even went to Rochester to see if they couldn't find more satisfying styles, but fruitlessly. All these rooms were furnished new with wedding presents. All floors were soft wood so carpets were of necessity, wall to wall, now considered fashionable. We had no other kind. Strips of carpet were sewed together to make a rug that was fitted to the walls. It was laid on newspapers and tacked down at the edges. Carpet sweepers like those of today were rolled over the carpets, but they only cleaned the surface. Dust steadily settled down through the carpet until Spring Cleaning. When warm sunny days and green grass appeared the tacks were removed by little tools made for the purpose, the carpets pulled outdoors, and hung over clotheslines, and beaten with rattan paddles making clouds of dust spurt out. The whack of these paddles was the song of spring. The dirty newspapers were removed and burned, the floor swept and washed, fresh newspapers spread on it, and the rejuvenated rug tacked down for another year. Before the carpet was returned, the room was "turned out", cleaned from top to bottom, ceiling and walls brushed, pictures taken down, dusted and glass washed, furniture taken outdoors for airing, if possible, dusted, washed, and oiled, ornaments washed, everything in the room moved and cleaned. Some way or other people lived through these cataclysms. IN THE PARLOR Our parlor was thoroughly 1883. A brass easel held a framed engraving of the head of a gypsy girl. Other pictures hung on the walls. One was a colored print of a medieval scene, with gentlemen and ladies in elegant silk clothing of bright colors strolling on the banks of a brook with a mansion in the background. A picture molding encircled the walls just below the ceiling on which perched picture hooks shaped like a capital S. From these hooks wires hung down vertically to hookeyes on the backs of the pictures. This avoided driving nails into walls, and the wires were not conspicuous. An armless overstuffed sofa and matching chair handsomely uphol- stered were the most useful pieces of furniture in the room. A fussily elaborate cherry cabinet with a mirror on the door and little shelves on each side furnished places for the inevitable little ornaments and cu- riosities ranging from coral and sea shells to Chinese shoes. On a table rested the family photograph album bound in red plush, its thick gilt edged pages forming frames for the universal size cabinet photographs back to back. A handsomely bound book or two also lay flat. One ornament was unusual. A standing frame of two small photographs of 18th century paintings of aristocratic looking ancestors. Who this strangely dressed man and woman were perplexed me. There was also a double deck BORN IN 1884 PAGE 7 wicker tea table gilded with lace hanging from each shelf. On it stood a brass tea kettle and several beautiful teacups and saucers. No two alike. I never saw it used. THE LIBRARY Our library had bookcases, comfortable chairs, lamps on tables for reading, a huge ancestral mahogany couch of 1840 and a big fireplace faced with polished rose colored marble. Andirons and firedogs holding shovel, tongs, and pokers were all of bright brass. Woodwork was yellow oak. The mantle shelf held ornaments and a handsome black clock, a wedding present to my father from his young men friends of the Dolphin Club, a rowing club. This clock was the standard for the house all through father's life, it regulated meals and sent us children to bed. The pictures were handsome engravings. In the most prominent position, over great- great-grandfather Van Vechten'ssofa, hung Alma-Tadema's Reading from Homer. Bookcase tops and the fireplace mantle shelf held mostly bric-a- brac, ornamental crockery wedding presents. At the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia in 1876, the hitherto unknown bric-a-brac from Europe made a sensation, and the vogue was still going strong in 1883. My parents later lamented that their wedding came in the bric-a-brac period. Gradu- ally the bric-a-brac was weeded out. OTHER ROOMS In the dining room were a table, upright chairs and a sideboard in bright cherry colored finish, rather square in form, not beautiful, but very comfortable and convenient. My parents' bedroom suite consisted of double bed and bureau in walnut. Both pieces were squarish. The bed had a highback with a carved spread eagle at the top and a lower footboard. The bureau was broad, the drawers topped at waist height by a polished slab of colored marble (not white as in the Civil War period). Attached above this a big mirror of equal width. The guest room bed and bureau of cherry were similar, but not as handsome. As in most Victorian houses the upper hall was broad enough to contain furniture, had front windows, and was used as an upstairs sitting room. Toward the end of the century people wanted more than one bathroom, and these pleasant upperhalls were sacrificed to that demand and were much missed. The bathroom was finished in dark