Those of you with an encyclopedic memory of the house on Main Street will recall the dull yellow outside color when we first moved in. And more specifically the large exterior wall that faced Mrs. Gubitz's house and was to the rear of the bay windows.
Oh, and a third thing to recall: the outside surface of the house was done in slats, if that's the right word, about six to eight inches wide.
When during probably our second summer there, there was a large push to paint the place, I watched as Dad raised the dull gray steel ladder (God I can hear it to this day) to this section of the house and climbed up, in his shorts and sneakers, armed with his hand scraper. We all remember what a focused guy he was, how uncompromising he could be about the right way to do something.
He went to work on the uppermost slat, just under the roof, at the edge nearest the front of the house. It had to be at least 18 feet off the ground, and was probably something more than 20. He scraped and scraped; he climbed down and moved the ladder and went back up.
He spent most of a morning and all of a hot summer afternoon at this. And at length he reached the end of his 8 inch-wide section exterior wall. Plainly he'd made a big difference. The surface was roughed up to his satisfaction; the scraped and bare section contrasted vividly with the tired color of the rest of the house.
Once back on the ground he stood and reviewed his work. He stood for fully ten minutes, looking up. He'd spent some arduous hours on that narrow band, and I for one was not surprised that he wanted a break from it.
During this time I'd been busy scraping the pillars of the front porch, but would check on him now and then.
I fully anticipated him shifting the ladder back to the left, typewriter-wise, to start on the next slat. But instead, he went inside. I thought, Okay, tomorrow's another day, for sure.
The next thing I knew (a few days later and without any further scraping from Daddy), there was a flatbed truck in front of the house and some materials were being delivered. It was exterior siding. An executive decision had been made, and it didn't involve scraping the entire outside of that imposing house. - Luke
(Note: the above picture was taken by yours truly on my honeymoon trip in 1976. That explains the new white roof.)
Oh, and a third thing to recall: the outside surface of the house was done in slats, if that's the right word, about six to eight inches wide.
When during probably our second summer there, there was a large push to paint the place, I watched as Dad raised the dull gray steel ladder (God I can hear it to this day) to this section of the house and climbed up, in his shorts and sneakers, armed with his hand scraper. We all remember what a focused guy he was, how uncompromising he could be about the right way to do something.
He spent most of a morning and all of a hot summer afternoon at this. And at length he reached the end of his 8 inch-wide section exterior wall. Plainly he'd made a big difference. The surface was roughed up to his satisfaction; the scraped and bare section contrasted vividly with the tired color of the rest of the house.
Once back on the ground he stood and reviewed his work. He stood for fully ten minutes, looking up. He'd spent some arduous hours on that narrow band, and I for one was not surprised that he wanted a break from it.
During this time I'd been busy scraping the pillars of the front porch, but would check on him now and then.
I fully anticipated him shifting the ladder back to the left, typewriter-wise, to start on the next slat. But instead, he went inside. I thought, Okay, tomorrow's another day, for sure.
The next thing I knew (a few days later and without any further scraping from Daddy), there was a flatbed truck in front of the house and some materials were being delivered. It was exterior siding. An executive decision had been made, and it didn't involve scraping the entire outside of that imposing house. - Luke
(Note: the above picture was taken by yours truly on my honeymoon trip in 1976. That explains the new white roof.)
I remember the old yellow color also. I remember a man came over to the house, and, walking around the house with Dad, started pulling some red-colored strips (I assume it was some sort of molding) off the side of the house. Then he started working on adding the siding. He spent the better part of the summer working on the house. I remember him being shirtless, the skin on his back getting very dark, as he hammered away.
ReplyDeleteGosh, Matt, what a memory! I've always admired you for that.
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