Located in the heart of Over-the-Rhine, Findlay Market was the mostpopular market in Cincinnati in the early twentieth century, as itis today. On market days pushcarts, wagons, and pedestrians com-bined to make this one of the city's most congested areas.

This manuscript is written from personal experience and deals with the Over-the-Rhinearea between 1913 and 192,3. The work deals first hand with life and customs of afamily, particularly the children, in the once predominantly German neighborhood."Much has been written on this subject by writers obtaining their information fromresearch. This piece is from a child's viewpoint as a resident of thedistrict in that. . . time." The Author

Over-the-Rhine -U.S.A.

by George M. Henzel

o-o-ta-a-a-to-o-es, di-i-me a ha-a-lf pe-e-e-ck." It's dusk on a summerevening and I'm at a "stand," more asleep than awake, hawking fruits

and vegetables. Soon market is over and I've earned my quarter for the day'swork.

The year is 1919, the war is over, and I'm nine. The half peck a unit ofdry measure, and the stand is at Findlay Street Market in the Over-the-Rhinedistrict of Cincinnati. Over-the-Rhine because a canal from Toledo to Cin-cinnati passes through the city's basin area. South of the canal is down-town. North, and to the foot of two of Cincinnati's seven hills> is an areaalmost wholly German. "To cross the canal into this German neighborhoodwas like crossing the Rhine River," said the businessmen downtown. WorldWar I had brought about many changes, but customs die hard, and manytraces of that "Vaterland" lingered on.

Other outdoor markets served the city, but none the size of Findlay. Nofixed limits were set. Depending upon the number of German truck farmers,local hucksters, and the weather, it grew and shrunk. Like an octopus, withthe market house as its body, it reached in all directions. And it was mygood fortune to live along one of the tentacles. That my parents felt dif-ferently about living in a tenement, never occurred to me. They could notafford a home in the suburbs.

An artist might recapture the market scene, but lost are the heavenlysmells of a day spent at old Findlay Market. The aroma of the citrus fromCalifornia, and even the wooden crates in which it arrived, and the perfumeof the shipped, and the ripe locally grown apples. The local ones "were grownfor taste, not looks," claimed the farmers. Gone is the Russet, with its nut-like flavor, but covered with rusty spots.

Concord grapes, Indiana musk melons, quinces, pawpaws, sugar pears,Damson plums, cherries, goose berries, and a dozen other mouth-waterers atthe stands tended by the German speaking, or German accented farm wives.Add to these, the wet with dew, freshly picked vegetables—sweet and golden-bantam corn, rhubarb, string beans and unshelled butter beans, and peas;radishes—red and tasty or white and hot, each bite with a "schnap like a rifleshot," they bragged.

And as night fell, the empty crates and boxes were burned, and the coal-oiland carbide lanterns were lit, all adding their pungent odor to the air, andthe aroma was almost too much to bear. But all of this was anti-climax, justa build-up for what awaited you in the market house.

From the moment you opened one of the heavy metal swinging doors, yournose was assailed by one treat after another. Kunkel's Pickels—"every pickled,preserved, and vinegar-ed delight or relish imaginable," was their boast;Speise's Cheese—where you'd drool over the cheese-makers art from thecorners of the earth, from rat cheese (because it was used to bait mousetraps) to that huge two-hundred pound wheel of genuine Swiss. An exceptionhere, while you held your nose, and even your breath, to pass the display ofLimburger, nauseating to us but a delight to the old German beer drinkers.

Meat counters took up much of the market house, and nothing was pre-cutor packaged. It was twenty-five cents worth, a pound or two pounds, a two-inch or three-inch cut for sauerbratten, a veal cutlet for wiener schnitzel, andyou watched it cut from the "quarter." If you were smart, it was joked, "youstood to one side of the scale and kept a wary eye on the butcher's thumb."Busiest spot among the butcher counters was Busch's Sausage, where theGerman art of Sausage-making was practiced. Even the rival butchers agreedthat "only a Knockel Kopf could pass this counter without a longing glance ata Ham-sausage, a Liver-sausage, or a huge Wiener Wurst."

And then, lastly, that magnet, drawing every kid—the cookie counter.Every kind of cookie, but number one to the kids—broken ice-cream cakes! Abargain because they were broken. Probably purposely broken, for use as aloss-leader.

Leaving by the front door of the market house, you passed the fellow whoground and sold fresh horseradish, a frequent ingredient in German cooking.If he was grinding, a real good sniff, cleared all eight sinuses and wateredyour eyes. And a block down the street, crossing the bakery gratings andwafting in the hot bread and pastry aromas, you came to the tea and coffeestore. Here, the roasting coffee and peanuts, and the bulk tea and spices, toquote the owner, "took your nose on a free trip to the East Indies."

Findlay Market was not the only place to earn a quarter for a day's work.There was the manager of the neighborhood chain grocery store, who some-times needed help. "You know how to use a scale?", was his only question,for the food sold in grocery stores at that time came in bulk. Sugar, potatoes,lard, cheese, dates, rice, beans, nuts, raisins, and prunes were received infrom twenty-five to one-hundred pound bags, wooden boxes and buckets,and cans. The quarter-a-day weigher weighed these into one, two, and five-pound paper bags or split-board trays. Most fruits were not weighed, theysold by the dozen and the vegetables by the measure.

Burlap bags were opened with the curved banana-knife used for removing"hands" of bananas from the stalks, that were hung from the ceiling on a

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knotted rope. Boxes and buckets of dates, raisins, prunes, soap, smoked fish,and candy were opened with the cheese-knife, which also cut cheese and wasused once, a manager claimed, "like a machette, to discourage a would-behold-up man." Tools, were held to a minimum and had many uses.

Cardinal rule for a weigher, as laid down by the manager, was that "Theweighed-up bags must count out to AT LEAST as much as the original bagor box. The one-hundred pound bag of sugar, that produces forty-nine two-pound bags, will also produce an ex-weigher." If it produced fifty-one two-pound bags, it must have been heavy to start with, or the weigher was buyingjob insurance. Managers coming up with fifty-one two-pound bags too often,also became ex-managers. The "large economy size" idea had not yet ap-peared and the German hausfraus shopped often and bought in smalleramounts, so there was lots of weighing.

Biggest bug-a-boo in weighing, was the lard, dates, raisins, and prunes.Scraping fifty one-pound trays of room temperature lard from a fifty-poundcan is apt to be a messy job for a preteen-age kid. But worse, were the dates,raisins, and prunes. Only an ice-pick would separate them, and they stuckto everything they touched, including the weigher. Ugh! If your work metwith the manager's approval, he might ask, "You good at arithmetic? Canyou add a long column of figures?" If you said you could, he would let you"wait" on a few customers, but he'd check your additions for some time, justto make sure. Cash registers came later, and the money-wise hausfraus tookthe added slips home with them to check the figures.

There was no self-service, the customer stood and asked, and the clerkor manager went and got. To the kid learning to clerk, it was, "Don't climbon those shelves, use that extension arm to get those items on the highshelves." or "Better let me cut that piece of cheese, and you watch a coupleof times." or "Keep your fingers in back of that banana knife. It cuts kidsfingers just like it cuts bananas." This early training produced many futuremanagers, among them an older brother of mine who later "ran" one of theirstores.

And yet another source of spending money was the lady that lived on thesecond floor next door. It was generally agreed by us small fry, that sheweighed two-pounds less than the Island Queen, one of our river steamboats.Actually, well over four-hundred pounds, she would call from the window,"Hey, Sonny, will you go to the grocery for me?" And surely you would, be-cause you knew there was always a nickel in it for you. She could not comedown the stairs forward. The calf of her leg, sliding against the edge of thestair tread, would push her foot off of the next tread down. And then it wasbumpidy, bumpidy, bump, bump, BUMP! She only came down the stairsafter dark, and then backwards. And this was done in slow motion, with a"death grip" on the bannister. She never went to the grocery.

For eager beavers, thirteen was an eagerly awaited age. Sixteen was the

compulsory age for school attendance, but at thirteen you could work parttime. When you reached this magic age, you went to the candy store at Lib-erty and Pleasant streets and hit up the owner for a paper route. He wasagent for the newspapers. He would tell you "Get your Birth Certificate, takeit to the Board of Education on Ninth St. and get a work permit. Then seeme."

Papers sold for two-cents, with less than one-cent going to the paper boy.Delivery routes and corners to hawk the papers came up frequently. Deliv-ering a route and hawking the baseball extras, paid you about a quarterEVERY DAY. On your corner, with your bag on your shoulder, it was, "Extra,Extra, Reds win a ball game," or "Extra get your late edition, Big BankRobbery." Crying out the headlines on the street helped to boost sales. If youwere ambitious, in a week's time you could buy a pair of skates! I never feltricher.

Unfortunately, this feeling of "riches" did not extend to Dad. We hadmoved to Cincinnati from a small town to afford us kids a better education.The town from where we had moved was also mostly German and he likedthe Over-the-Rhine people, but he did not like living in the tenements. Busi-ness had not yet picked up to allow him to move us to a house in the suburbs.

Youngsters inOver-the-Rhinehad severalmeans of earningextra spendingmoney, whichincluded workingat Findlay Mar-ket, clerking inthe neighborhoodgrocery stores, orhawkingnewspapers.

One of the thrills of summer was riding the Island Queen to ConeyIsland on Findlay Market Day. Some kids with a handful of passesspent the entire day riding up and down the river.

Never a Dull Moment

Life for us kids was not all scrounging for jobs, there was plenty of timefor amusements. That twenty-five cents, earned at market, the grocery store,or selling papers, was a bonanza in that day. Maybe it took all day to earn it,but it meant two shows and enough penny candy to satisfy, and probablydecay, a sweet tooth.

Once a year was Findlay Market Day at Coney Island. Not Coney Island,New York, but Coney Island, seven miles by river steamboat up the OhioRiver. All day and into the evening, the Island Queen, the Island Maid andthe Morningstar, their steam whistles hurrying the late-arriving passengers,arrived and departed from the foot of Broadway. And as the picnic postersaid, "Ride the free excursion boat to our picnic at Coney Island." All any kidneeded for a great day at Coney was ten cents, a Findlay Market Boat Passand a hungry look. Five cents for carfare each way to and from the wharf,the boat pass was free, and the hungry look for the picnic area at the Island.Every picnicking "burger" family had more food than they could eat, andit was, "Hey, Sonny, you wanna sandwich or some cookies?" And who didn't?

Of course, if you had MONEY, there were rides like the Cyclone and theLoop the Loops, and also booths and other attractions, but what kid neededthose luxuries. The boat ride alone, was a big part of the day, and some kidswith a handful of passes, spent the day riding up and down the river. Therewere many things to do on the boats. Go up the wide stairways to the top deck

and hold your ears, or try to holler louder than the steam calliope. Hang overthe back rail and watch the huge stern paddle wheel churn the river, andmaybe your stomach. Or, if on a side-wheeler, go below and watch the backand forth movement of the long "arms" that drove the side paddle wheels. Orsneak down to watch the action in the boiler room until a stevedore shouted,"Git away from that gate! You ain't 'lowed down here!"

Sighting the excursion boat from the opposite direction, a cry would goup. Every kid aboard would dash to the passing side, waving wildly at thewildly waving kids on the passing boat. Fortunately, enough grown-upsaboard stayed put, or the boats would have capsized. A few other steamboatsalso still plied the Ohio River, but this was the lull between the day of thesteamboat and the present diesel tug. The railroad was king, and about to bedeposed by the auto and the truck.

Many other organizations had "days" at Coney and some had their "days"at Chester Park, a rival of Coney's, but in the city, not on the river. The news-paper for whom I carried, had "Peter Rabbit" day at Chester, named for astory that ran in their paper. The newspaper would print a notice that, "This'day' was for their paper boys, who would be given strips of ride tickets andadmission free." The Clark Street carline, that went to Chester Park, was theonly line in the city using trailers. Naturally, no kid rode in the first cars-all jammed into the trailers.

At the park, lines for the rides were long, but worth waiting out. With ridetickets gone, the last ticket was saved for Hilarity Hall. The sign outside said,"Once inside, everything is free. The Giant twisting Slide, the Soup Bowl, theSpinning Saucer, the House of Mirrors, and enough others to keep you occu-pied all day." The trouble was, in all this movement, you could lose the nickelsaved for the carfare home. Mom solved this problem for me by wrapping anickel in a handkerchief and safety-pinning it inside of my pocket.

The Clark Street car ride was the best in the city. In addition to the trailers,it passed a lot of nice smelling businesses, and a few not so nice smelling.Everybody said, "Even a blind man would know where he was. His nose wouldtell him." To fully enjoy the ride, the windows had to be open. First there wasStreitman's Factory and the smell of the cookies baking. Next, Jergens SoapCo., and the odor of perfumed soaps and lotions. Soon you approached theStock Yards and you pinched your nose to keep your stomach from doingnip-ups. If you got your fingers off of your nose just in time, you caught thesmell of Kahn's American Beauty Hams. Another mile or so and you werepassing through Ivorydale, named for Procter and Gamble's Ivory Soap.The smells here were not the same as those back at Jergens, inasmuch asP & G made a lot of products, the odor of which spread over all of Ivorydale.All of this for a nickel.