varnished wood. The tub, commode, washbowl and tall chest of little drawers formed a unit of furniture. Only the zinc tub and the washbowl were visible, sunk in the boxes of wood. The commode had a hinged metal pan that emptied downward as in Pullman sleeping cars and a square wooden lid covered it and the seat. Next came the washbowl in its box and finally the chest of drawers completed the unit. Carpet covered the floor and a small square window, the center of clear glass surrounded by a frame of small squares of varicolored glass, hinged at the top, could be held open by a metal bar. All the houses I was familiar with had similar bathrooms. PAGE 8 BORN IN 1884 THE EXTRA MAN Wealthy families, in addition to cook and second girl, had a man who lived out. He took care of the horses and carriages, acted as coachman, tended the furnace, and the grounds, cut grass, shoveled snow, and helped in the Spring Cleaning upheaval. We had no horses, but an empty barn used by the previous owners. These city barns had a room for carriages and sleighs in front, stalls behind, and lofts above for hay and straw, often a harness room also with a small stove, a resting place for the coachman. He did not wear livery! That was undemocratic. 1 heard an uncle of mine laugh, reminiscing about a fashionable uncle and aunt of his childhood, driven in a sleigh dressed in fur and under elegant white polar and black bear lap robes, while the illiterate coach- man slouched in his own wrinkled clothes and hat high, sat in front of them. We had no man of all work, but joined with other families in hiring a Negro, who took care of several places. He cut the grass in turn, and in winter, tended the furnace every day and shoveled snow off the walks when necessary. I remember being awakened in the dark of winter morn- ings, hearing the comforting sound of shaking furnace grates and snow shovels scraping the walks. DAILY FAMILIARITIES Milk was delivered daily in big cans, and ladled out into receptacles in the kitchen. Few families had horses and carriages. Most people walked everywhere they had to go and couldn't carry big or heavy packages long distances. Merchants had to make deliveries. Meat markets, gro- ceries, drug stores kept their light one-horse delivery wagons running all day. Housewives could telephone any time during the day and get prompt delivery. Business places had telephones, but families were slow in in- stalling them. The first telephone was invented in 1876. My father was graduated from college before he first saw one. A neighbor installed one, and his children invited their friends to a party with the telephone as chief attraction. . Father said the young people were somewhat in awe of it, half afraid. The idea of natural monopolies regulated by government was not firmly established then. Auburn had two telephone companies, and there was no interchange of messages. A householder could only talk to other subscribers of his company. Business firms had to have both phones. Likewise a city would grant franchises to two streetcar companies. No transfers from one to another of course. Competition was the order of the day. Each company scrambled for the most desirable streets. AT THE MARKET Our meat and groceries we bought at a combination market. Butchers chopped meat on big heavy round wooden tables, or blocks, and the floor was sprinkled with sawdust. I don't remember that anything was packaged. All was sold by weight, measure, or number. Bananas, yellow or fatter and richer red, hung in bunches, from which the grocer cut off the desired BORN IN 1884 PAGE 9 number with a hooked knife. Tea and coffee were in big tins, and sold by the pound. The tea tins had Chinese people and scenes painted on them, and so did the big iron coffee grinders with their twin fly wheels. To watch these machines with their whirling wheels was a joy to a child. There were two kinds of crackers, plain London Cream, round with a cow imprinted on them, which came in barrels, and square graham crack- ers. Also for children's parties Animal Crackers about an inch and a half long in the shape of various animals. Flour, sugar and meal were measured or weighed. Molasses came in an earthen jug, kept in the kitchen closet, and when poured out gurgled delightfully, and slowly. Slow as molasses was an accurate description. Yellow laundry soap and white castile soap came in bars, which could be cut off in smaller sections. Toilet soap came wrapped, but was sold in drug stores. The first packaged food I recall was Uneeda Biscuit, which gradually superseded the London Cream. In the depression of the early 1890's a son-in-law of your great- grandfather Dewey lost his job. Some young men of his acquaintance were trying to start a biscuit packaging company and offered him a job if he could persuade your great-grandfather to invest $5,000 in the enter- prise. The old gentleman declined, thought it a poor idea. Why would anybody want to buy packaged crachers? Uneeda Biscuit grew into National Biscuit. AT