Winter Scene, Painting by Rose Lesnik Mellor, Herman’s cousin.Collection of David and Donna Shooster.
I vividly remember peering out of the upstairs dormer window during some of those cold nights. This window was slightly extended out from the wall, making it possible to see an expanded panorama of the street. The street was deathly still and desolate. Lonely lights hanging from their wooden telephone poles looked spooky as they rocked, creaking slightly back and forth. Not a soul was on the street. Now and then, a car would interrupt the silence and leave tracks that would disappear once the snow covered them. We paid particular attention to keeping the front door of our home clear of snow; it was kept clean right down to the concrete. We had to. In this way, we ensured customers we were opened for business while making sure we could get in and out of our home. If not, the snow would block the entrance. On the sidewalk, up against the front of the house, below the plate glass window, were large iron doors that laid flat on the sidewalk. These were opened when men delivered coal into our cellar. Our home was warmed by a coal-fired heater. Large, grated openings could be found on each of the two floors above the basement into the living areas, allowing the heat to rise and warm our home.
The winter was cold. We got some relief from that heater, but it took a long time for it to circu- late. A coal heater also requires constant atten- tion; it’s a messy enterprise. The residue needed to be cleaned frequently. We carried out the ashes stacked in baskets until a trash wagon came along and took them away. When my dad finally installed oil heat, it was a significant event for us. Oil leaves no residue. By the way, the same truck that delivered the coal in the winter to keep us warm delivered ice in the summer to keep our icebox cool. With the advent of oil heaters and electric refrigeration, those trucks vanished into history. Before the truck started to deliver ice in the summer, I remember hearing a man driving a horse and wagon yelling, “Ice!” We would have a sign in the window telling the driver how much we wanted for that day. Sometimes it was a ten-cent piece, others fifteen. One of our everyday chores was to empty the pan under the icebox where the ice melted. Meanwhile, In the back of the house, we had a detached garage with two floors. The first floor was the garage; the second was rented to a tenant. I came to think of our tenant as a good friend of the family; his name was Joe Story. I never knew much about Joe except that he was good-natured.
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