Excursions were week day, summer things to do, but every Saturday wasshow night. You either saved a dime from what you earned, or begged until

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The Clark Street carride was one of thebest as the line passednumerous aromaticbusinesses. Everybodysaid, "Even a blindman would knowwhere he was." Odorsranged from the deli-cious smell of cookiesbaking, to soap makingbyP&Gat Ivorydale,to the pungent smell ofthe stockyards.

Stockyards

- I f I I I -»

At Chester Park onesaved the last ticketfor Hilarity Hall foronce inside everythingwas free.

All a kid needed for a fun filled day at Coney Islandwas ten cents, a Findlay Market boat pass, and ahungry look.

Mom gave you one to get rid of you. Nickel for the show and a nickel forcandy. Candy was from either Mrs. Ryan's Candy Store at Liberty and GooseAlley or the Greek owned French Nougat, at Liberty and Vine streets. Ourfolks alowed that, "Mrs. Ryan had the patience of a Saint. Stand for minuteson end while we kids ran our eyes up and down the candy case and finallymade up our minds. This penny item, that two-for, or that three-for, to getthe most for our nickel." If not Mrs. Ryan's, then the French Nougat, withits many flavors of hard, pan candy. Pan candy was hard as stone and wasbroken into pieces with a small metal hammer. Held in the mouth awhile,it turned chewy enough to pull the fillings from your teeth. A nickel "toot" or"poke" of candy lasted for most of the show.

To really splurge, you saved your nickel for the candy vending box fas-tened to the back of the seat in front of you in the show. If it was empty, youcrawled over the kids on either side, or stretched over the back of the seatuntil you found a loaded one. Pushing your nickel into a slot, popped openthe top of the box and out came a nickel Hershey Bar. This was for fancytastes. Imagine the racket, with a hundred or so kids rattling bags, squirmingacross seats and wildly cheering and screaming at the Pearl White Serialon the screen.

The candy making art was at its peak, but the denture making art, a directresult of the former, was little further along than the George Washingtonmodel. Mom wore her lower denture, very low, in fact, in her apron pocket,except when eating. "With five active kids on the loose, where would youhave kept yours?" she asked.

The show held turkey raffles around Thanksgiving. One night about 9:00p.m. after the show, my sister and I brought a live turkey, that we had won,back to the tenement flat! Didn't faze Mom even a little bit. She butchereddressed, and baked it for Thanksgiving.

In addition to Coney and Chester, picnickers had the choice of several"Groves," such as Strieker's. These Picnic Groves were acreages, a shortwalk into the country from the ends of several street car lines. One Sundayeach summer was the Barber's Union Picnic, usually at the end of theOakley car line. From noon till dusk, there was baseball, horse shoe pitching,pinochle, beer, soft drinks and, of course, the lottery wheel. While we kidsplayed and roamed the area, the barbers talked barbering and griped abouttheir hated competitors, the scabs.

Considering the hours and barbering prices of the day, it's hard to believethat they were "Union." "We work from eight to eight daily, eight to mid-night Saturday. And Journeymen Barbers earn nine-dollars per week, base,plus a percentage over a certain amount of receipts! How in the world canthe 'Scab' work longer hours and for less money?" said Dad. He was a strongunion member, whether a Master or a Journeyman Barber, and dirtiestword in his vocabulary was "Scab," said with such force that we kids thoughtit was a cuss word.

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Sights Galore

When there wasn't something to do, there was something to see. For in-stance, our neighbor who backed down the stairs. The only reason she camedown at all was to attend the show, one block away. She went through theback yard, out a double back gate, down Goose Alley to the side exit of theshow. Some neighborhood kid, with the permission of his or her parents,always accompanied her. At the show, she said to the kid, "Go around frontand buy two tickets, and tell the Manager to come to the side door." TheManager would come to the inside of the side exit, open the door, and let herin. Next to this side door, the arm between two seats had been taken out anda plank put in to re-inforce the double seat. The Manager said, "Nobody withan ounce of sense, would sit on this uncomfortable seat, so it was alwaysempty for use by this good customer."

Like most grossly overweight people, she passed away at an early age. Thefuneral was held at home, and she was laid out in a hastily built large coffin.The funeral director decided that, "In no way could six men, good andstrong, not even six big 'Deutschmen' ease that coffin down those stairs.Arrangements would have to be made with a piano mover." They winchedher out the front window! A piano dolly rolled her to the hearse and she washefted aboard. Where-upon the floor of the hearse settled some six inchesand the spring leaves bent the other way.

While a piano mover assisted funeral might seem rather odd, life in thearea was full of such sights. A street car jacked up off its tracks to remove avictim underneath, still wearing his skates. Seems he didn't know how to

Sometimes astreetcar lost itsbrakes comingdown a hill, espe-cially Vine Streethill, causing it tojump the tracks.

They drained the canal! "That canal was as mucha part of Cincinnati as the Rhine River was a partof Germany. They wouldn't drain the Rhine River,would they?"

throw one skate crosswise behind the other to brake his speed. Anotherstreet car lost its brakes on Vine Street hill. The injured motorman said, "Wehit the curb halfway down at about fifty-miles-an-hour. She jumped thetracks, crossed the sidewalk, went through the store front and smashed thewhole building."

Most of these happenings meant little to us kids, but there was one thatdismayed us. They drained the canal!!! Imagine that, drained the CANAL!Opponents to this action, like us, claimed that, "That canal was as much apart of Cincinnati as the Rhine River was a part of Germany. They wouldn'tdrain the Rhine River, would they?" Why, even the prefix on our telephonenumbers, was Canal. Post Office Station V, that served us, was known in thePost Office as "Swim," for how else would you cross the Rhine, but swim.Those canal boats, pulled by mules, were part and parcel of our city. Thatwas our River. We kids built rafts and floated on it. The foot bridges thatcrossed it were our gymnasium equipment. On a dare, we'd cross hand overhand, hanging from a tie-rod under the foot bridges. The rapid transit tubes

that they built in the old canal bed were also at first a playground for us.Later, they became a dangerous area for kids, and were boarded up whenthe parkway was completed.

The canal and later the parkway, made a turn at what would have beenEleventh Street. It thus passed a block away on two sides of WashingtonPark, largest park in the area and center for much Over-the-Rhine groupactivity. Band concerts at the band stand with Sousa Marches, a baseballdiamond, a swimming pool for kids, and a dance pavilion. Small local dancecombos played once or twice a week in the summer for teen-age and youngadult dancers. The fee was five-cents per dance, and this activity was not forus kids. The dancers were dressed in their best and behaved the same as theywould have at a downtown ballroom. We kids came to stare, and were thor-oughly ignored by these "elders" who had found something called "girls," andthey now looked down their noses at us brats and our antics.

The young people in this age group, which included my sister and olderbrothers, also got up Sunday or holiday hikes. They would go by street carto the end of some car line and then hike several miles to the end of anothercar line and return home. Lunches were sometimes carried and hikers, dar-ingly, wore knickers and bloomers. Many romances blossomed. (How utterlydifferent from "street gangs" and "Hell's Angels.")

Some of our playgrounds, such as the streets and the canal were a bit onthe dangerous side, but Marconi was still inventing the radio, and televisionjust science-fiction. Who needed them! There were sights a plenty to be seenand enjoyed if you kept your eyes and ears open and your imagination work-ing. Within a short walk or a five-cent car ride, were all the wonders in theworld.

A great place to build that imagination was the Old Public Library, a fewblocks across the "Rhine" in the other direction. First the Fairy Tales, thenSecretary Hawkins and on up to O'Henry and the thousands of other ad-venture books in the Children's Room. In the grown-ups section, the bookswere up on balconies three or four stories high, and in a half-circle aroundthe room. This because the Library was in an old Opera House, and thebalcony and boxes were now filled with book racks. To a child's eye, thatceiling was a mile high. If we kids went in there and headed for those bal-conies, a librarian would stop us with, "No, no, the children's room is upstairsin front. And be quiet, there are students in here studying." This with a fingerin front of her mouth in the "Sh-h-h" position.

Besides the books that we carried home, we also lugged a "stereopticon"and the pictures of far-away and exciting places. Carrying home the suit-case holding the stereopticon and pictures gave us almost as much of a kickas looking at the pictures. On many an occasion, we ran, more than walked,to make it home in time for supper, because we were so wrapped up in someadventure book, that we lost track of time. Television is a severely restricted

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The Old Public Librarywas a great place for achild to wile away thehours and let hisimagination run free.Located in an old operahouse with the balconyand boxes filled withbook racks, it looked toa child as if its ceilingwas a mile high.

medium, when compared with a child's imagination turned loose in a libraryfull of adventure books!

Four of Cincinnati's inclines were still running, street cars and horsedrawn vehicles had trouble getting up the city's seven hills. Mt. Adams,Bellevue, Fairview, and Price Hill Inclines were in use, and Bellevue wasonly blocks away. On a dull day, with nothing else to do, you could climbBellevue hillside and if you were halfway up and under the incline, BOTHplatforms, going up and coming down, met and passed over you at the sametime. And you were too far away from the attendants at the top or the bot-tom, hollering, "Hey you 's, Git out from under the Incline!" Wecouldn't understand their worry, as the only problem we could think of, wasthe dripping oil and grease from the cables and the platforms.

Returning from the incline, you could pass either Hudepohl's or Moer-lein's brewery. Through the open windows could be seen and heard thebottling machinery with its clinking, marching bottles. And in the breweryyard, that reeked of tan bark and horses, you'd watch a cooper fixing thebusted wooden barrels. And those horses—big as a house!

.

The Bellcvue Incline provided many hours ofenjoyment and adventure for the children ofOver-the-Rhine.

Next to slow you down, was the fire house. Nothing shined like that brass-trimmed pumper. See your face in every brass coupling. "Made in Cincin-nati.", it said. The fire in the firebox, the harness hanging from the ceilingready to drop onto the horses. The folded canvas hoses, ready to be grabbedby a fireman as he jumped off of the still moving pumper. And that pair ofbeautiful, and beautifully groomed and trained horses, as they moved them-selves into hitching position; twitched as the harness was dropped andbuckled; and trembled while waiting for that command—"Git ap!"

In addition to fire fighting and spit and polish, firemen had another sum-mertime job—barber to the poor kids. All winter the kids' hair was cut bytheir mothers. We, who had regular haircuts, claimed that, "A bowl wasplaced over their head and all hair that stuck out was hacked off with thekitchen scissors." Come summer, that hair was hot and a nuisance whileplaying ball or swimming at Washington or Grant, the nearby parks. So—thefiremen would grab the kids, hold them at arms length, and with the horseclippers, clip them bald. And the two tone heads were a sight to see untilthe sun tanned the white scalp to match the already tanned face.

The reason for the scalping at arms length was, "to avoid the bugs thatwere frequently in the hair." The clippers, of course, had to be held over aflame and sterilized before they could be again used on the horses. And thehair, bugs and all, was quickly gathered and burned.

Lice, like bed bugs, were not a sign of poverty or uncleanliness in thetenements. Even the cleanest kids, or the best scrubbed "clean deutscher'sFlat," could be quickly re-infested by a new kid's hat in the school cloakroom or a new family moving into the tenement. Lice were combed out witha fine-toothed comb made for that purpose, and scalp then treated with

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an evil smelling salve from the drug store. Mom hated bed bugs more thanlice. "More work," she said. "First you have to strip the bed and wash every-thing. Then squirt Peterman's liquid bed bug killer into the springs andseams of the mattress to kill the nits. And all the while, burning the bedbugs that run, with a lighted candle."

So much for the "wild life," but back to the fire house. Real thrill wasto be there when they went out to a fire. The sparks flying from the horses'hooves on the granite block street. The smoke starting from the pumperstack. The horses' manes flying. The wheels sliding on, or jumping acrossthe street car tracks. If you hadn't already decided to become a fireman,this did it.

The streets and street car tracks were not so much of a problem, accord-ing to the firemen. The metal tires on the equipment were wide enough tocancel out the wet and the tracks. Real worry was the horses' shoes, for if ahorse went down, they were in real trouble. Most main streets were wood-block, granite-block, brick or cobble stone, only a few were black-top. Andwith these rough streets, other drivers of the horses and wagons frequentlyrode in the street car tracks. Wet tracks and the hurry of a driver to get outof them for an on-coming street car, were often enough to capsize the wagon.The narrow tires on the early autos also fit in the tracks, and they too,rode them.

Life, therefore, for a street car motorman was often one after anotherheart-in-the-mouth, near misses. "We have air brakes, a button on the floorto drop sand on the tracks, another button to drop the cow-catcher out front,and a third to clang the warning bell. But if they can't get out of the tracks,even the air brakes and sand are not magic," said a street car companyofficial, after a series of accidents. The motormen stood up to operate thecar, and in emergency did a Spanish Fandango dance—jumping on buttons,fanning the air brakes, and turning the air blue with a few choice cuss words.