THE TABLE Malaga grapes came from Spain packed in sawdust, dried figs from Turkey packed in small thick flat baskets. Our butter was bought from a farmer's wife packed in earthern jars and salted. In winter when the cows were confined in barns and had no fresh food the butter did not taste as good as in summer. An annual day of rejoicing was when we got the first spring butter after cows were turned out to pasture. The improvement in taste was delightful. To prepare butter for the table it was rolled into balls by ridged wooden paddles. The balls were placed on little dishes about the size of a silver dollar, one at each person's place. The dining table was always covered for a meal by a white damask cloth and the napkins were of the same material. We wore them to protect chests as well as laps by tucking a corner into our collars. If plates became over- crowded 1 think bread and salt could be put on the tablecloth. 1 remember dipping celery into salt on the cloth. The meat knife was used to spread butter on bread, and it often, of course, became soiled with gravy or other food. To remedy this the bread and butter plate was invented with its little knife or spreader. This seems to be an exclusively American custom. The Europeans get around it by not serving butter. I have never seen a butter spreader in a restaurant. Owners say they are quickly stolen for souveniers. Foreigners traveling in this country would not know we had such things if they never had a meal in a private house. GARDEN DELIGHTS We didn't have fruit or vegetables out of season, so they were really ripe and flavorful when we ate them. Particularly welcome was the strawberry season, and asparagus from our own bed. Fresh peas, salsify PAGE 10 BORN IN 1884 and asparagus were cooked in milk, served in saucers and eaten with a teaspoon. Fresh tomatoes were sliced and dressed at the table with vinegar and olive oil from little glass jugs, or with vinegar and powdered sugar, which we always called pulverized sugar. Turnips and squash were pureed. Coffee was served at every meal in big cups in the main course. We children drank milk at all meals, never coffee. Even in my early teens if I didn't have milk to drink my hunger was not satisfied, no matter how big the meal was. I didn't know for what a demitasse was used. There was a set of them in our china pantry, a wedding gift, dainty little cups with a pair of butterfly wings for handles. Sometimes for a treat one was used to serve me "baby tea", hot water to which I added cream and sugar just like the grown folks. They had another use, molds for corn starch pudding. FOOD, FOOD, AND MORE FOOD Our breakfast was fruit, oatmeal always, and a third course of which my memory is hazy. I am sure it was hearty, meat, fish, codfish balls, pancakes with maple syrup, toast, eggs. Dinner was at midday, always soup, meatcourse with potatoes always, and vegetables, and dessert. Supper at 6 p.m. was a lighter dinner without soup. On holidays we often dined at grandfather Fay's. Three courses: soup first, then turkey which he carved asking each person what part he wanted, mashed potato, puree of Hubbard squash and of turnips, celery stalks in a long glass dish shaped like a boat (if put in water maybe it would have floated), jelly, sweet pickles of sliced small green tomatoes, bread and butter, then dessert, usually pie. Ice cream was difficult. If made at home, someone had to turn the handle of a salted ice freezer for a long time — a tiresome job. It could be bought at one candy store which made it to order, but that was complicated. After this feast everyone felt gorged and couldn't do anything but sit. We children liked the big dinner well enough, but sitting for hours afterward while the grownups talked above our understanding was no treat. We tried to escape to the kitchen where the servants welcomed us, didn't talk over our heads, and there was activity, cleaning up the mess I suppose. But the grownups wanted us to stay with them. They didn't talk down to us, they just wanted to look at us. Occasionally my mother gave a luncheon, a dozen women, and courses of fancy food. During one of them I stayed in the pantry and watched the waitress bring out plate after plate containing a prairie chicken from Nebraska merely picked at by the guests. They couldn't eat so much. I would have loved to eat one of these little game birds, and this waste outraged me. Wasting food still does. This custom of many courses, each dish the richest and most elaborate of its kind died in the First World War. Our country had enough food, but we limited ourselves to send food to France and England. We had meatless days and wheatless days. What annoyed us was having to send our wheat to the French and English and eat corn ourselves. They wouldn't eat corn, that was fit only for chickens. We were willing to share with them, but their stubborn refusal to eat any corn seemed unfair. BORN IN 1884 PAGE 11 WINTER FARE In winter canned peas, corn, stringbeans, ana