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My Thoroughly
Modern 50's
Don Ferguson
I remember the sunshine in 1958, I remember Dad's
optimism, and I remember how modern everything was.
It was a warm day in our small Illinois town. Dad drove
Mom, my brother and me to 508
South Ninth Street.
Mom and Dad had lived through the Roaring 20's, the Great Depression, and World War II.
Dad liked the 1950's, the "rocket age." As
a shift-supervisor for a huge rotogravure printing plant, he worked surrounded by walls of
dials, switches and
blinking lights, that controlled giant, screaming, printing-presses. They shot out
"precision color work" for annual catalogs and other customers.
Dad liked to pull a jeweler's magnifier from his
pocket and check competitors' printing for
"imperfect register." When he traveled, he liked to stop at factories and
plants and ask for tours.
We reached the front door of the house.
The house was new, square, one-story. It sat on a small plot of land,
a church to the right, a
vacant lot to the left. The exterior was painted a dark blue. As we entered the
empty premises, our footsteps and voices made hollow, resonant sounds.
"Johnny, was this breezeway added after
the original construction?"
"I think so, Mildred. It's over a
thousand square feet if you count this breezeway. Look
here where they
installed this drop-down desk with this built-in light."
"Does this gray floor tile run everywhere
in the house? No carpeting anywhere?"
"That's right. No carpeting to care
for."
"And no basement! Isn’t the floor cold?
Where would I do laundry? What about storage? Where's
the furnace?"
"They built this fine little place on a cement slab.
But just think, we’ll never hear the floors creak! And
the heat – it's the latest thing – hot water radiant heat, copper
tubes hidden in the walls. It’s the heat of the future. Silent.
Heats you, not the air. For storage, look at this." Dad reached up for a chain dangling overhead in a hallway.
He pulled it, and a
folding stairway appeared.
"You can just walk up these stairs and
store everything you want in the attic. Now follow me to the
kitchen. See? The washer and dryer hookup are at the north end.
"The
radiant system boiler and hot water heater are down in a pit! The hot water
heater is electric, and the boiler runs on fuel oil. Of course I'll have the
burner converted from oil to natural gas. Gas is so much cleaner."
"They’re down in a what?"
"In a pit. Here," said Dad,
opening a door, "You enter here, flip on this
light, and just climb down this metal
ladder into this concrete pit. Come on down and let’s take a look.
It's a
clean, roomy pit."
"Johnny, I’d just as soon not climb
down a ladder into a pit."
"Can I see the pit, Dad?"
"Well, let’s just show the rest of the
house to Mom first. You see Millie, the refrigerator goes here, and you have
all this work space over here. The sink has a built-in garbage disposal.
To turn
it on, you push this cap into the drain and turn it clockwise."
"ROoooAAAaaaR!" roared the
disposal, making a noise like a chainsaw at full throttle. Mom jumped back three
feet.
"And," said Dad, "Here’s a dishwasher!
The folks who built this house were electrical
contractors, and they put in the latest. Let me see if I can start it."
"That’s all right, Johnny," said
Mom. "Let’s just look for now. You know this kitchen is too small to hold
a table. You can’t eat in here."
"You’re right, but eat-in
kitchens are old-fashioned. You prepare the food here, and pass the
food through that rectangular opening in the wall. The southeast corner of the
living area is the living-dining area. It’s very open, very modern."
Mom was leaning over the counter, peering
through the rectangular wall opening. She reached up and touched a switch. A
recessed fluorescent light flickered on. "You put the food through this
opening?" she asked.
"Look at this, you’ll like this,"
said Dad. He motioned us all towards the built-in range top.
"The switches on this range are light-up push-buttons. Go ahead and push
one."
Mom pushed the first in a row of clear plastic buttons. It glowed a bright royal blue. "Each selector lights up in
a different color," said Dad, poking his way up the scale. "Next green, then yellow, then orange, then red for ‘high.' All four rows are like
this."
"That’s neat!" I announced.
"Why is this left-front burner
blank?" asked Mom.
"This one isn’t a burner," said
Dad, lifting a lid. "It’s a built-in deep-fat fryer. Look how deep it
goes. " Mom looked
dubiously down the frying well.
"Those built-in ovens over there
operate independently. This top one has both a timer and a rotisserie." Dad pushed another button, and the electric motor began
turning the spit with a precision whirring noise.
"And a few other
things," Dad continued, striding into the empty living room, his words
echoing on the hard surfaces. "This wall of glass block lets in natural light without sacrificing privacy. You
pull this
spring-loaded light fixture down from the ceiling and it stays over the table at
whatever height you want. This picture window on the west wall gives us a
beautiful view." He flipped another switch.
"Look -- fluorescent lights are hidden
in the valance." True enough, light was now streaming down
from a hidden source. Opening a closet, he continued, "Every closet has electric lights.
Now follow me outside." We trooped out the west door.
"This patio is a concrete slab -- no
maintenance! Now look at this telephone pole."
The builders had firmly planted a great big telephone pole beside the patio.
We all shaded our eyes to gaze up at the top, where a motor and large
television antenna perched. "They used a telephone pole so they wouldn’t need any guy wires. They told me you can pick up
television from Davenport, Rock Island, Chicago, and Rockford. "
Denny and I imagined our Zenith hooked
up to that pole, pulling in crisp, clear baseball games.
"We might as well
walk around and see the garage."
"Why two electric meters?"
"The second one is an ‘off-peak
meter.’ It has a timer to run the electric water heater only at night, and
the power company charges a very cheap rate."
"What happens if we want hot water during
the day?"
"It’s a big tank, so it should last. You would try to do most of your bathing and washing in the
evening, so it can heat during the night. People everywhere will use the off-peak
system by 1960, according to the electric man."
"This land alongside the house looks low. I'd like to see how it drains."
Back in the house, Dad wrapped up the tour on
a positive note. "They used the latest building
materials here in the bathroom," he intoned. "These gray plastic bathroom tile are the latest thing.
Now over here in the master bedroom, again you see
the closet space and the lighting in the closet."
"Johnny, what is the purpose of that
spotlight on the ceiling?"
We all looked up. In addition to the ordinary
ceiling light, the builders had installed a heavy duty 150-watt
reflector spotlight, pointed towards the probable location for the bed.
"Your guess is as good as mine, Mildred.
A heat lamp, maybe? A sunlamp? Maybe they wanted to highlight their blanket." As we left the room, Mom was still looking back over her
shoulder.
"No two ways about it," Dad
concluded, "This is a modern little house."
Within a month we were moving in. We were all
intrigued by the "modern" features. I can still feel the
sunshine streaming into the drape-less rooms, smell the Windex and Pine-Sol as the house received
a spring cleaning. I can see Dad climbing the ladder, Denny carrying boxes, Mom painting.
We repeated the tour for everyone we knew.
Some people descended the ladder into the utility pit; others climbed the
folding stairs to the attic.
Women gave their solemn opinions of Mom's kitchen
and dining arrangements. Men debated the wisdom of letting the power company
control Dad's water heater. No one could figure out the mysterious spotlight in
the bedroom.
It was a small house but it felt modern.
Everything felt modern in 1958, as modern as could be.
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