Sleet storms, a frequent occurrence in Cincinnati, turned the motorman'sjob into a nightmare. As the trolley wires iced, the trolley pole wheels sparked,cracked and often lost electric contact. Each street car had a long, wooden-handled scraper to remove ice from the wires. Scraped wires sometimesbroke. This called for a repair crew, who well knew that, "a 550-volt loosetrolley wire, skipping, hissing, sparking, and twisting on a wet street calledfor even trickier footwork than a Fandango." They shut off the power.

In and about the Tenement

With all that went on out on the streets, we didn't need any more insidethe tenements. But need it or not, the traffic in the hallways was often morethan that out on the street. At one time there were twenty-three children inthe four flats in our tenement. People coming and going, kids dragging

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toys up and down, deliverymen. Maybe a couple spooning, or a drunk sleep-ing it off. And the tenements changed like the seasons, so there was alwayssomething new. The store on the first-floor front was rented at various timesto a number of different businessmen or other organizations. A man whosharpened dentist's drills by mail-order, a Holy-Roller group who actuallyyelled, groaned, and rolled about on the floor, but failed to enlist enoughconverts. And at a later date, before it was necessary to be licensed, a "RadioStation" that broadcast music played on a victrola, to people with crystalradio sets. He closed down, due to lack of advertisers. Tenants and tenementsare impersonal terms, and were not used then. You were the "Klein family,"and you "lived" in the "second-floor Flat," or the "third-floor rear Flat" in"Schmidt's Flat Building," or "over Meier's Saloon." Apartments were forrich people, out in the suburbs.

Once, when the Armenian woman upstairs was about to be delivered ofher first child, as per custom with their people, all of the men relativesgathered to await the event. The wife later explained, "had it been a girl,they would have quietly gone home. But, it was little Stanley, and we cele-brated for three days." All of this in a three-room, third-floor tenement flat.This family, being Armenian, cooked Armenian style. And the smell ofhighly seasoned mutton, cabbage, grape leaves, and a few other of theirnative foods, often drifted down the stairway. This food was undoubtedlydelicious, but strange to our noses. A few times she brought down samplesfor us to try. "Good," Mom would say, "Try some." You couldn't have forcedit down us kids with a potato masher.

Stairways and flats in the tenements were lit by gas. The fixtures hadgas mantles, a small flimsy affair, often broken, and giving little light. So—when electric came in, and with the permission of the landlord, my sixteen-year-old brother, who was studying to become an engineer, put electricityin our flat. Even years later, Dad marveled that, "It passed inspection, theElectric Co. installed a meter, and for a couple of years we had the only flatwith electricity." Working days and studying nights, this brother became anengineer, and for the next forty years designed and built Standard Oil Com-pany's refineries around the world.

And as if all this action on the streets, stairways, and in the flats, was notenough, it spilled over into the back yards. To start with, as on the farms,the toilets, referred to as "Chic Sales," were out there. Many were lockedand a key given to each tenant. A frequent cry was, "Mama, throw downthe schlussel," schlussel, being German for key. The very name of the firmthat cleaned out these out-houses, provided much earthy humor for us kids."Chic Sales" were usually in groups of two or three—that is, separated on thetop, but not on the bottom. A develish kid once hid, quietly, in one until thenext one was occupied. And then with a rolled newspaper, reached underand whacked the bottom of the occupied seat. The scream could be heard

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for a city block. And the catch on the door had to be replaced. The victimprobably suffered constipation for the rest of her life.

In the yard too, were the garbage cans. Garbage was put out unwrapped,and cans often lacked lids, thus spawning many blow-flies and maggots.Garbage collection was once a week, in open metal wagons drawn by mulesand traveling mostly in the alleys. The wagons were facetiously referred toas "Honey Carts," or "Perfume Wagons." Both of these backyard conven-iences, the "Chic Sales" and the garbage, were often vandalized, especiallyon Halloween.

If there was nothing going on in the home area, my brothers and I hadan advantage, we could go two doors down the street to my Dad's barbershop and watch the goings on there. Look at the latest copies of the PoliceGazette and Punch Magazine. Read the show and circus posters. Puzzle overthe Trie Press, the German newspaper published weekly in Cincinnati. Tryto beat Dad at a game of pinochle or sixty-six> if he wasn't busy.

Haircuts were twenty-five cents and if the hair was worn long, it was tostretch the time between cuts, not because it was the style. Barbers gaveface massages, shampoos, singes, removed blackheads, and burned off wartswith nitric acid. In connection with a haircut, he also cut the hair out of thepatron's nose and ears, trimmed the eyebrows, and shaved the neck. But,no hair was cut on Saturday! Gillette's safety razor came along a little later,and few men shaved themselves with a straight razor. They went to thebarber once or twice a week. Dad boasted that, "From 8: oo a.m. to midnightSaturday, he could, and occasionally did, shave one-hundred customers atfifteen-cents each." Barber shops were usually next door to a saloon, andwith a common back door or hall. The waiting customers went to the saloonfor a beer or two after establishing their "place" in the barber shop. Dad'sspare time on Friday was spent honing and strapping a dozen or more razorsin preparation for the Saturday onslaught. Standard joke in the barber shopconcerned the barber who had a favorite straight razor. Over the years, hehad replaced the blade three times and the handle twice, but he wouldn'tpart with it for any amount of money.

One section of his back shelf consisted of many pigeon holes, each con-taining a shaving mug or mustache cup, belonging to a customer. This cus-tom was fading out and only a few customers still insisted on this statussymbol. For many years these unclaimed mugs were used at our house ascoffee mugs. They were not for drinking water. At the kitchen sink we kepta "sanitary" glass, from which we all drank.

Those show cards that sat in the window, or on the shelf in Dad's shopwere for the two burlesque houses in the Over-the-Rhine — Peoples andHeucks. Dad got two passes for showing the cards. And with the mention ofburlesque, your mind, in all probability, leaps to girly chorus lines and thestrip tease, but such was not the case. Burlesque had not yet sunk to that

level. Mom and Dad and other husbands and wives made up their audi-ences, and burlesque was still as described in the dictionary—a satire of theserious plays and revues. Baggy pants and a low type of humor, yes, but notjust SEX, and sex-oriented humor. Neither Mom or Dad, would have, or did,attend burlesque when it changed. Both of these family houses closed andleft the Empress and Olympic, downtown to exploit sex.

The circus posters also rated a pair of passes. But inasmuch as thesepasses only saved part of the cost, and he could not afford the actual costof seven people at a circus, he gave the passes away. Better that nobodywent. I never saw a circus until I was fully grown.

In case you are wondering about the Police Gazette as reading matter forus kids. What interested us was the prize fighters like Jack Dempsey, JackJohnson, and Jess Willard, and the baseball stars like Ty Cobb, WalterJohnson, Tris Speaker, and Honus Wagner. What interested many of hiscustomers therein was away over our heads. Everything in its time, andNature works in wondrous ways!

Si"CINDERELLATHE MAI

Circus posters, placed inshop windows, rated a pairof passes to the shop owner.

The Show

What we in the Over-the-Rhine called the "Show," was, of course, theneighborhood theater—Empire, Main or Woodward. Each had two com-plete shows every evening, plus a matinee on Saturdays and Sundays. Eachshow was a two-reel feature, a short comedy and a serial, and it ran for oneweek. The serial was aimed at us kids and ended each week with a "cliff-hanger." You just had to get there next week to see what happened. Whathappened next was that the hero or heroine got out of the dilemma andworked himself or herself into another "cliff-hanger" as the serial ended.We never tired of this simple come-on, and could hardly wait from weekto week. The favorites in these serials were the Pearl White and HaroldLloyd types.

The comedies were of the Keystone Kops variety and were mostly actionand slap stick. And the features were often "tear-jerkers," that we kids satthrough just to see the comedies and the serials. The girls and women criedand sighed all through the feature, but unless it was Douglas Fairbanks orsome other swash-buckler, it lost us. While waiting through these features,we kids ran up and down the aisles, went to the wash room, jiggled thecandy boxes on the back of the seats to see if maybe they would pop open,or crawled over or under the seats and "wrassled."

All this noise and commotion might bring the usher down with a threatto throw you out, but it didn't really interfere with those who were watchingthe show. The films were silents with the words flashed on the screen, anda piano player was down in front playing music appropriate to the actionon the screen. These pianists were skilled artists. They played the Classicsand other good music and fitted them to whatever came on the screen.

Between the two shows of the evening, and before and after, they lowereda stage curtain. In the center of the curtain, in large letters was the word"Asbestos." A big joke with us kids was when asked what we had seen at theshow, to answer "Asbestos." The real reason for the asbestos curtain, prob-ably a result of the disastrous Iroquois Theater Fire in Chicago, totallyescaped us.

The lure of a uniform, especially a uniform tied together with authority,starts young. The job we all wanted was Usher—Uniform, Authority (backedup by the Manager) and Free Shows. The job of usher turned over frequently,and the reason it did was unknown, both to us kids and to the succession ofteen-agers who held the job for short periods. The answer was simple eco-nomics. The shows each had but one set of uniforms, and as the usher out-grew the uniform he outgrew the job.

Coming attractions were posted in glass-covered poster cases out front,and in the lobbies of the shows. The posters were lurid and sensational, witha habit of exaggerating. More often than not, we left the shows wonderingif we had seen the same picture that had been promised by the posters. Butas we left, we saw the posters showing the next picture coming up, andagain we could hardly wait to see it.

Popcorn was yet to take over the lobbies, and with the exception of the Her-shey bars on the back of the seats, you had to bring your own refreshments.We brought candy, cracker-jacks, chewing gum (a dozen or so wads on thebottom of every seat) and cookies, but nothing to drink. And the waterfountain in the back was in constant use. The unpadded seats were so closeto the next row in front that an adult's knees touched the back of the seatin front. The film broke frequently and the audience whistled and stampedtheir feet impatiently while it was patched, rethreaded, and started again.Often, the restarted film skipped or repeated several scenes, which broughton laughs or catcalls. Everybody enjoyed themselves and couldn't wait untilnext week.

Downtown there were theaters with admission prices beyond our nickel.There were also vaudeville and stage plays, but all these were for the peoplewith money. To celebrate some special occasion, Mom and Dad might seea vaudeville show, but these celebrations were few and far between.

Two of the neighborhood "shows" were the Empire and Woodward.Each had two complete shows every evening, plus a matinee onSaturdays and Sundays.

The Games We Played

If there was no excitement to draw us kids, there was usually enough ofus around to get up a game. And the games we played were simple andneeded little equipment, some of it home-made. Caddy, Catchers, Hide-and-seek, Go-sheepie-go, and marbles were the more popular. Baseball wasplayed in the school yards and the parks, but not on the streets. There were

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too many windows.Caddy was a good example of home-made equipment. All one needed was

two sticks. One, the caddy, about one-inch square, three-inches long, andsharpened to a point on both ends. The other a paddle about eighteen-incheslong and four-inches wide. Some of our elders considered Caddy a crossbetween Golf and Baseball, "Because," they said, "In play, the caddy wastossed to the sidewalk (like playing the golf ball where it lay), and theplayer then stooped and chopped either pointed end of the caddy a sharpblow with the edge of the paddle. This caused the caddy to leap straight upinto the air (like a pitched ball). And while the caddy peaked its climb andstarted to fall, the player drew the paddle back, and with its flat side, drovethe caddy as far down the street as possible (like batting a ball)."

Scoring of the game was as in golf. The player using the least numberof strokes to reach a certain street intersection, some two or three blocksaway, was the winner. And, like in golf, there was usually a bet made—"Bet you an agate, I can beat you," or "Bet you a stick of Black Jack chewinggum." If not a marble or a stick of gum, then some other prize from thethings carried in a kid's pocket. Included in that pocket were most likelyseveral "geesties," an "invy" or two, and maybe an "agate," street namesfor our marbles. The geesties were small and made of hard clay, and theinvies larger, and of glass. The agate, sometimes called a "cat's eye," wasbetween the other two sizes and appeared to be made of the mineral agate.Two games were played; either shooting them from a "ring" in the dirt, orrolling at one placed on a crack in the sidewalk.

Almost every game played afoot, was also played on skates. Imagine agame of caddy, a cross between golf and baseball, played on skates! Tooksome real co-ordination. A boyhood without skates was unthinkable. Only agrounded hot-rodder could feel such agony today. Not shoe skates, or nylonwheels or slick rink floors, our steel skates were for the street and had noisyball-bearings. Clamps, tightened with a skate-key and leather straps heldthe skates to your street shoes. Shoes were of leather, and sneakers wereonly worn on the gymnasium floor at school.

Wide cracks in the sidewalk, sewer lids, litter, cellar doors, lamp posts,and many other obstacles only lent excitement to the art of sidewalk skat-ing. Even a ballet instructor would have admired the instant change fromsmooth skating to a knee-raising, quick-step across a stretch of brick side-walk, and then back to smooth skating. Truly a "fait accompli," a study inmotion. No less a trick was to cross the two curbs and lowered surface ofthe alleys between each block. Or, when older, to bend the knees as youcame up on the alley and clear it in one mighty leap! Occasionally, we savedenough to go to a skating rink. One Halloween, wearing a dress costumethat had belonged to my sister, I enjoyed fooling all of the other kids, untilit backfired on me, with a "Hey, you can't go in the men's rest room!"

