Basic Comforts

Although we got electricity on the farm in
1936, it was not until the summer of 1951 that we got indoor plumbing and a
furnace for heating. In one sense,
I guess you could say that we already had indoor plumbing because we did have
some access to water in the house.
In the south west corner of the kitchen there
was a sink with a pump. That pump
brought in rain water from the cistern that was located outside on the south
west corner of the house. Rain water was soft and was used for washing yourself
and for washing dishes, but it was not used for drinking. Drinking water was
obtained by going outside on the back porch and using the well-water pump. In
both cases, the water obtained through the pumps was cold. If we wanted hot
water, we had to heat it up on the stove. And prior to 1936—before
electricity was in the house—the stove was a wood-burning stove. If there
was no fire in the stove, there was no hot water.
Baths were quite an occasion without indoor
hot water. Saturday night was usually bath night. In the summer there were no
problems in taking a bath; but in the cold of winter, it was no fun. We would
get a pan of water from the kitchen pump, put in on the stove to heat it up,
and take the pan into the living room where the big heating stove was. Our
living room stove was about five feet high, and it burned either wood or coal.
It was a black, round stove about two feet in diameter. Grandpa and Grandma Deal’s stove
in town was pretty: it had isinglass covers on small round squares that allowed
you to see the fire. Ours was merely for heat, not beauty.
The wash pan we used was about 12 inches in
diameter and about four inches deep.
You might think that the size of the pan didn’t matter, but water
cooled off very quickly in the pan—especially in a cold house. We would
stand as close to the stove as we could, because the best heat was right up
next to the stove. The farther away from the stove you were, the colder you
got. It didn’t take us long to take a bath. This system also explains why
we took a bath once a week, not once a day.
Without plumbing, we had no indoor toilet. The
toilet was located between the shed and the chicken house. Our toilet paper was
a Sears and Roebuck catalog or some other slick paper. It wasn’t so bad
having to go outside to the toilet in the summer time; but in the middle of a
cold winter, you put off going outside as long as possible. When it was too
cold to go outside in the middle of the night, we used what was called a
“slop jar.” We avoided using that unless we had to because the
urine would smell up the house. And if we had to use it for the other . . . .
When that happened, we would light a piece of string that was hung over the
door knob. Surprisingly, it really did help to reduce the smell. But, of
course, everyone who could smell the burning string knew what had happened!

In the summertime, we took down the living
room stove. The stove pipe would be full of soot collected in it over the
winter. If you weren’t careful, you could get soot all over the living
room. My dad rarely let us help with that job, but I didn’t really care
to do it, anyway. Without the
stove in the middle of the room, we had more room. But in the fall, the stove
would have to go back in. Before we put it up, we would cover it with stove
black to make it look better. It
was like putting black liquid shoe polish on it.
The kitchen stove would keep the kitchen
warm., and the stove in the living room was supposed to heat the rest of the
house. At night both fires would go out. During the night you could get very
cold. We used flannel pajamas, flannel sheets, and as many comforters and
quilts as we needed to keep warm throughout the night. I was lucky in a way
because the chimney from the living ran up through my bedroom. Heat would stay
in the chimney a little longer than the rest of the house.

Until 1936—-when I was six years
old—we didn't have electricity on the farm. In the 1930's the
REA—the Rural Electrification Agency—brought electricity to the
farms of America. Although my dad and mother were strict Indiana Republicans,
they were very glad that Democratic President Franklin Roosevelt's New Deal had
brought electricity to their farm, too.
Although I lived those first six years
without electricity, I don't remember much about living "in the
dark." For light we used kerosene lamps. You put kerosene in the bottom of
the lamp; a wick was put in the kerosene and brought up through a slot in the
lamp fixture. The kerosene would seep up the wick; then you would light the
wick. It would be held in place, but you could raise or lower the wick
depending on how much light you wanted. If the wick was raised too high, the
flame would cause a lot of smoke; and the glass chimney would get all black.
For light in the barn we also used a kerosene lantern. That may be why there
were so many barn fires in those days.
The first electric appliance my folks bought
was a Sears-Roebuck "David Bradley" refrigerator. I think this was my
mother's favorite electrical convenience. It was a two-sided chest style
refrigerator with one side being the freezer. Until then we had to use an ice
box. We would have to go to town to Carl Jean's place to buy 50 pound blocks of
ice or—sometimes—they would deliver ice to our house. Food could
not be kept very long in the old ice box, and milk would go sour quickly (we
called the milk blinky
when it just began to go sour.)
Perhaps my mother's second favorite
electrical marvel was an electric stove. My Uncle Aaron sold my folks a used
one, but to my mother it was as good as brand new. Until then she had had to
cook on an old wood stove. It was difficult to keep an even fire in the old
cook stoves; and baking, in particular, was difficult. The old stove had a
basin to heat water; if there wasn't a fire in the stove, we had no hot water.
With the new electric stove she could heat up water quickly—as much as
she wanted and whenever she wanted.