tomatoes were served in sauces and eaten with teaspoons. We had no tea at the table, though the servants had green tea with their meals. We had many desserts, various pies,apple, cherry, pumpkin, huckleberry, raspberry, mince, "fireplant" (rhubarb), custard, lemon, steamed apple dumplings, baked apples with cream, rice pudding, bread pudding, Indian pudding, corn starch pudding, coffee jelly, wine jelly, French pancakes (big, one above another, with brown sugar between, cut like a layer cake), floating island (liquid custard with floating meringues), baked custard, stale left-over cake covered with liquid custard, brown (apple) betty, homemade ice creams, ginger- bread with whipped cream, steamed pudding in melon mold with hard sauce, cottage pudding with liquid lemon sauce; we knew what plum pudding was, but did not have it because it was so rich. In summer we had straw- berry and peach shortcakes, THE HOLD-OUTS Customs gradually changed. Father resisted every change determinedly, but usually was defeated. Little butterspreaders, dinner at night instead of midday, napkins on lap only. After the first trip to Europe, mother decided the family was going to dress for dinner every night. Father flatly refused, and 1, 17, did likewise. My small sister consented enthu- siastically to this opportunity to wear her new clothes bought in Paris. But the boys, 8 and 11, were helpless, and had to appear every evening in Eton suits and pumps, the fulldress uniform then for small boys. At dinner complacent mother and daughter in their Paris dresses, two Eton boys speechless with anger, and father and 1 quietly non-conforming. After two weeks of this mother gave up and never tried again. My earliest memories are that at the beginning of a meal all food was on the table, meat, potatoes and vegetables to be served by father. He carved, put the food on plates, and the waitress took the plates to the diners. At each place was a damask napkin, a tumbler of water or milk, a butter- ball on its little plate of chine for every day, silver for best, flat silver plated for everyday, sterling for best. Vegetables cut in small pieces and cooked in milk were in saucers beside the plates. In the center of the table were carafes of water, pitcher of milk, plate of sliced bread, dish of butterballs, jelly, pickles, cream and sugar, salt and pepper. Fingerbowls of water were used at every meal, one at each place. Ours were of thin glass with pressed design. By wetting a finger and running ir around the rim of the bowl we could make a musical note, make the fingerbowl ring. REVOLUTION & REFORM Occasionally Mother developed burstsof elegance. Instead of the waitress ringing a bell or chime of Oriental gongs, she was to announce, "Dinner is served." Kitty was no grammarian, but she objected to the tense, and always said, "Dinner will be served". Mother tried unsucessfuUy to have her PAGE 12 __^ BORN IN 1884 wear a cap. Kitty would have none of it. The most inconvenient decree was when Mother decided no serving dish or pitcher could be left on the table. Everything must be passed. For a second helping of anything Mother rang a bell, summoning Kitty from the pantry to pass the desired dish. Kitty was a very,, quick and efficient waitress, but no human being could keep a table of six, four of them hungry children, continually supplied with food. Serving dishes stood on a small table against the wall behind my chair. By turning somewhat and bending backwards, I could reach this table and help myself. I expected a row, but I was not stopped! I guess Mother felt she had pushed reform as far as was wise. Probably other families had similar revolutions. I remember when dining at a friend's house, his father exclaimed impatiently, "They call them waitresses because they keep you waiting." Another upheaval was when Mother banished Father's cuspidor. He argued there would be no pleasure in smoking his cigars if he couldn't spit. She replied she wouldn't clean the filthy things herself, and she wouldn't ask a maid to do it any longer. Cuspidors were in all public places, even in Pullman sleeping cars, one in each section, cute little brass ones, much stolen for souvenirs. SATURDAY NIGHT BATH Baths were taken Saturday night in preparation for Sunday, when we wore our best suits. Hot water was a by-product of the kitchen coal stove. The boiler was a tall cylinder standing beside the stove, fed by circula- ting pipes behind the fire. After the nurse had bathed my small sister and two brothers, the water wasn't very hot. When I was sent reluctantly to bed I insisted the water was too cold to take a bath. Mother then investi- gated, and sometimes agreed with me. In that case 1 would have to take one Sunday morning. Sometimes she forgot to rouse me in time, and 1 escaped the bath and felt triumphant. Another Sunday triumph had to do with gloves. I must wear kid gloves even if my hands weren't cold. Church was only two blocks away. I put the gloves on so slowly that I often hadn't buttoned