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Falls on skates were not to the derriere, as often humorously pictured.Most of the momentum was forward, and it was the hands and knees thatlost the most skin. There is nothing like a smooth appearing stretch of con-crete to remove a huge amount of hide. Broken arms, baseballed fingers,skinned noses, and chipped teeth were all a part of growing up. One sprained,and two broken arms, blood poisoning up to my elbow, a one-inch scar onmy scalp and enough punctures and gashes to need a gallon of peroxide,was the price I paid. "About par for the course," my folks reckoned.

Much of this self-inflicted mayhem was patched up in Dad's barber shop.Barbers were no longer surgeons, as in medieval times, but most were ableto stop the flow of blood. Between straight razors and squirming kids, thenicked chins and snipped ears were common. A small box of yellow caustic,kept on the back shelf, was used to stem the flow.

The Dispensary

The barber shop doubled only as an Emergency Ward. Most medicinewas practiced at home, not in a doctor's office. Druggists were as apt toprescribe as doctors, although not legally, but their "prescriptions" werealways over the counter medicines. Peroxide, and later on, iodine and mer-curochrome were a must, even if not effective. It was like Dad said, "At leastthe foaming of the peroxide and stains of the other two were assuring. Theymust be doing something." Sloans Liniment, and Dad's own solution, thatwe kids called "horse liniment," were applied to a long list of aches andpains, with one exception. Neither were early day versions of the modemPreparation H. The man who discovered this fact, also held the world'srecord for the standing high jump. Lydia Pinkhams, Doan's Little LiverPills, Ex-Lax, Olive Oil, Herb Tea, Sulpher and Molasses, Pine Tar CoughSyrup, Epsom Salts, ad infinitum. Who needed a doctor for ordinary ills.A visit to his office cost two dollars.

Pestilence, that busy horseman of the Apocalypse, stalked the tenementson a daily basis. Measles, mumps, diphtheria, scarlet fever, and chicken pox,to name the more familiar. As Doc Sauer remarked, "No childhood spentin the tenements will escape them all, and many will have several. Yourmajor worry should be not the short term illnesses, but the long lasting,often fatal tuberculosis." Only the doctors called it tuberculosis. In the tene-ments it was consumption, and like cancer, it was whispered. Vaccinationswere just coming in.

When the doctor's diagnosis was "Contagious," a call went to the GeneralHospital, and the contagious ambulance wagon from the hospital pickedup the patient. And it was, "Don't argue, it's the Law, he has to go. And leavethis sign tacked to the outside of the door. It lists the disease and warnseveryone to stay out unless on business." This from the ambulance attend-

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ant, in case you didn't read English. For some of the diseases, the flat wassealed and fumigating candles were burned. After airing, the tenants couldagain occupy their flat, but the odor stayed. Consumptive patients went tothe Tuberculosis Sanitarium and either stayed for years or died of the illness.

If you hurt yourself through your own foolishness or by doing somethingyou had been told not to do, and the blood was not running, you tried toconceal it as long as possible. The cure was always as bad, if not worse thanthe injury, and there was always the possibility of a spanking or tongue-lashing in addition. A blister that I acquired in a place I shouldn't have been,was blood poisoning to my elbow before I complained and was taken to adoctor. A broken wrist, probably out of the sling before it should have been,became too painful to bear. In the doctor's office, the doctor whispered toDad, "You hold his arm and stand between the boy and me, and hold tight."With a snap, they re-broke the wrist and re-set it properly. As they say, thatsmarted!

Other ailments such as boils, carbuncles, ear aches, etc., that we mostlikely got in the un-chlorinated park swimming pools, got more sympathy,but just as painful treatment. Various ointments were applied to draw theboils to a head, at which point they were "squeezed" out. One night was spenton a "pallet," made up on the kitchen table, with Mom and Dad alternatelyat the tableside, through the night, applying hot olive oil and hot compressesto a king-sized earache.

My three brothers and my sister, all made one or more trips to the Con-tagious Ward at General Hospital. Only I escaped. I had mumps, for whichhospitalization was not needed. Mom was so often a visitor to General Hos-pital that she knew the routine for visitors to the Contagious Ward, betterthan some of the nurses.

When a brother came up with Erysipelas (St. Anthony's Fire), Doc Sauersaid, "Keep him in a darkened room for three weeks or it will effect his eyes.And you better give him this medicine through a straw, as it rots the teeth."With seven people in three rooms, how do you keep one of them in a dark-ened room? And you don't get medicine down a kid with a straw. You holdhis nose until he gasps for air, and then you belt it down.

Colds were positively ignored unless the cough began to sound like thecroup. And it was almost like the old joke of giving an ounce of castor-oil fora cough—you'd be afraid to! We were afraid to cough too loud because thehorrible home-remedies you got would have gagged a skunk. Changing fromlong underwear to union suits in spring, usually touched off a good "barker,"but getting rid of the itchy things was worth it. My sister was especiallythankful to get out of the "longies," "Because," she complained, "They makelumps at my ankles under my stockings." Imagine! . . What a reason. Alongwith spring came that first sunburn and the "peeling," with every kid aroundthe swimming pool trying to peel off the biggest piece of skin from his armor neck.

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Shooting marbles and rollerskating were two popular pastimesof Over-the-Rhine youngsters.

Medicine was practiced at homeand druggists acted as doctors andprescribed over the countermedicines: Lydia Pinkhams,Doan's Little Liver Pills, Ex-Lax,olive oil, herbal tea, as well as per-oxide, iodine, and mercurochrome.

Pity the Cook

While we kids hawked food at the market stands, weighed it in the grocerystore, and sold papers, Mom went out and bought, and sometimes haggledfor, all this bulk food> and lugged it home. And there were no wrappers totell her how to prepare it, or at what temperature to set the oven. Tempera-ture of the oven was set by the amount of gas you let into the burner, orthe wood you threw in. When my sister was old enough to help, Mom toldher, "Cooking is by guess and by golly. Measures are by pinch, by handfuls orto taste. You're either born to it, or you learn by doing and listening close."Diet was something for the sick.

Breakfasts were of a stick-to-your-guts nature. Ham, bacon and eggs weresomething you heard were eaten on the farm, and cereals had not yet madeKellogg and Post millionaires. Breakfast was a stack of pancakes, or friedmush. If you were lucky, fried Goeta, sometimes known as Hobba-grits orPhiladelphia Scrapple. The spelling of those items is phonetic, as I neversaw them written out.

The dish was made from pork, and either cornmeal or oatmeal. And, holdyour stomach now, the pork was usually a hog's head, placed in a large potand boiled. Directions to the novice were, "When completely cooked andcool, scrape the meat off of the bones. Bring the meat and broth to a boiland stir in the cornmeal or oatmeal—slowly." The cornmeal posed no prob-lem, but the oatmeal was another story. The thickening oatmeal trappedair which worked to the surface with a "plop," and sprayed the stirrer withburning hot oatmeal. To stir this, you wrapped your hand and arm in aheavy towel and stirred at arm's length, with head turned and eyes a-squint.When finished it was poured into bowls and placed in the ice-box, where itjelled. To cook it, you sliced it, half-inch thick, and fried it a golden brown.It could be eaten just that way or with Karo molasses or jelly. As they said,"On this kind of Breakfast, you could swing a pick all day."

Catsup didn't come from the store in a bottle. Catsup was the end productof that bushel or two of tomatoes, bought at the peak of the season and atthe end of a market day, at fifty-cents per bushel. And we kids helped makeit. With the tomatoes cored and cooked, we pressed them through a largecollander with the bottom of a cup (at our house, an old shaving mug).With skins and seeds discarded, the pulp was cooked together with a sewed-up bag of spices. Sewed-up, so that only the flavor appeared in the finishedcatsup. Bottles were saved from year to year and had to be scalded. Corksand sealing wax had to be bought anew each year. Lots of red sealing waxwas used, as any air leaking into the catsup would cause it to spoil. If wegot tired and began to fret, Mom would say, "You're lucky, my family put

up applebutter, peach preserves, jellies and jams, pickles and relishes, andmany more things. Stop complaining, you're the ones that eat it."

Thanksgiving, when the pumpkins appeared on market, several batchesof "punkin pie" were baked. A large pumpkin was halved and cleaned, andone half put in the ice-box. The half to be cooked was cut into large slicesand peeled, a slippery, tricky task, reserved for grown-ups. Cooked andseasoned, it was baked into half a dozen pies, and consumed for breakfast,dinner, and supper. Not to mention in-between snacks. A week later, andbefore it dried out, the second half was baked into pies. You guessed it, no"punkin pie" was consumed, or wanted, before the next year.

Chicken was CHICKEN! Not a half-grown specimen with a thin layer ofmeat between the skin and bones. The cook with a farm or old countrybackground, bought her chicken "on the hoof." I can still hear Mom at thestore, "That's a Springer. I want a couple of Friers, with some meat on them.Let me feel those legs and breasts." And the chickens would flap their wingsand squawk as she reached into the cage and probed for solid meat underthe feathers. The live chickens were taken home, butchered, dressed, and dis-jointed. Let me ask you a question or two. "Have you ever held a chicken'sfeet and wings while its head was being removed?" or "Plucked the feathersand the pin-feathers, after it was scalded?" or "Smelled the burning pin-feathers, if they were singed off?" How I ever managed to eat the chicken,111 never know!

The neck, wings, gizzard, heart and liver were for soup. The rest was"skillet fried." Milk was added and the chicken allowed to simmer. Voila!A dish fit for a king! Hard to realize that this tasty treat was the fore-runnerof the present tough, batter-covered, deep-fried monstrosity, masqueradingon thousands of menus as fried chicken.

The soup was most often noodle. Not noodles, shaken from a bag, butmade from scratch. Flour and eggs were kneaded to the right consistency;then, floured, rolled with a rolling pin, placed on a sheet of newspaper,and hung over the back of a chair to dry. When just dry enough, they wererolled into a roll, sliced into strings and dumped into the waiting chickenbroth. M-m-m-m, Delicious!

Mom, like most other mothers of large families in the Over-the-Rhine,cooked many German dishes before the war. But shortages during the warand the many new products on the market after the war brought aboutchanges. New recipes appeared in the newspapers and elsewhere and Momwas quick to try them. Little by little, the German dishes began to disappear.Wild rabbit was still legal and available at market and in season, we fre-quently had "hausenpfeffer" (a rabbit dish), until a brother developed aswollen gland that was finally diagnosed as Tularemia. And thus anotherGerman delicacy bit the dust.

The tools the cook had to prepare these basic foods into tasty meals?

Well, usually a gas stove, big and black, and in need of polish every week;an ice-box for summer and window box for winter; and a kitchen cabinet.If you could afford it, and like the ads said, "A Hoover Kitchen Cabinet, thatwonder of wonders, and it can be financed for less than a dollar a week."

Refrigerators were still in the future, and that ice-box was a problemforever. A sign had to be put in the window to tell the ice-man to deliverice. The pan into which the ice melted was like an "albatross around theneck" of the poor wretch designated to empty it. If it ran over, perish forbid,it soaked the painted or papered ceiling of the flat below, and there was Hellto pay. Even if you lived on the first floor and the melting ice water fedthrough the floor in a rubber hose, stuff could happen. The ammonia usedin making the ice could clog the rubber hose and flood the ice-box. Give yourelectric refrigerator a friendly pat, the next time you pass it.

If the ice-box was the villain, then the Hoover Kitchen Cabinet was surelythe hero. The convenience of this boon brought pride and joy to the heartof the cook. Just imagine, a flour bin with an attached sifter; turn a smallcrank and sift the flour into your bowl. A built-in bread box with a slidingdoor. A slide-out bread board. A shelf of spice holders. Storage space aboveAND below. And a waist-high working space, in the very midst of all ofthese conveniences.

Tools to clean tenement flats was just as primitive as that used for cook-ing. Take wash day, for instance. We had a wooden washer that was water-powered. One hose to the cold water faucet, the other in the sink, and waterpressure drove the agitator (ever wonder what happened to our water?).But this didn't get the "whites" clean. Soap came in bars, to be whittled orgrated into the tub or the boiler. It was either Fels Naptha or Werk's Tagsoap (the metal tags to be saved for premiums). Bleach was somethingconnected with muslin, or what the sun did to clothes. To whiten the sevenshirts my Dad wore each week and white sheets and pillow slips, you boiledthem. That's right, boiled them, and took them out of the copper boiler witha wooden stick. Or before it was broken, two wooden sticks, fastened to-gether in the center, and used with a scissor motion. If still not white, youput them on the corrugated wash board and rubbed them with your knuckles.Irons were no longer the famous flat irons. Ours were the newer ones, withthe separate handle, but still heated on the kitchen stove. Two irons wereused, but only one handle. While ironing with one, the other heated on thestove. To test for heat, you wet a finger on your tongue and touched it quicklyto the sole of the iron, and if it sizzled, it was ready.

