This is one of my dad's Technicolor photographs. He was probably trying his new Argus Camera out on my grandmother's roses. This was part of the garden near our back steps. Oh, wait, our back "stoop." Notice how the bricks of the stairs blends in with the bricks of the house.
Except the house wasn't made of brick. It was this type of shingle that made it look brick but it really wasn't.
It was one of the reasons why my father and mother questioned whether my grandparents should have bought the house on South Fifteenth Avenue of Mount Vernon, New York at all. Besides its location adjacent to a major thoroughfare and proximity to a bunch of apartment buildings, I have been told that my folks thought the house needed major repairs. While my parents weren't buying the house itself, they would be renting out the second floor and I suppose they felt they had a say in it all.
As a little kid, I learned myself about all the warts.
The back door always got stuck.
Some of the smaller windows didn't open.
There was a part of the bannister going upstairs that always came loose.
Little things would break here and there. I always made sure that I wasn't around for the inevitable "what did you do now." I, of course, had my answer always well rehearsed.
"I didn't do it. It was like that already."
The phony brick façade was just one more thing wrong with our house. But my grandparents had bought it dirt cheap. And so was the rent my folks were paying.
Of course, the crumbling brick shingles did get an assist from me as they hit the ground.
I used to love and mimic baseball games in my backyard. My "catcher" was the brick stoop. It made for a great strike zone. Except when I missed the stoop and would hit the side of the house. Part of the old shingle would crack and fall off. Invariably, my grandmother would be in the kitchen nearby.
"What are you doing?"
Nothing.
Of course, nothing could be easily found lying at the base of the house. Little pieces of brick shingles lying on the ground. I'd quickly clean them up and deposit in the garbage can. Of course, with my luck, Grandma would then come out with a bag of her own trash.
"What's this in here?"
Um, nothing.
This scene would be repeated over and over for about three summers. Meanwhile, thanks to me and just general wear and tear, the shingles that adorned our house were slowly coming off. It was the mirror reverse of the Picture of Dorian Gray. Our house was starting to look uglier and uglier every single day.
But, then, my grandfather died. The very next summer, as if she needed to consume herself with something or anything else, Grandma made a bold decision.
"I want to put aluminum siding on the house."
Huh? I thought that. My father actually said it.
Apparently, unbeknownst to all of us, Grandma had answered the front door to a salesman selling the stuff. Of course, this is never a good idea, especially if you're a senior citizen. But, God bless my grandmother, she was a house afire when she got a bug in her head. Once she wanted something done, she would not rest until it happened.
I think my dad then checked out the aluminum siding guy and he passed the sniff test. Grandma's reasoning was that she wanted to do something to make the house look nicer. And, oh, she had the money. After all, the siding would help keep the house cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter. My mom got a nasty chuckle out of the latter.
"She never puts the heat on in the winter anyway."
Okay, starting as soon as my school was out in June, our house was descended upon by a phalanx of workers who would be there the better part of the summer. Scaffolding was set up all over and you could barely see the house underneath it all. There seemed to be about a dozen craftsmen but, in reality, just two or three of them. I noticed one starting to scrape the crummy brick shingles off. I offered to help. I was an expert.
I am guessing that, in 2014, a house being redone with aluminum siding is probably a two day project. But, back then, everybody was Eldin from "Murphy Brown." Working with precision, but at a snail's pace. There were few hiccups in the long process, except for the day when Grandma complained that a worker was on the scaffold outside her bathroom window when she was in the tub. Um, the window is frosted glass. He can't see a thing.
"Oh, you never mind. He was looking."
When they were done, the removal of the scaffolding took almost as long. Of course, with the house done, it looked brand new. Inside, the bannister still was loose. The windows still stuck. But, in its two-toned aluminum siding of green and white, Grandma was now so proud of her house.
The stuff they used must have been top notch. Almost five decades later, it still looks the same.
"Don't put any dents in my house."
Dinner last night: Channeling my grandmother's hot weather summer supper - sandwich with German cold cuts, cold salads, and pickles.
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