The ‘Corner House’

The first place that I remember was what I call the “Corner House.”  It was located in Mt. Lebanon, at that time, in the 1930’s, a semi-rural suburb of Pittsburgh, PA.  It was our home.  I lived there with my mother, father and a live-in maid from the age of four through eight.  It was a big, brick two-story house with a large basement in which there was a huge, black furnace,  which burned coke from nearby mines.  There was a big attic which was reached by a flight of stairs.  I never went there.  And a porch swing on which I loved to sit, waiting for my parents to come home from work.  The setting sun magically lit up certain houses on distant hills.  They seemed to be on fire!  There was a big garden with yellow spirea bushes and huge pear tree from which my Daddy hung a swing for me.  Also an orchard with lots of fruit trees.  Peach, plum, apple and many others.  My mother made preserves from the fruit, and Daddy made sweet liqueurs in the basement.  These were served at fancy dinner parties before the Depression.  The women wore evening gowns and the men, dark suits.  I liked the cherry tree best.  It was small, like me.  I could reach up and pick all the sweet cherries I wanted.

The house was well furnished with two wood-burning fireplaces, one in the living-room and one in the dining room.  Persian rugs, heavy dark-red drapes at the tall windows.  One of the significant things that happened in the Corner House was the Christmas celebration each year.  The glowing, ornamented tree, the gifts.  I always received two gifts from family members.  One for Christmas and one for my birthday, which was on Jan. 2.  I still love the Christmas carols, especially the joyful ones, like, “Joy To The World,” and  “Deck the Halls.”  But also “Silent Night, Holy Night,”  “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” and “First Noel.”  I missed those old familiar carols when I arrived in Norway at Christmas time in 1949.  

Another significant thing that happened from time to time was our trips by car to Ligonier for all-day picnics.  I have loved picnics ever since.  In Pittsburgh, unlike NYC where both parents grew up, they had the “Blue Laws” in those days.  People were expected to stay home or go to church on weekends.  No picnics, sports, nor parties.  To avoid those restrictions, my parents sometimes took me by car to Ligonier for Sunday outings.  It was a long drive, 75 miles, mostly uphill into the foothills of the high mountains. There were huge, beautiful pink and white Rhododendron bushes all over the mountain.  There was a mountain stream with big, flat stepping stones, right beside our campfire site.  Mother and I would rush over to the stream and wash our hands and faces in the icy water.  We would gather twigs so that Daddy could make a fire.  He was good at that.  They roasted hot dogs or fried hamburgers over the fire, and put potatoes in the embers to bake.  Everything tasted so good on those occasions!  We always had to climb up the hill afterwards, (I never understood why.)  “To get some exercise,” they said.  Mother called me “Nanny-goat” because I scrambled up and down those hills with such ease. I remember those Sunday trips to Ligonier as one of the happiest memories from my childhood.

I also enjoyed dinners outdoors in Mt. Lebanon, on warm summer evenings.  The three of us seated at a round table under the giant Maple Tree between the Corner House and orchard.  I remember cold wintry nights, sitting on the blue Persian rung in the Dining Room, with a roaring fire in the fireplace.  The heavy dark-red drapes shut out the snowstorm while we sat cozily, popping popcorn.  I still love to do that.  At those moments I felt this little family might endure.  But, it didn’t. 

The most significant thing that happened to me in the Corner House was the departure of Daddy.  He had been working as an electrical engineer in the nearby Westinghouse factory, until it shut down in the Great Depression of the ‘30’s.  He had been unemployed and often depressed for three years, during which my mother supported the family as a lawyer, one of the first women lawyers in Pittsburgh. Then, after the election of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and the introduction of the “New Deal,” he was offered a temporary job in Washington D.C., something to do with the Tennessee Valley Authority. I remember how mother and I were standing at the entrance to his bedroom, singing, “Happy days are here again…” while he was packing to go.  If the job became permanent we were to join him in Washington.  If not, he would return.  I remember him saying to me, “I will come back.”  But he didn’t.  That was in 1933.  I was eight years old.  The following year Mother and I moved to an apartment in Pittsburgh.

The second significant place in my life was Falk School.  It was a private “lab” school under the auspices of The University of Pittsburgh’s School of Education.  Their motto was, and still is: “Spirit of Inquiry.”  The classes were small, 10-12 students;  the teachers very supportive.  The atmosphere was lively and joyful.  I entered in the 4th grade and graduated from 8th grade in 1938.  I loved that school; the teachers, the Principal, Dr. Chorowski,  and some of my classmates.  I excelled in writing and artwork, though I was very poor at spelling.  I was chosen to play Alice in a production of “Alice In Wonderland.”  In later years I often said jokingly, “That was the high point of my life!”  

Many decades later, in 2007 I had several dreams telling me to return to Falk School as a volunteer teacher.  I was then in my 80s.  I had spent many enjoyable years as a Parent Volunteer in our children’s and grandchildren’s classes in Davis. I encouraged the children in their artwork and creative writing.   With the help of two Falk School teachers and two friends who knew a lot about dream work, we created a “Dream Theater.” 

A group of 8th graders, using costumes and props provided by me, acted out several of their dreams.  The following day they made collages based on those dreams. We had lots of fun.  In 2008 I received the “Outstanding Alumni Award” from the University of Pittsburgh, a great honor.  I believe I received that honor mainly because I had been subsidizing Falk School for many years, especially the Artist-in-Residence programs.  Pittsburgh was a significant place for me also, later on when we moved back to Mt. Lebanon.  I attended the high school there, graduating in June, 1942, just when the U.S. entered World War II.