Cleaning was once a week, and thoroughly, usually on Saturday. We kidshelped, each with his or her own assignment. Kitchen chairs and table, theirvarnish long gone, were scrubbed. Rugs were swept with a broom, and lateron as they came on the market, the different hand-operated sweepers. First aBissels, and then a Sturtevent, that did everything the later electrics did,

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but worked by the pushing. Windows were washed, the outsides with onehand, the other hand holding on for dear life to the bottom of the sash,while sitting on the sill, feet inside—body outside. Beds were stripped andchanged. And when the dust settled from the sweeping, the furniture wasdusted. "Herring bucket Dutch" was a term given to the many women whoscrubbed their hall steps with the soap and water in a used smoked or pickledherring bucket, from the grocery. The "dutch," a corruption of the wordDeutsch, meaning German.

Busy, as keeping house for a family of seven was, Mom still found timefor a little gossip, and without leaving the flat. When inside toilets wereinstalled, the high window in there lined up with a hall window next door.By putting the lid down and standing on the toilet bowl, she could rest herelbows on the high window sill and comfortably gossip with the woman nextdoor. This without tuning out anything going on in the flat, or "Quiet, inthere! I can't hear." As we kids drifted off to bed at night, Mom was usuallysitting at the sewing machine in the kitchen. Until I was out of grade school,I never wore a store-bought shirt or trousers. All were either cut down ormade from remnants, bought at bargain prices.

To borrow a Navy expression, Mom, like most German-descent mothers,ran a tight ship and she stood for little or no back-talk or acting up in herkids. Step out of line and she said, "I'm gonna hit you," and at the sametime she hit you! All of us developed the knack of throwing up an elbow atthe word "I'm." But let a neighbor or another kid pick on you, and she wason them like a tiger.

The ice-box was a constant prob-lem, particularly the pan whichcaught the water as the ice meltedIt was a real pain for the one whohad the job of emptying it.

Mothers bargained and haggled with salesclerks over the price of caps,overcoats, shoes, and other clothing which they were unable tomake at home.

Shirts and trousers were turned out by Mom on the pedal-type SingerSewing Machine. Caps, overcoats, sweaters, and shoes for us kids had to bebought, and on a tight budget. These items were not bought downtown,where prices were set. They were "wrangled" from the merchant alongCentral Ave. and west Fifth and Sixth streets, where terms like "Thief,""Robber," "Goniff," and "Crazy" were common. While Mom haggled and ex-changed questions and comments with the salesmen, we kids crawled underthe tables or behind the racks to hide our embarrassment.

It was, "Five dollars! You think I'm made of money? You're a bunch ofrobbers. Three and a half is all I'll pay!" And then the salesman or the owner,"You think I'm in business for fun? You might as well steal it! Four and ahalf." And Mom again, "Four, if it fits well. Come on out here and try thison again." Four it was, and that was probably the expected price from thestart. We kids had to be dragged to these sessions unless it was to buy a"Secretary Hawkins Mackintosh" for which we would gladly suffer suchan ordeal.

Clothes in the Over-the-Rhine, like today, were almost a uniform, but theywere not any different than those worn in other sections of Cincinnati. Yougraduated from cloth diapers to rompers, a one-piece garment that buttoned

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up the front and covered you from neck to knees. This was worn exclusivelyuntil it was time to go to school. (Schools did not require birth certificatesand some kids started to kindergarten at age four).

As you started to school, you went into knee length pants, gathered abovethe knee with a piece of elastic sewn in the gathering. The elastic to holdup the black cotton stockings that came up over the knees. A cotton shirt,tucked into the pants at the waist completed the outfit. Underwear consistedof a one-piece union suit, with appropriate "trap door" in the rear.

Shoes were leather. And when the soles wore through, Dad had severalsized cast-iron lasts on a stand that he used to re-sole them. The new soleswere either nailed on or sewn on with a shoe-maker's hand awl and resin-covered heavy cord. The new soles were cut from "leather findings," largepieces of heavy tanned leather that could be purchased at that time.

The outer garments were all "Secretary Hawkins" inspired—a heavy woolor reprocessed wool, car-coat length coat with large buttons and a belt thatbuckled. A wide collar on the coat could be raised to cover most of your faceand head. Caps were a fold-up wool cloth that could be pulled down andcovered your whole head except for an oval hole in front of your face. Thiswas the uniform for grade school.

Entering high school was almost the equivalent of a Bar Mitzvah. At thispoint you went into LONG PANTS, and maybe even a long pants suit. Youalso donned a tie and, if you were fortunate enough to have french cuffs onthe shirt, cuff links. Cuff links, at ten-cents a pair, and in infinite variety,were available at the five and ten. Shirts were invariably white—a coloredshirt was looked upon as effeminate.

A few years later a whole revolution hit the high school scene—golf attire.Long pants, the symbol of manhood disappeared and golf knickers, in everyimaginable color replaced them. The black stockings of grade school becamethe loud multi-colored plaid golf stockings for high school. Shoes were two-toned, black and white or brown and white, and in need of whitening daily.Even the shoe laces were multi-colored and with tassels on the ends. But thereal rainbow, or riot, of color appeared in the pull-over sweaters and ties,worn with the outfit.

The fad lasted for half a dozen years—time enough for many to go all theway through high school, dressed every day as though playing eighteenholes of golf. Not to be outdone by the sartorially dressed boys, the girlswore an outfit that we now associate with cheer leaders—pleated skirts, two-toned shoes, etc. Imagine a high school with 3,000 students, half golfers,and other half cheer leaders, or so it would appear from their attire. A short-lived additional fad appeared as the golf attire was fading out—CretonneVests. The colorful vests probably represented a reluctance to give up thepeacock syndrome that had so gripped the high schoolers for so long.

Sure, We Went to School

Considering the interesting activities in the Over-the-Rhine, it's a wonderthat we ever found time to go to school. But, for that matter, things weren'tdull at school either. Due to the large number of German immigrants, bothEnglish and German were taught at the same time in the public and catholicgrade schools. But with World War I, and public feeling running high, theschool board suddenly announced, "German will be dropped from the cur-riculum." The Catholic Schools also stopped teaching German. Several yearslater, it was again taught, on option, in the high schools.

My German teacher in the lower grades was a man from Prussia, namedSchratter. I should say, Herr Schratter, inasmuch as he insisted on the useof the German Herr, the word for Mister. As yet unaware of this fact, we kidsknew him as "Mr. Herr Schratter," a funny sounding name to us. Out ofHerr Schratter's right hand grew a pointer, such as used by teachers at theblackboard. At least we thought it grew there, as it was never missing.Tapping on the blackboard, the desk, on a few inattentive heads, and manyfingers, it was ever present. Even in the school yard at recess and noon,where Herr Schratter was the monitor. It was, "Stoppen, Was ist los?", andhere the pointer was more apt to catch a back, or several degrees lower, tobreak up a fight or other fracture of the rules. Herr Schratter, like the rest ofthe German teachers, fell victim to the war prejudice, and we kids lost achance to become bi-lingual.

German was gone, but patroitism more than took its place. Every Fourthof July, Labor, and Decoration Day we paraded. Every kid in a white shirt orwaist and dark pants or skirt. School competed against school, Sixth Districtagainst Rashig against Peaslee, to produce the biggest turnout. Everyone hada small flag, and some two flags to wave wildly, along with jumping up anddown, if by good fortune the parade passed their own house.

In music class we sang the patriotic songs of the day. Over There, Pack upyour Troubles, There's a Long Long Trail a-Winding, being the odds-onfavorites. Everybody knew the words and music, and the school buildingsreverberated. Other days we wrapped bandages or picked seed out of "oak-um." On arriving home, Mom would ask, "What's that smell? What have youbeen in to? Oakum? Go wash your hands with the Werk's Tag Soap."

But war or no war, once during each school year, every school kid went tothe zoo. With two sandwiches, some cookies, and an apple, all in a brownbag, and ten-cents for carfare, we reported to school. The ten-cents went tothe teacher, and with bag in hand, we lined up two or three abreast, andmarched to the street, where several "Summer" street cars were waiting forus. Our parents, teachers, and the Street Car Company officials must havehad a lot of faith in the Lord to load forty or fifty active kids on an open-sided,fresh-air street car.

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A highlight of the school year for the studentswas the annual trip to the zoo.

On arrival at the zoo, noses were counted, a leaving time was drummedinto our heads, "At three o'clock. One, two three, (with fingers held up)Three o'clock. Don't forget. Not a minute later!", and we scattered like feath-ers in a windstorm. Until three o'clock, every man at the zoo, who wore awatch in his vest, with the usual chain across to the other pocket, was in-cessantly bombarded with "Hey, Mister, what time is it." And, needless tosay, the return trips to the school seldom left on schedule. Most of ourteachers greyed early.

Once, at school, a teacher, annoyed too often, banished three of us. Wewere sent to the seats in back of the class room and took no part in the classwork. As punishment, and to regain her good graces, we had to memorizeall fifty-six prepositions in the English language, and in alphabetical order."Aboard, about, above, according to, across, before, behind, below, beneath,between, betwixt, ." Strange how long something memorized at thatage can stick with you. Another memorizing task doled out to us, for whatreason I don't remember, was Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. "Four score andseven years ago, our forefathers brought forth upon this continent, a newnation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men arecreated equal. Now we are engaged ."

Useless? Well, hardly. Years later, as a postal clerk, I was able to memorizeeight-hundred separations in eight days, working all the while, and pass thescheme examination with a mark of ninety-nine percent. Try that with amind trained under our present failproof promoting of functionally illiteratestudents, all the way through college.

Some of the pupils were large for their age or grade. And some of theteachers small for the paddling (then legal) of these pupils' seats. One verysmall and elderly teacher neatly solved this problem. She'd order the culprit,"Stick your head in the umbrella stand," this fixed the target and freed bothof her hands for the task. And don't tell your parents that you were paddled,as that got you a second paddling by a better paddler. The razor straps hang-ing on those barber chairs "strapped" more than just razors.

Dad's barber shop stayed open until 8:00 p.m. and he was usually eatinghis supper at one end of the kitchen table, as we did our school night workat the other end. Help, you got from him, but not answers. He was tougherthan our teachers at prodding you to reason out the answers. And if you hadno night work, he wanted to know why! His move to Cincinnati, and hiswillingness to spend years in a tenement was to enable us to get betterschooling. His had been limited to eight grades and he would see to it that wegot more, no matter what the inconvenience to him. After his supper and ournight work, we frequently played cards, and the more difficult the game, thebetter. He figured, "You have to think to win, and it also teaches the playerto be competitive." At the age of ten, we knew Five Hundred, Contract andAuction Bridge, Pinochle, Sixty-Six, Poker and Seven-card, and Gin Rummy.

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When Canasta became popular, we learned to play it in a week's time. TheBook of Hoyle was as well thumbed as our dictionary.

We attended public school, but half of the kids we played with went toCatholic schools. The Catholic Church was very visible in the Over-the-Rhine.A church every few blocks and many of them had schools, one a seminary.St. John's put on the Passion Play, like Oberammergau, Germany, and hadpaying patrons from all over the city. Weather permitting, enough Easteroutfits appeared to almost rate a parade. Bits of palm galore on Palm Sun-day and ashes on many brows on Ash Wednesday. Meatless Fridays were therule. An annual Holy Name Parade was held, and kids in Confirmationdresses and suits were taken to the photographer to commemorate the event.Church bells were so common that they not even noticed. Nuns in theirhabits, and priest and brothers in their robes, were met on every street. Eventhe Pope would have felt at home in the Over-the-Rhine.

On to College—Barber, That Is

"Nobody ever got rich in the barber business, but few barbers ever starvedeither," said Dad. So he decided to send a couple of us boys to barber collegeto give us a trade to fall back on, if necessary. He did not encourage us tobecome only barbers, as he wanted us to do better than he had. So, at agefifteen, and during school vacation, he enrolled my brother at Old ReliableBarber College, at Third and Sycamore streets. Age was no barrier, as longas you came up with fifty dollars, and you were tall enough to reach thecustomers.

Free customers at the college were the down and out, the River Rats (bumswho traveled the river), and the job-less. Paying customers (prices wereless than half of regular barber prices) were the thrifty and the courageous.It took courage to let a fifteen-year-old, with a straight razor that he had justrecently learned to sharpen, scrap away at your whiskers or hack away atyour hair with a hand clippers, a tricky tool even in the hands of an expert.But they never lacked for customers on which to learn the trade.