the second glove before we were climbing the steps of the church. I wondered why she seemed unconcerned, for certainly I had successfully resisted. It wasn't until later that I realized that merely holding the gloves in my hand had satisfied the proprieties. THE RUMMAGE SALE My Father had only a right hand. He had to buy gloves in pairs, and he hated to throw good things away, so he gradually filled a drawer with unused left gloves. His thrift was finally justified. A new venture, unheard of before, struck Auburn — a Rummage Sale. The town's attics were stuffed with the accumulation of generations, and all might be sold for charity. An empty store was rented, and the attics disgorged their booty. The sale became the main social event; the clerks were society women. Father contributed his dozens of brand new gloves. How to sell them? A young social blade said he could do it, and he did! He sorted the gloves into pairs by colors, and priced them extremely low. The beautiful gloves BORN IN 1884 PAGE 13 attracted young men. By the time they discovered they were all lefts he explained they could wear one glove and carry the other. He sold them all. Almost every attic provided one or more plug or stove pipe hats discarded because their shapes were old-fashioned. The leading undertaker who also had a livery stable in conjunction to furnish hacks for the funeral processions bought the whole lot for his coachmen, who did not worry about fashion. These "glass hacks" were heavy closed carriages, with two seats facing each other and the driver up above in front. The Catholic cemetery was outside town, and most funeral processions thither bound passed up our street. Waitress Kitty would rush to the front windows and eagerly count the hacks. She usually knew whose funeral it was, and the length of the procession was of great interest. These hacks drawn by a team of horses were the cabs of the town until automobiles superceded them. Interest in the Rummage Sale was so great that friends of the salesladies dropped in to watch. One sightseer lay her best parasol down on a counter and turned to greet a friend. The saleslady meanwhile innovently sold the parasol. When the visitor discovered the catastrophe her distress was doubled by the meager price it had brought. There were many runnage sales after this, of course, but mild affairs compared to the novelty of this first one with its irreplaceable stock from ancient attics. PARTIES REMEMBERED Father used to regale me with descriptions of the great parties given in his youth in the 1870' s, in one's own house, not in public halls. The main rooms were cleared of furniture and the carpets covered with crash for dancing. An orchestra played the whole evening. People of all ages were invited. These were receptions with dancing optional, and ex- ceptional food served. A caterer from Rochester brought the food and Negro waiters to serve it. A CRASHING SUCCESS In 1887 our house had been enlarged by a library and large porch, and my parents celebrated with a big reception. 1 was 3 years old and not invited. Mother often mentioned it in after years; she must have con- sidered it a success. The floors were crashed and the new porch walled in with crash. It was June, and the porch became another room. Whether there was an orchestra for dancing I don't remember, but there probably was dancing, or the floors would not have been crashed. One couple among the guests had a private conservatory attached to their house, and that evening a night blooming cereus vine produced three flowers which they brought to the party, and Mother entwined them in the p a r 1 o r chandelier. This, it seems, gave the final touch. THE GREAT RECEPTION In the early 1890's my grandfather and grandmother Fay with my great-aunt Josephine Van Vechten decided to pay off all social indebted- ness with a bang-up swan- song reception. I was living at my grandparents' PAGE 14 BORN IN 1884 home at the time, and recall the preliminary discussions of many days. I was taken along when the invitations were delivered. We were driven from house to house, and I carried the invitation to the door, rang the bell, and delivered the envelope hand to hand. To mail invitations was not elegant enough. At last the great night arrived. The four main rooms were cleared of furniture except dining table and sideboard, and the carpets covered with crash, just like Father's reminiscences; sitting room and dining room on the left as guests entered, drawing room and downstairs bedroom on the right. The empty rooms connected with each other, so guests could circulate in either direction. Under the hall stairs an orchestra hid behind a fence of potted palms. I was twelve years old and allowed to wander around as I chose. I was intensely interested in everything. The dining table was covered with fancy cakes, such as I had never seen before or dreamed of, from Sherry's in New York. But I mustn't touch. And I had to leave the party before anybody touched them. Guests ascended to