Doing Laundry in the Basement

It’s safe to say that the inside of 828 Spruce Street was Mom’s turf. The basement was the exception, though, for it had Dad’s workbench and the place where he cut our (boys only) hair. But in the early years, it was also used by Mom for doing laundry.

When they bought the house in 1950, the basement was divided into two work spaces. Dad’s workbench was in the southeast corner and Mom’s wringer washer was in the northwest corner. A monstrous “Octopus” coal furnace occupied the center of the basement. It was monstrous because it made the basement scary when I was young. It seemed dangerous – Dad forbade any of us kids to play with it. But it was something besides creepy, it was a great help in drying laundry when it was winter at 828.

The other laundry equipment consisted of a galvanized double sink and wringer washer. There was an inside clothesline (which was only used in rainy or really cold weather) strung throughout the northern end of the basement. Monday was laundry day at 828. At four am Monday mornings, Mom would rise to begin the laundry. She was in the basement much of the morning. Before automatics, a ringer washer had to be filled “by hand” with a hose. Mom had to watch this process because there was no automatic shut-off. She first added hot water and then Dad’s homemade soap, which she dissolved with some sort of wooden stirrer. She then added the clothes and finished filling the washer with cooler water.

Dad made the soap from animal grease/fat that he obtained from various sources. The process was complicated and somewhat dangerous, because we kids weren’t allowed in the basement when he was making it, not even to watch. First he’d heat the fat to dissolve it and then strained it through a cloth to remove any solids He would then dissolve the lye in hot water and allow it to cool. When both mixtures were at room temperatures, he combined them, added salt (and maybe something else) and poured the mixture into a flat pan to solidify. After it hardened, he’d cut it into thick bars and then he, or more often one of us kids, would shred the soap blocks with a grater. The flakes made the soap easier to dissolve.

Mom used this homemade soap for dollar-stretching reasons, but she swore by it, saying that it cleaned better than anything else, especially whites.

Mom’s wringer washer had one automatic feature, that of agitating the clothes. While in this cycle she had a free period to do other Mom stuff, which usually meant going upstairs to the kitchen. But she was soon back in the basement to drain the soapy water and fill the tub again with rinse water. While that agitated, she had another free period,  but was soon back downstairs to drain the rinse water.

A kid was required for the next step, wringing the water out of the clothes. Mom always operated the business side of the wringer, for she never wanted us kids to put our little fingers into the wringer. Our job was to grab the item as it came through the wringer and put it in a bushel basket. I never minded this job – it was a chance to work with Mom alone.

I didn’t get to do this for long, though. Dad and Mom purchased an automatic washer sometime in the mid-1950s, and it was installed in a corner of the dining room, which was next to the kitchen. With so many pregnancies, Mom had varicose veins at an early age, and the multiple trips to and from the basement on Mondays took a toll on her legs.

I usually think that I learned my work skills from watching Dad at his workbench. But I also know that watching Mom do laundry gave me an opportunity to learn efficiency and watch energy in action. These are good skills to have today.

But…there is a “but” in this story that has to do with overdoing this work, work, work business. Let’s save that for later.

--Bob