In the barber business an old man with a lined face and a couple of days'growth of beard was known as a "squirrel," and to shave a real squirrel wouldbe just as easy. Squirrels abounded among the college's customers, andalmost as much blood was shed as in the operating rooms at General Hos-pital. The left side of a customer's face is shaved by a right-handed barberusing a back hand stroke of the razor. The new student, with shaking hand,trying to loosen his death grip on this awkward position of the razor; adjustits angle to the face and slide it, also in the reverse direction, was apt toconcentrate so hard that the point or heel of the blade ran into some ob-struction, such as a nose, an ear, or an adam's apple. Fortunately, most ofthese "sacrificial goats" were so fortified with "the grape," that the yelling

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and screaming was held down to a roar.In almost every class, some unfortunate student turned up with two left

hands, and with much blood-letting, soon acquired the nickname of Butch.To break up the tension, there was always lots of horseplay among the stu-dents, and naturally, Butch was the butt of many tricks. It was slightlyupsetting to a customer who had plopped himself down in a vacant chair,to have the student at the next chair yell out, "Hey Butch, you got a cus-tomer." This was even known to propel a "hep" regular customer out of thechair like a high-velocity projectile.

Hair style of the day was a "feather edge" and sideburns to the mid-ear,and this called for a great deal of scissoring. At the college, almost as manyears were scissored as were not scissored. And a snipped ear-lobe bleeds likea stuck hog! The fellow who had the concession for the little boxes of yellowcaustic must have made a million.

A student also had to learn how to give a face massage, shampoo andsinge, and it was not too difficult to sell these services to a customer underthe influence of "the grape." The shampoo with the soap running down thecustomer's collar, or into his eyes, and the massage with his face rubbedcrimson red and almost scalded by the hot towels was somewhat akin to asession on the medieval rack. But the singe was a positive threat to the well-being of the student, customer, college, and the building. A burning taper toseal the ends of the freshly cut hair is one thing, but on a customer breathingout ninety-proof alcohol, it's a horse of another color. Could have blown upthe whole building.

A popular hair dressing for the slick look of the day was a solution mixedby the barber, consisting of gum of tragacanth and some perfume and color-ing. When the hair dried, it became as stiff as a board and you could havewalked through a hurricane and not a single hair would have moved out ofplace. This solution was applied liberally to the hair of the kids barbered atthe college. It effectively hid the "stair steps" that were supposed to be featheredge and also glued down the too closely cropped crown that tended to standup like a cock's comb.

The one and only face lotion was witch hazel, and it, like the customer'sbreath, had a bit of alcohol in it. Witch hazel on a well shaved face lends afeeling of exhilaration. On a face raked by Butch, it helped to raise the cus-tomer up and out of the chair.

The college was a great place to learn how to trim the hair out of earsand noses and to shape the eyebrows. Some of the customers came in lookinglike grizzly bears. Of course, some of them went out looking like grizzly bearsthat had tangled with a buzz saw. And then there was the student whoworked part time at General Hospital shaving hernia, appendicitis and rectalpatients for surgery. After prepping his first appendicitis patient, the sur-geon took one look and roared, "Good God, there's nothing left for ME to do!"

A "close" shave, in barber terminology was one in which the customerwas actually shaved twice, the second time with water instead of lather, andagainst the grain of the beard. This was done to make the shave "last" longer.Some brave souls among the college's customers had the temerity to ask forclose shaves, not realizing that they already had a "close shave" by just get-ting in the chair! Then too, there were those who came in and asked for the"Head Barber." With that, the entire student body, in unison, would chorusout, "We are all head barbers. That's where the hair grows."

Among our customers were also the "loose skin" individuals. No matterhow much skin you pulled up above the collar to shave, there always seemedto be more. One conscientious student, working on such a loose skinnedcustomer, came to an indentation and said, "You must have been in the war,that's a nasty looking scar." And the customer answered, "No, you hadbetter stop there, that's my belly button." And of course, there was alwaysthe balding customer who wanted "something to keep his hair in." We recom-mended an empty cigar box. As you can plainly see, there was no end ofhumor in the barbering business.

Customers at the barber college consisted mainly of the down andout, the river rats, and the jobless although there were a few thriftysouls who were paying customers.

At the finish of a haircut, the regular barber held a small mirror so thatthe customer could see the back of his head in the rear mirror. He thenturned the chair a half turn to show the customer a front view of the haircut.And when the customer nodded approval, the cloth was removed, flippedsmartly, folded neatly, and laid across the arm of the chair. He then helpedthe customer into his coat and picked up the whisk broom and dusted thecustomer's coat lapels and back. At the college most of these niceties weredispensed with. The sooner the victim was out of sight, the less embarrass-ment to all concerned.

But—if the job turned out well and to your satisfaction, the whole routinewas gone through, and with a flourish. And if this produced a tip, sometimes"flipped" through the air by the customer to the student, said student was inseventh heaven. And the admiration was visible on the faces of the otherstudents.

My brother, who preceded me, and myself when I reached fifteen, hada slight advantage. With Dad to coach us, and the rest of the family topractice on with his guidance, we quickly became adept. And as apprenticesin his shop, we qualified at the back-up trade he desired for us.

World War I

World War I was not only hard on the schools, but led to other problemsin the Over-the-Rhine district. Many cherished organizations became sus-pect. Even the Turnverein was looked upon with suspicion. If German wasspoken in the home, or in the family rooms behind the saloon, it was notspoken outside. German expressions like "Was ist los?", "Nicht spreckensie Deutsch?", "Prost," "Gut Morgan" or "Gut Nicht," and to us kids, "Dum-mer Kopf" or "Weise Kopf" fell into disuse. And with less German spoken,there was less broken English used. There was not so much, "Make the doorshut," or "Run up the window shade," or the Pennsylvania type, "Take offyour pants, the lint."

Dad, who spoke some German from talking with his customers, spoke itno more. So many of his customers were drafted that he had to close hisshop and work in a war plant. His age and number of children kept him outof the draft. One barber chair was set up in our three-room flat and he con-tinued to cut our hair and that of a few of our relatives. Mostly, the chairserved as a merry-go-round for us younger kids. Closing his own shop washeartbreaking to Dad. This pushed his eventual escape from the tenementsfurther into the future.

Coal, sugar, oil, and many other items became scarce and costly. Oncewe kids carried two bushels of coal from a rail yard a mile and a half distant.Beets, for sugar, were started out west. A "recruiter" used Dad's shop, beforehe closed it to enlist help for the beet fields. To each customer it was, "If the

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Army isn't drafting you, how would you like to go out West and work withsugar beets?" The pay was good and a few signed up. A corporation wasstarted to convert the shale in Colorado to oil, and many shares of stockat one dollar per were sold in Cincinnati.

The war hysteria took some strange turns. Bremen Street became Repub-lic Street. Many German family names were Americanized by dropping end-ings or by using the American translation of the German meaning. Withthe harsh German language falling into disuse, the softer English wordschanged the conversational tone. For instance-Gott in Himmel became Godin Heaven and brot became Bread. An enterprising firm came around to allthe businesses and sold them each a large flag on a pole. They then drilledholes in the sidewalk in front of the businesses and put a capped sleeve inthe holes. Flags flew every day, not just on the holidays.

Every coat lapel bore a small flag on a pin that fastened into the buttonhole there, that was part of every suit of the day. These same button holescarried lodge emblems or political buttons, if not a flag. Tie pins, rings, beltbuckles, and other jewelry also sported flags. The national anthem wasplayed at the start of almost every event, whether a sport, a meeting or evenin the theaters.

The country might be at war with Germany, but the Germans in the Over-the-Rhine-U.S.A. were as patriotic, if not more so, than the rest of the city.For there is something in the German make-up that responds to martial

The corner of Bremen and Liberty streets wasrenamed Republic and Liberty streets.

music and inarching in a flag-waving parade. They were as fiercely partisanto their adopted country as they had ever been to the "Vaterland." Many ofthese people had left Germany to live in "Free" America, and they wereperfectly willing to fight for that freedom.

The flu of WWI hit five of the seven members of our family, all at thesame time! An Uncle died of the flu and for a short while his wife and theiryear-old baby moved in with us. If nine people living in a three-room flatseems crowded, we never noticed it. Grandpa King (family name in Ger-many had been Koenig) used to come to visit and stay for a week. Grandparaised many an eyebrow in the Over-the-Rhine, inasmuch as he was a deadringer for Kaiser Bill. He wore his white beard in a point and carried a cane,a result of a short hitch in the Army. There were many reasons to rejoiceon November 11, 1918, but so many of Dad's customers did not return thathe could not re-open his own shop, and he went to work as a journeymanin another shop, and thus another road-block was erected against his escapefrom the tenements.

Most visible effect of the War in the Over-the-Rhine was the coming ofautos and trucks and the disappearance of the horses and wagons. The firsttrucks, for beer and drayage, were slow and we kids on skates, hung ontothe tail gates. This was only practical on the black top streets and you hadbetter know when a granite-block or cobble-stone street was coming up.This, of course, was not done if the truck was going to pass your house.Among the earliest autos were the Electrics, steered with a "tiller bar" andalways driven by wealthy older women, making "charity" visits in the area.These Electrics looked the same, front and back, moved about ten miles perhour and were eerily silent—just a quiet hum.

The first auto we ever rode in was a 1913 T-Model Ford, owned by anuncle. This was the model with the brass topped radiator, and like all T-Models, had three "bands"—brake, clutch, and reverse, which you changedalmost as often as you changed underwear. He drove it mostly betweenhome and his camp on the Little Miami River, and the rest of the timetinkered with it. Like other early drivers, he also rode the street ca'r tracks.Dad said, "He must be a frustrated street car motorman."

It was the faster auto and truck traffic that drove us kids off of the streetsand onto the sidewalks. The jealous wagon drivers claimed that, "A teamof horses will rear-up on their hind feet as though held there by the reinsof the driver, to keep from trampling a victim in their path. An auto is notso particular." Doc Sauer made a couple of house calls in his early car andthis created quite a stir. A visit to a tenement dweller by someone in an auto,was excitement. Everybody watched, especially the kids, many walkingaround the auto, eyes wide with admiration. We kids in the family, hangingout the front window, and thoroughly enjoying being the center of all thisgoings on.

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Street and Family Businesses

Other small businessmen were not so affected by the war as Dad, particu-larly those who conducted their business on the streets and in the alleys. Onnon-market days, the hucksters, with no market stand to tend, traveledthe alleys with horse and wagon and hawked whatever fruit or vegetablewas in season. To attract attention, they would beat on an old metal pothanging on the wagon, and sing out their produce by name. "Get your freshgreen corn," "Red ripe watermelons," "Home-grown tomatoes," etc. House-wives came down to look, haggle, maybe buy, maybe call the huckster arobber. If she bought, she had either brought a basket with her, or gatheredthe corners of her apron and the produce was dumped therein.

Another, but busier user of the alleys was the ice-man, with his leatherapron and shoulder pad. Scoring the block of ice with his heavy tongs anda deft jab or two with the ice pick, and a chunk of ice was cut to size. Sizewas indicated by the ice-wanted sign in the window of the flat. A quick flipand the chunk was on his shoulder, steadied and balanced there with onlyone hand on the tongs. While he delivered, we kids grabbed the loose chipsand sucked on them. In the winter, this same merchant, same wagon, samehorse, sold coal. A hopper hung by chain from a scale, weighed the coal intobushels. To deliver, it was dumped from the hopper into a burlap bag andcarried, like the ice, on his shoulder. In the flat, it was dumped from the baginto the coal-bin next to the stove that furnished the heat for the tenementflats. He sang out his product and its price, "Coal, Co-o-al, Get your coalhere. Fifteen cents a bushel." Anthracite sold for more than bituminous, butwas worth the difference, it burned longer and was cleaner. Beside the coalbin in the flat, was a hatchet to break the lumps of coal. But a few were leftunbroken for use to bank the fire overnight.

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An ice-man delivered the size block requested on the ice-wanted signwhich customers placed in the windows of their fiats.

Beer delivery was through the cellar doorsfacing the street. The wagon driver rolled thebarrels off the wagon to the cellar door andthen slid them down a wooden chute.

One delivery man who did not use the alleys, was the beer wagon. Toobig to get in the alley to start with, and delivery was through the cellar doorsfacing the street. Delivering the barrels of beer was as stylized as a danceroutine. The driver's, "Whoa," "Hack," and "Git ap" to get the wagon at justthe right spot. The reins and the rope pad thrown to the sidewalk, the reinstied to a pole or light standard, the pad positioned on the walk. The driverin his long leather apron, covering a stomach almost as big as one of thebarrels to be unloaded, then moved several barrels from the racks to the edgeof the wagon. The drivers looked big enough to lift a full barrel back up ontothe wagon, but they didn't even lift them down. With a jerk, the barrel wasyanked from the wagon and allowed to fall on the rope pad. We kids werealways fascinated by this, and hoped to see one bust some day, just forexcitement. When all were unloaded, they were rolled to the cellar door.Inside the door were both steps and a wooden slide for the barrels to slidedown. The empties were pulled up the slide with a hook on a rope. Thedriver always went into the saloon for that free glass of beer.

If the beer delivery time was also feeding time for the horses, nose bagsand a burlap bag of oats was hauled from under the driver's seat. The nose

bags were filled and hung on the horses' heads, with their noses in the bags.This was followed by a bucket of water on the ground, to wash down theoats. I once asked my Dad why they all had such big bellies. He said, "Everyone of them had swallowed one of the barrels that they delivered." He forgotto add—"a glass at a time."