upstairs bedrooms to leave their wraps. From the upper hall through open doors I could see women primping before mirrors. Some took an unconscionable time. I wondered why they hadn't finished dressing before they came. When they finally considered themselves presentable, they descended to the drawing room where Grandmother, Greataunt, and Grandfather stood in receiving line. Grandmother bent over their hands affectionately as if she had long been yearning to see them. I wondered how she could possibly be so fond of so many people. Great-aunt and Grandfather were cordial, but didn't act as if life would have been ruined if that guest hadn't come. Before the party got beyond the arrival of guests I was banished. FURNISfflNGS AND FRILLS This drawing room had been furnished in the early 1880' s, aubusson carpet with design of roses in delicate shades of rose. Lace curtains with heavy over-curtains usually drawn so sunlight would not fade the carpet. Ebony furniture upholstered in light green, and an enormous gold framed mirror extending from floor to ceiling facing the double doorway into the hall. At either side of the mirror and attached to it were gold pedestals on which stood large Sevres vases. This was a far handsomer but less usable room than my parents* parlor for it had been furnished as a unit, and my parents had to use wedding presents. My grandparents still felt a house must have a best room used only on occasions, while my young parents' room was half parlor, half living room and never closed. Ideas were changing. Next door to my grandparents' home was the home of Grandmother's sister, greataunt Caroline HoUister. Her husband and she built their house around 1870, then went to New York to buy furnishings. They re- turned with enough "chromos" for the whole house. Chromo must have been a popular term for chromolithograph. These were colored prints, without sharp outlines, if my memory is accurate. The energetic couple probably bought also some of the many steel engravings that hung on their walls. Landseer stags and dogs, Lincoln and his Civil War cabinet, the Wyoming Massacre, Trial of Effie Deans, and the most beautiful of all. BORN IN 1884 PAGE 15 seven low relief medallions by Thorwaldsen which hung in a pointed line in the hall. The middle and top one over the hatrack. HATRACKS, CERTAINLY Every house had a hatrack in the entrance hall, a wooden piece of fur- niture, with hooks to hold hats, caps and coats and a central mirror often tall and broad. These hatracks varied greatly in detail and were handsome and convenient. My grandparents' hatrack had a shelf near the floor for overshoes and another boxed shelf above it with a hinged cover for gloves, scarves or other small objects. A person could sit on the cover as on a chair to put on overshoes. Sometimes on the sides were umbrella and cane stands with metal basins to catch drip. Coats hung by little straps inside the back of the collar. Probably what drove out hatracks was the invention of wood and wire coat hangers. Coats on hangers did not look good in entrance halls. They were banished into closets, and hatracks are only a memory. A GROUP DISAPPEARS Also only a memory are the Rogers Groups, well done sculptures in plaster about a foot and a half high, of two or three persons in familiar contemporary situations that anybody could recognize. These were very popular. Grandfather's group stood on a mahogany table under the landing of the stairs just beyond the big walnut hatrack, where the orchestra played at the grand final reception. The incident depicted I forget, but there was a barefoot boy perched on the edge of a table. Eventually the calf of his leg vanished leaving the foot dangling on a delicate wire, probably the victim of some energetic dusting servant. Maybe this is what happened to all the Rogers Groups; they certainly disappeared completely. THE GRAND ROOM The grand achievement of my greatuncle and aunt was their drawing room. The furniture included a cabinet, and a table inlaid with colored woods and decorated with much gilt. At the peak of the cabinet was a bronze figure. Similar chairs were upholstered in delicate silks with deep set buttons, making the seats look like pans of elegant bread bis- cuits. On the table was a piece of French crockery, really very attractive, in soft colors, an old woman in a chair reading a book, and of course, the inevitable handsomely bound book, in this case. The Lady of the Lake. Wooden shields of gilt concealed the rods from which hung heavy window curtains. This golden magnificence must have greatly impressed their young nephew, a boy of eleven years who lived next door, my father's brother. He must have considered it a symbol of family status, for when he eventually inherited the furniture in the 20th century he wanted to place it in the living room of the house he was enlarging. His wife turned thumbs down, and he built a formal entrance against a staircase with two landings over which hung a large tapestry. On the