Other horses and wagons that entered the Over-the-Rhine were the "BlackMaria," the medicine men, and the gospel wagons. They didn't come often,and therefore were more interesting when they did appear. The "BlackMaria" with a police officer or two hanging on the back step, was seen theleast, but caused the most excitement and talk. The medicine men and gos-pel wagons always set up at night, on the then empty front walk of themarket house. Both used singing groups and a musical instrument or two,such as a bugle, to attract a crowd. Every medicine pitchman claimed "ThisSnake Oil will cure every ailment known to man." And every spreader of thegospel preached, "Come to the Lord and he will cure all your ills." Neitheroccurred! We kids were only the fringe of the crowd around the wagons aswe had neither snake-oil money, nor souls to be saved.

Both, the medical and the gospel wagons, had a back platform on whicha miniature performance was given. The "Doctor" usually had an Indianin full regalia who put on a "rain" or "fertility" dance with appropriate stomp-ing and grunting. Under the warpaint was a would be actor from Brooklyn,who hadn't been able to make it in vaudeville. If not an Indian, then a banjoplayer who beat out tunes like Dixie, My Old Kentucky Home, and Oh, Su-sannah. At the end of the performance a "shill" would raise his hand out inthe audience and be called up to the platform to praise the snake-oil or salvethat he had bought last trip and it had cured him of a terrible ailment. Theproduct was then sold to the audience who were now clawing one anotherto get to the pitchman before it was all gone.

The preacher on the gospel platform had a convert or two to attest to theirsalvation and list the joys attendant to their conversion. And then a coupleof young women converts in appropriate dress, and accompanied by a windinstrument or two and a tambourine, sang hymns. Abide with Me, Rock ofAges, He Walks with Me, The Old Rugged Cross, and a dozen more. Halfway through the performance, the audience were singing along, word forword, and decible for decible, with a hallelujah and a raising of the armsbetween each hymn. And then, as if by miracle, a convert, then two, andfinally a half dozen rose out of the audience and were blessed by the preacher.At about this point, the original young women converts passed through theaudience with their tambourines and the contributions flowed like mannafrom heaven.

Horses and wagons, carts, etc., also provided ready-to-eat food on thestreet. The "Cream Waffle" man also bugled his presence. The "Soft Pretzel"man with his basket strapped around his neck, and the "Hot Tamale" man

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with his push-cart used bells to gain attention. Other bell-ringers were theitinerant umbrella repair man and the knife-sharpeners. Life in the tene-ments was not only not dull, it was also, not quiet.

Missing among street merchants, was the "Good Humor" man. Ice Creamwas sold only in "Ice Cream Parlors" and some candy stores. It did not keepin ice-boxes, so it was rushed home and eaten immediately. The stores usedchipped ice mixed with rough salt in their metal-lined wooden freezers.Small spatula-like metal scoops were used to dig it out of the metal cansand it was sold in pasteboard buckets, with a string handle. You got a smallflat wooden spoon if you were going to eat it there or on the street.

Unlike the street merchants, the regular stores in the area were familyaffairs. Bakers just baked, either all night or very early in the morning.Their wives and daughters waited on the customers. Often their sons were"sent back to Germany, to thoroughly learn how to bake those struedels,Vienna brot, wasser weeks, zweiback, and slabs of peach, apricot, cherryand butter coffee cakes, with fluffy white icing on top, that melt in yourmouth." Just thinking about a home-baked ham or imported swiss cheesesandwich on Schneider's stone-hearth rye bread, could start the juicesrunning.

On every other comer was a saloon, and many had a family room in theback, inasmuch as no woman would go into the saloon proper. The ownerand his sons tended bar and the women prepared the free lunch that sat onthe bar, and the food if a "Businessmen's Lunch" was served. On Saturday,they made turtle soup, actually mock turtle soup, a sweet-sour concoctionusing shredded beef in lieu of turtle. All the neighbors sent one of their kids,with a tin or enamel bucket, to the back door of the saloon for ten-centsworth. Vinegar was a frequent ingredient in German cooking such as sauerbratten and wilted lettuce, with bacon bits and grease.

Beer was a nickel a glass or a dime a bottle; whiskey, fifteen-cents a shot.The only mixed drink was a "boiler maker" consisting of one shot of whiskeyand one glass of beer. The owners lived upstairs over the saloon, owned thebuilding, and in due course, several other buildings.

The dry goods store sold cloth and remnants, patterns and notions. Oc-casionally a women's dress maker was the owner or the owner's wife, orthere was a connection with a dress maker. A few sold ready-made women'shats and clothes.

Regular grocery stores, like the chains, sold mostly in bulk. Cider andwhite vinegar and coal-oil came in fifty-gallon barrels. You brought your owncontainers, usually a glass gallon jug for vinegar and your can with its capand spout for coal-oil. Whole milk was not homogenized, had no Vitamin Aor D, and came in half-pint, pint, and quart glass bottles with the four-percent butter-fat floating on top. You shook the bottle to "homogenize" itor poured off the cream and left the skim milk, and used them separately.

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Vendors such as the waffleman and lemonade manprovided ready to eat foodon the street and otherssuch as the umbrellarepairman, knife sharp-ener, and key makervisited the neighborhoodregularly.

More milk was bought condensed and in cans, than fresh. Two holes werepunched in the top, and the can became the dispenser. (We bought Wilson's,cut off the labels and sent them in for premiums.) Store counters were wood,and at one end, had a roll of wrapping paper on a dispenser. Another dis-penser held a ball of twine up near the ceiling, with the string dangling downover the counter. Customers known to the owner, often "ran a book," that is,bought on credit. A bell on the door that jangled when the door was opened,brought out the grocer or some member of his family, all of whom lived inthe rooms behind the store.

One exception to the family businesses were the butcher shops. A fewwomen butchers worked in the market house, but none in the butcher shopssuch as Glutz's. Meats were kept in a walk in freezer with several waist-highdoors on its side. Sausages that could stand being off of ice, were hung onhooks behind the butchers. Other meats were brought out of the freezerand cut to order. If your order was big enough and you had a kid with you,the kid got a free weiner wurst to eat on the way home.

Hamburger was available, but did not constitute half of the customer'smenu for the week. Typical purchase was half a pork loin, either the loinor the rib end; a pound of boiled ham, not pressed or packaged, but slicedoff of the ham. After most of the ham was sliced off, the ham bone was soldto be cooked with beans, cabbage, or a dozen other one-dish meals. A halfof a baked ham, and not the butt end, would be bought with the request toslice off a few slices "for Sunday breakfast," and the rest was baked for sup-per. Sausage was the butcher's own version, made up in his spare time, andsold loose. Sausage from the packing houses was not "skin-less" but put upin skins made from the intestines of the butchered animals, called casings.Beef was bought in sizeable cuts to be marinated in vinegar for various Ger-man dishes.

The packing houses put up many sausages, the recipes for which, hadbeen brought over from Germany—blut wurst (blood sausage), head cheese(not a cheese at all, but the Americanization of a German word), chickenliver sausage (which contained no chicken livers, and today is known asbraunschweiger), and the list went on and on.

Chickens were sold whole or disjointed, not disjointed to disguise themostly bone, but disjointed so the cook could recognize a leg, a breast, awish-bone, a back, a neck, etc. No packages of breasts, legs, etc., were avail-able, you took it whole or the parts of one whole chicken.

During the war, a butcher shop opened in the Over-the-Rhine that soldhorse meat. Beef had become scarce and more expensive. The horse meatwas available and cheaper, but was darker and somewhat tougher. Manytried it, but it gave little competition to beef and pork. What didn't help thesale was the joking that went around. Such as, "Don't let anybody holler'Whoa' while you are eating it. You'll choke to death." The selling stopped

at the end of the war.Sawdust covered the floor, and the butcher blocks were wire brushed

often. Waxed butcher paper was dispensed copiously. And what fascinatedus kids were the knives. Dad's razors were honed and strapped with care,whereas Glutz's butcher knives were sharpened with a flair. You might evensay reckless abandon. Knife in one hand, a poker-like hone in the other, theknife down one side of the hone, flashed through the air and then down theother side of the hone, and all at lightning speed. We thought that theywere practicing for the dueling scenes we saw at the show.

Banks were for businesses. The people who had money to save, put it inthe "building." The building being short for building and loan, later changedto savings and loan. And the savings were always used to buy a brick houseout in the suburbs. The buildings were only open a couple of evenings aweek and only for a couple of hours on those evenings. The directors of thesepeople's banks, were merchants who owned other businesses. The funds wereloaned out for buying or building homes.

The drug stores (later referred to as pharmacies) sold mostly prescrip-tions, patent medicines, body braces, and a few notions. Some, like the DowChain, had soda fountains, and were the favorite spot for teen-agers to takea "date" after the show. Cokes were a nickel, sodas a dime and a bananasplit a whole quarter. We kids couldn't wait to grow up and afford a wholequarter for a banana split or even maybe another whole quarter for one fora date. That was really living it up.

The druggist was a customer at Dad's shop and had his own shaving mugin the rack on the back shelf. A mortar and pestle adorned his shaving mug,as did other appropriate symbols designate other shaving mugs of other busi-nessmen.

Competing with the drug stores, was the Greek Acropolis, where the samesoda fountain fare was available and in addition, double-decker toasted sand-wiches. A ham and swiss cheese combination selling for thirty-five-cents.We kids were aware of this "high finance," but were not a part of it.

Holidays

Life for residents in the Over-the-Rhine was not all work, there was someenjoyment, but most people worked six days a week and went to church onSunday. So, a good deal of the celebrating was in the evenings; ChristmasEve, New Year's Eve, Election night, Halloween, and Fourth of July night.

Halloween handouts were home-made doughnuts, cakes, and cookies, ormaybe apples or other fruit. Very little candy was passed out, and if it was,it too, was home-made, such as taffy or peanut brittle. The smaller kids woremasks and only a few wore costumes, and they seldom wandered off of their

home block to beg for treats. The bigger ones, past the begging age, went tomasked parties, the skating rink, or out to do some tricks. These trickstersusually stayed to the alleys and did their "dirty work" quietly. If caught, theywere clobbered by whoever caught them. No good to tell your parents, asthis brought a second, more severe licking, and your Mom or Dad going overand apologizing for your bad manners.

With Halloween out of the way, Election Day was next up, and the strongDemocratic and Republican Clubs in Cincinnati made politics a hotly de-bated subject in the Over-the-Rhine. With President Taf t born in Cincinnati,Presidents Grant and Harrison born just a hoot and a holler away, and fourmore presidents born elsewhere in Ohio, how could it be otherwise. Politicswere discussed in the saloons and barber shops as much if not more than,the weather. At election time, political buttons appeared on every coat lapeland politicians spoke from the park bandstands and tramped through Find-lay Market shaking hands and kissing babies. The Tafts were big in national,state, and local politics, producing a future city mayor, and a senator andRepublican primary contender against President Ike. On election night, withno radio or T.V., the news came in the extra editions of the newspapers, asthe counts went on. It was, "Extra, Election Extra. Election close. Wilsonahead." or "Extra, Ohio native son, Harding, leading." The men on thestreets, awaiting the election results, built bonfires from old crates, barrels,and other trash, and placed an election bet or two.

Christmas was Christmas Eve, at which time the candles on the tree werelit and the presents were opened. The tree was lit with various coloredcandles fastened to the tree with a metal clip. Decorations consisted of pop-corn, strung together by needle and thread, cut-out religious pictures, and

Germans in Over-the-Rhine were extremelypatriotic and loved the music, marching, andflag waving of the parades.

fold-out bells, stars, etc. If you had a victrola, you cranked it up and playeda religious record or a Christmas Carol. And maybe you could get Dad tosaw out a tune on the fiddle that he played by ear, or sing a chorus or twoof Oh Tannenbaum, the German Christmas Tree song.

Christmas Day was anti-climax and was for going to Mass, eating, wear-ing the new clothes, and enjoying the presents. Presents for us kids usuallyconsisted of one much-wanted toy, a new item or two of clothing, and lotsof candy. Santa Claus had not yet become so big a part of Christmas. Thecelebration centered around the lighted tree, midnight Mass, and the man-ger scenes (some elaborate) in the Catholic Churches. The religious aspectwas still very much evident, the commercial just starting.

New Year's Eve was for grown-ups. If we kids begged hard enough at bedtime, we would be shaken awake in time to hear the fireworks, the shootingof guns, and ringing of the church bells, and in the morning, not even re-membering having been awakened at midnight. They ate a light snack atmidnight, and for sure, a piece of pickled herring, "for good luck in the NewYear." Everybody kissed one another, and a new year was under way.

Daytime holidays were for parades and theschool children often marched in them. Otherholidays meant little to them other than a dayoff from school.

Kids considered the Fourthof July as the biggest holidayof the year and every childhad to have some fireworks.