table stood an Italian PAGE 16 BORN IN 1884 marble copy of a nude lady reclining on a wild animal, also from the same 1870 house. No one could lay anything on the chairs. There were two closets with hooks and hangers for that purpose. ALSO IN BERLIN In the summer of 1905 my parents, tourists in Berlin, were going through one of the royal palaces on Unter den Linden. On entering one of the rooms they recognized to their amazement greataunt Cal HoUister's furniture, absolutely identical. In the corner of Aunt Gal's room a Swiss music box stood on a small table. It also was inlaid with colored woods, a bird perched on a leafy branch. It now stands in the corner of our living room, and plays as sweetly as it did nearly a hundred years ago. A brass cylinder is covered with tiny pins which, as it revolves, lifts the steel teeth of what looks like a comb, and these teeth play the notes. The cylinder moves slightly after each tune to bring a new set of pins into action. The sequence of tunes is thus fixed. A set of 6 bells of different tones which harmonize with the tune can be switched on and off. Many wealthy families of the town had such music boxes, some of them with drums as well as bells. I didn't think the drums added much. COMFORTS AND DIVERSIONS Clothes closets for bedrooms were usually walk-in. Rows of hooks on two walls and drawers with shelf cupboards above on the far wall. The closet of my parents' bedroom was as big as the bathroom. But the older generation, my grandparents and greatuncle, had complexes of dressing room, bathroom, and walk-in closets, with fullslzed windows, couch or settee, and not only a zinc bathtub, but a zinc footbath also. They knew how to make themselves comfortable. Greataunt had a greenhouse attached to the rear of her house, and raised many unusual plants and flowers. On her front lawn and on Grandfather's next door stood two large or- namental urns filled with flowering plants and trailing vines from the greenhouse. New York City people had these urns in the little area - ways in front of their houses to furnish a bit of greenery amid the brick and stone. So that became the fashion, and green Auburn must have them too. She and her husband had no children and were free to travel. She entranced me v/ith tales of her travels; to Mount Washington and its cogwheel railroad, the Old Man of the Mountain, that mass of rock that looked like the profile of a man's head, Saratoga's great hotels where fashionable ladies paraded their elegant gowns and jewels on the high- roofed piazzas, nearby Watkins Glen and Niagara Falls of course, Mauch Chunk, Pennsylvania, with its switchback rallcars and burning under- ground coal mine, Asbury Park on the Jersey seacoast, and St. Augustine and the St. John's River in Florida. Tourists didn't go further south than that. Railroad ballast was gravely earth, and the resultant dust made "dusters" desirable, overcoats of thin brown material. Another interest for a child in her house was a stereoscope. Special cameras took photographs of a view from slightly different angles. By looking through the prismatic lenses of a special apparatus at these double BORN IN 1884 PAGE 17 pictures, they became one picture with a third dimension, depth and dis- tance. It made landscapes look very natural. There was a collection of these double photographs mounted on cards, some of them souvenirs of hp.r travels. HELLO, NEW YEAR The custom of New Year's calls had died out before my time. Some families had held open house, regular receptions without invitations, and with punch. The son of one prominent family became a town drunk. My elders told me that when he was an attractive adolescent his proud father took him on the round of New Year's receptions and allowed him to join the men surrounding the punch bowl. People disapproved, with good reason it turned out. In the Nineties, he was no longer an attractive youth, and sometimes amused my contemporaries by tumbling off his bicycle. Now we read of the Gay Nineties. I don't remember thinking they were gay, but I had no other decade to compare them to. The New Year was ushered in by the chimes of St. Peter's Church, no noise, no jubilation, no factory whistles. I was waked out of sound sleep to hear this beautiful introduction. ELECTION PARADES There was noise and jubilation at election time however. For weeks previous there had been torchlight processions. The Fifth Ward Republican Club, or the Third Ward Democratic Club would have a parade all its own, the men wearing capes of oilcloth to protect their coats. Whether each of the wards held two parades I can't remember, but there were several of them, and all very thrilling to a small boy. Nor did I know whether they were intended to influence votes or merely to let off steam. At the election of 1892 I was sick in bed with grippe, but I begged so hard to be allowed to see the Democratic parade of victory that they bundled me up in blankets by a window, where I could see the hundreds of bobbing lights