Fourth of July was probably the biggest holiday of the year. Every kidhad to have some fireworks: Cannon Crackers, Roman Candles, Son-of-a-guns, Snails, Sparklers, Carbide Cans, Cap Pistols, and above all, noisemakers of some description. The "smallfry" started with Lady Fingers, verysmall fire crackers that could even be pinched shut on the back end and notburn your fingers when lit. When a little older, you got regular fire crackerswith enough powder in them to burn fingers if not thrown quickly after theywere lit. In your teens, you were allowed cannon crackers, that were neverto be even lit, while holding them in your hand.

A Carbide Can had a tight lid and a vent hole. You then, you should par-don the expression, spit on a lump of carbide in the can, snapped on the lidand held the vent shut with your finger. Shaking the can caused the wetcarbide to form a gas. You quickly placed the can in the gutter, clampedit there with your foot, lit a match and applied it to the vent, from whichyou had just removed your finger. The loud explosion and the lid sailing ablock down the street pleased us kids no end. An older brother once sug-gested, "Let's make a Carbide Can out of a fifty-gallon lard can, instead ofthe usual one-pound Karo molasses can. It'll probably sound like a cannon."He did, and it did! Another Fourth he proposed, "a man-sized Rattler, notthe little six-inch twirling toy we all have." Prior to the Fourth, at wood-working shop at school, he designed and built one two-feet long. It madeenough racket to wake the dead.

All day sounded like a WWI battle field. All evening and half the night, theRoman Candles, Sparklers, etc., kept the sky lit. Most dogs and cats hid inthe closets or under porches for the day. Everyone, except the firemen, hatedto see the day end. And most mothers added to their prayers that night,"Thank you, Lord, for brick buildings and tin roofs."

Daytime holidays, other than those on which we marched in the parades,meant little to us kids other than a day off from school. Dressed up forEaster kept us from our normal activities and was usually boring. Thanks-giving was just a big meal, little different than the chicken we had mostSundays. A couple of years we mixed in with the kids that were collectedin the area by God's Bible School and were hauled to their church and fed aturkey dinner. This was for the poor kids, and we did not think of ourselvesas poor. A little pinched for money maybe, but not poor.

Redland Field at Western and Findlay streetswas a "shrine" to every youngster inOver-the-Rhine.

The Reds

Next to holidays, the biggest interest in our young lives was the Reds.The Cincinnati Reds Baseball Team may have belonged to August Herrman,but nobody in the city believed it. They were our Reds. And what happenedat the day's game, or in their league standing, was as important, if not moreso, then anything else that happened in, or to the city.

Interior of the Redland Club House taken September 16, the day that Cincinnati clinched the flagby outgeneralling the Giants, 4 to 3. The photograph shows the whole-hearted endorsement by the Reds of

P-O-A Union Suits for Men

Professional baseball originated in the City of Cincinnati and many ofits citizens were truly historians of the game. The players' batting averageswere as well known as their rise through the minors and the majors. Andthe heros of the game held the city in the palms of their hands.

Redland Field, at Findlay and Western, (about a mile from FindlayMarket), and the real reason for the trailers on the Clark Street carline, wasa shrine to every kid in the Over-the-Rhine. We lined up at the players' en-trance and held our breath as these giants appeared at the field.

The fences around the field were wood and not very high and manybaseballs, in practice and during the game, were driven over the fence. Abaseball retrieved by a kid and taken to the gate, admitted that kid to theballgame. But big league baseballs were hard to come by, and many of thekids that retrieved a ball just kept going at full speed away from the field.A baseball trophy from a big league game was more of a prize than seeingone of the games.

Opposite the field on Western Avenue were several four-story factorybuildings that served as a "free" bleachers to the games. Friends and rela-tives of the owners of these buildings were allowed up on the roofs of thesebuildings and had almost as good a view of the game as those in the bleach-ers. During crucial games or during the Series, an admission was chargedfor these roof-top viewing positions.

Inasmuch as few kids had the fifty-cents for even a bleacher seat, it be-came a game to sneak into the ball park. Many methods were worked out toget in without paying. Until the fences were made higher (the sluggers ob-jected to this), the pyramid was the most popular method. Four or five kidswould rush an unpatrolled section of the fence and build a pyramid. Thetop kid would go over the fence and run and hide in the crowd. This wasrepeated with each taking his turn at different spots, or on different days.

Another trick was to watch the ticket taker until his attention was diverted.The fastest kid in the crowd then broke into a run, through the gate andheaded for the stands. If the ticket taker went after him, the rest of the kidsdashed through the gate and ran in the opposite direction.

The results of the day's game, whether in Cincinnati or on the road, camein on ticker-tape machines in many saloons around the city. These tapes werewatched as avidly as any stock broker watched the market ticker-tape. Wekids hung around the swinging doors of the Over-the-Rhine saloons andquestioned every departing patron concerning the score.

Both afternoon newspapers put out a baseball edition. The CincinnatiPost on a pink front sheet and the Times-Star on a green one. Both papersgeared this edition to the transpiring game. As the last out was called, the"composing plate" was completed and thrown in place, and the pressesrolled. Within minutes the baseball editions were in the wagons, and lateron, motorcycles and trucks, and on their way to the distribution points.

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Fifteen minutes after a game, the papers were being hawked on street cor-ners miles away.

With ordinary games creating such stir, imagine the 1919 World Series!The city practically came to a standstill. Straw hats with ribbons saying"Reds," and red ties saying "Cincinnati" were everywhere. Every kid had atleast one Reds button to pin on his shirt. Cincinnati Reds pennants wereflown from every vehicle and displayed in every window. When Cincinnatiwon, the whole town was ecstatic. And imagine the pall and the gloom whenit later came to light that the games were "thrown" by a few players on theChicago team!

Baseball was hurt. Chicago was devastated. Cincinnati humiliated. JudgeKenesaw Mountain Landis became Baseball Commissioner, and for twenty-four years ruled the game with an iron hand.

The Reds were later bought by Powell Crosley of radios, refrigerators,automobiles, etc. Redland Field became Crosley Field, and finally the teammoved to Riverfront Stadium, where the baseball heroes are still Cincinnati'sheroes.

I HOPE THE DESSERT 15A<5 GOOO A9 THAT PENNANTN\EAL I WAITED SO LONG

The 1919 Reds won theWorld Series but theirvictory was diminishedsomewhat when it waslearned that gameshad been thrown bysome of the playerson the Chicago team.

Travel generally meant a visit to a relative's house by streetcar,but once a train trip to far away Pennsylvania was taken.

Travel

We were not so poor that we never got out of the area, but travel to us kidsin the Over-the-Rhine, usually meant going by street car to visit a relative.Most of our "trips" were to an aunt and uncle who lived in Norwood, a suburbof Cincinnati. This was the same uncle with the 1913 Ford. His father wasretired from the Baldwin Piano Company. Our uncle told us, "They broughthim over from Germany because of his skill as a wood turner. For years heturned and finished the fancy wooden legs and other pieces for the expensivegrand pianos made by Baldwin.

Coming to America after he was middle-aged, he never learned enoughEnglish to converse in it comfortably, and therefore spoke German. His onerecreation was playing pinochle, at which he was an expert. Our visits therealways wound up with the grown-ups playing pinochle in a very spiritedmanner. A trump was never just tossed out to take an unexpected trick—itwas "thumped" onto the table with the knuckles banging with some force.And if all the remaining tricks were assured by the trumps in your hand,you banged each one successively harder, leaving the cards pile up for a finalsweep of all the cards toward you, with a look of triumph on your face.

While the pinochle game raged, we kids played in the "stone yard" nextdoor where they carved and engraved tombstones. Or sat behind the wheel ofthe Ford and imagined ourselves the driver, or even went out front andturned the hand crank, making sure not to engage it. Tiring of these, youcould always go up and down Montgomery Pike looking in the windows ofthe stores. And, of course, a tour through Woolworth's five and ten, with

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two or three trips around the candy cases, nose pressed against the glass anddrooling all the while.

Late at night, after the pinochle game broke, we kids were wakened fromwherever we had finally worn out, laid down, and gone to sleep. We neverremembered the street car ride home, other than again being shaken awakeand moping the couple of blocks home and finally to bed.

On one memorable occasion, we actually went by TRAIN all the way toElwood City, Pennsylvania, to visit another uncle. We packed a huge lunchand sat up all night in the coach to Pittsburgh, where we waited several hoursfor the train to Elwood City. By the time we reached our destination, wewere so hungry, dirty with soot, and tired that it took two days to get backto our rambunctious selves.

The ride on the train was real excitement. Walk from car to car and standon the moving plate between the cars—shaking back and forth. Go in thewash-room and look down the hole through the bottom of the "John" andwatch the ties in the rail bed race by. Pull out paper cup after paper cup andfill them with water at the fountain and try to carry them back to the seatwithout spilling them. Walk down the aisle grabbing each handle on the topcorner of each seat and weave like a drunk to the swaying of the train. Andall the while taking care not to get locked in the "John" by the conductorwhile the train was stopping for a station.

Tired of seeing us racing around, Dad sat us down and tried to amuse uswith stories. He told one about the fellow who was a genius with figures.While riding on a train, the genius turned to his fellow passenger and said,"Look at that herd of cows. There's six-hundred and three of them." Theother passenger opened his eyes wide with surprise, and asked, "How couldyou count that many cows from a train moving sixty-miles an hour?" "Easy,"answered the genius, "I just counted the cow's teats and divided by four."With that to think on for a while, and tired from all the running, we finallytilted the seat back and put our stocking feet up on the facing seat and triedto go to sleep on this jolting, swaying bed.

We went with our uncle to the rolling mill where he worked, to watchthem "pull" large diameter hot metal pipe through dies down to one-halfand three-quarter-inch gas and water pipe. We were fascinated to see thoseshort, large pipes stretched into what seemed to us, half a mile long smallerpipes. We could have stood there all day, and we never got through describingit to our playmates back home.

The return trip to Cincinnati was uneventful, except that we got intoCincinnati very late and then just missed an "Owl" streetcar. With more thanan hour to wait for the next Owl, we walked the mile-and-a-half homethrough the quiet and deserted streets. We passed what appeared to be adrunk down on the sidewalk, and Dad was going to help him up, but Momsaid, "Don't do it, it might be a trick." So, we hurried home, tired, happy,

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and bursting with stories to tell the family members who had not made thetrip.

One other trip was made by train. Our neighbors upstairs were returningto the family farm in Falmouth, Kentucky, for a week's vacation and offeredto take along us two youngest kids—"To give these 'tenement kids' a taste ofreal life on a farm," they said. The train ride was again lots of fun, but onthe farm, we were like a couple of fish out of water. Without our usual hauntsand mob of playmates, we were lost. We roamed the farm, stared at theanimals, ate the good food, but could hardly wait to get on the train andback home to the streets and alleys of the Over-the-Rhine.

Finis

Not many families in the Over-the-Rhine were poor. Most were in mod-erate circumstances. Something in the German character, either broughtover to America by the German immigrants, or burned into it by life in thetenements, was an overpowering desire for a brick house in the suburbs. Aframe house, or a stucco or stone house, would not do. It was always "theybought" or "we're buying" a brick house in Price Hill, or Westwood or Cheviot.

Many of the residents in the Over-the-Rhine were machinists and workedin the mills and machine tool factories of Cincinnati. After the war there wasan exodus of these German workers to those "brick houses." All through theyears before and during the war, they had put their savings in the "building,"and they now bought or built in the hills surrounding the city. This samedesire burned in the families of the businessmen in the area, and graduallythey too, business and all, migrated to those hills. Although no one in ourfamily had been born in the Over-the-Rhine, Mom and Dad were of Germandescent, and they too, by association, dreamed of a brick house up on thehill in the suburbs.

With the canal gone and "burgers" leaving, the Over-the-Rhine was nolonger either a physical or ethnic community. The flats that emptied intothe hills were taken, by strange coincidence, by disadvantaged families thatcame down from the hills; the hills of Kentucky, Tennessee, and WestVirginia.

And so, as all good things come to an end, the Over-the-Rhine slowly fadedinto the past. With the economic situation improved, Dad was again able toopen his own shop, and this time in the suburbs. So, on one glorious day tohim, after nine long years in the tenements, he was able to tell us kids,"Today, I bought that 'brick house' in Corryville."

Although a triumph for Dad and Mom, it was a sad day for us kids whenthe last piece of furniture was loaded on the moving van (a truck now) andwe walked for the last time through that empty flat. Nine years had spedaway. A war was fought, and won. A hundred holidays enjoyed. An epidemic

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survived. And now it was goodbye to those walls that had seen us throughall our joys and sorrows.

Dad went with the moving van and Mom and we walked slowly to thestreet car, looking at the houses and sidewalks, whose every brick and crackwe kids knew by heart. Mom wrapped in thoughts of a new life style ahead.We kids were too old to cry, too young to express the feeling of loss, thatmade swallowing difficult. As the street car climbed Vine Street hill and theOver-the-Rhine disappeared behind us, the door closed on a giant-sizedpiece of our lives.

GEORGE M. HENZEL, a former long time resident of Cincinnati, is a freelance writer presently living in the Madison, Wisconsin area.

The economic situation improved and one day after nineyears in Over-the-Rhine father announced, "Today I boughtthat 'brick house' in Corryville."