and hear the shouts, yells, horns, bands and general pandemonium. Just below our house the parade rounded a sharp corner, and the cavalcade of horses, to which my Grandfather had lent his Negro coachman on one of his horses, negotiated the corner in wild disorder. I had hoped to pick out his horse, but the confusion baffled me. It resembled a mustang roundup in the Wild West. The torches and the uproar faded into the dis- tance, and I returned to bed. But long into the evening groups of trium- phant celebrants wandered homeward; up our street pausing occasionally to yell "Cleveland, Cleveland." MEANWHILE, BACK IN THE BARN The victory parade for McKinley in 1896 was a much grander affair. We felt the country had been saved from the wicked free silver Bryan, and the town did itself proud. We sat on the roof of my Aunt Cal Hollis- ter's front porch on the wide main street and saw what looked like thou- PAGE 18 BORN IN 1884 sands of twinkling torches approach in military formation from down- town and pass us to disappear over the hill to the west. The street as far as we could see m either direction was full of moving lights. Over the hill the parade turned around and came back upon itself making for a while two parades in opposite directions. I had never felt so elated. And Grandfather's Democratic horse stayed in its barn. There were other parades. The annual circus parade with its ponderous red wagons heavy with gilt, beautiful ladies riding handsome horses, elephants, a hayseed clown band on top of high wagon making awful music, and a steam calliope at the end which could be heard for miles. FIRST AUTOMOBILE A theatrical Uncle Tom's Cabin company also came annually and had a parade in the morning. In one of these parades I saw for the first time an automobile. It was a little steam runabout, almost as light as a horse carriage. The driver kept showing how easy it was to handle, turning to right, left, stopping, starting and what was most wonderful to a horse and buggy boy, backing up quickly to left or right or around in a circle. This fascinated the onlookers. Backing a horse hitched to a carriage was a ticklish job. The big wheels were only too likely to cramp on the carriage and tip it over, and managing a backing horse by reins to a bit in its mouth isn't easy, I never did tip over, but the danger was ever present. RUNAWAYS Tipping over wasn't the only danger of horse and buggy days. Runaways were the greatest danger, and occurred frequently. Horses are awful fools, prone to become terrified at any new or unexpected sight or sound. Blinders on the bridles restricted their vision to forward only, but they could still see ahead and hear noises. Their instinct when frightened is to run, and the running itself seems to increase their panic. Few drivers could pull the reins hard enough to stop a terror blinded horse. In cities they usually ran till they collided with something. Seats in carriages were rather high off the ground, and although a runaway horse's speed was not that of an automobile, serious injuries could result from being thrown out. The driver of a skidding car may be able to steer it a trifle, but the driver of a panicked horse usually can do nothing. One runaway horse in Auburn, running down a street that ended in the main street, crossed it and crashed through the showwlndow of a bookstore, causing a shambles of horse, glass, books and blood. The horse was so badly cut he had to be killed. Another danger was the breaking of the bolt that fastened the Whiffletree to the vehicle. The Whiffletree then fell on the horse's heels, and the harder he kicked it , the harder it fell back and banged his heels. This happened to me when I was a boy of 14, driving my mother and grandmother Ward in a surrey. The horse hit by the Whiffle- tree began to run and his mate joined in; but they were a tame team and I managed to stop them. The newspapers had frequent reports of runaways as now of automobile accidents, but they probably weren't so frequent or so fatal. In describing the runaways the newspapers had to use the word horse so much that they varied it with equine. BORN IN 1884 Helen and Bill, 1899 Bill, summer of 1900 BORN IN 1884 ■»»tS*«^*^'!^ Grandmother Fay, 1900 M > » * ■» — T ■- » *■ ■ - •♦-* n • > * * ■« « *-»4.ih< i « > » * ■» «- Y ■- 1 K « * «■ f A'* - Grandfather Fay, 1904 BORN IN 1884 >^^mj&iLJ^.j^, ^"M,X_^ '.^i^-m.i&^'l'. ^-■i^^m&-j. . Bill, winter of 1906 ■**^>* I-- .'JW%^ Harold, summer of 1902 BORN IN 1884 Helen, summer of 1900 Father and 1, winter 1905 BORN IN 1884 Mother, summer of 1903 The Author, summer 1903 BORN IN 1884 ■"--^Se^-- ''*<- Helen, spring of 1903 Aunt Joe Van Vechten, 1904 BORN IN 1884 -'V •. 1 :'i»iS'' *•.. % ...li Helen, summer of 1905 Aunt Nell and Grandmother Ward Summer, 1904 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 3 1924 068 796 493 Collection of Regionai xiktorf and University Archives C®«iell Universitx, Ithaea^ Mj jfe Born In i884 By Dudley Ward Fay Spring, 1903 63 South Street