Real riches
Growing up, I thought we were rich.
We were, but not in the way that I imagined.
A lot of my early impressions came from living in Dawson. That might sound strange, but in my lifetime we always had indoor plumbing and running water. Our street and the other streets where we romped were paved and for the most part had sidewalks.
Years later, I would realize that we were privileged to live in a town where those who had gained material wealth had graciously shared it by providing a better life for all the residents. The uniqueness of that grace is obvious when reading documentary accounts of American Industrial giants of the era. Most viewed the working class as a means to an end, and even when housing or accommodations were provided, they were minimal at best.
When we would visit relatives, mostly in the rural Roscoe area, bathrooms were at the end of the path, and water came from a well or cistern. Water was heated on a coal stove burner, and drinking water was from a cup on the kitchen counter. The long winding road from the Ledger building in Roscoe to my mother’s home place in Longbranch was hilly, unpaved and rough. She told many tales of her and her younger sisters walking miles through the woods to Roscoe for whatever necessities they could carry back.
My aunt Lizzie’s home sat along a creek that her driveway went through. Her house sat just yards from the entrance to an active coal mine. In my mind her family was poor because they had an outhouse and water from a pump, but I loved to go there and play in the creek. My maternal grandfather never had a bathroom in his home until his youngest daughter and son-in-law began to make modifications for it. My memories of ” Pop” were of him sitting in the kitchen resting his feet on the apron of the coal-fired cookstove.
At some point in time, my errant perception of wealth was tempered by the realization that my relative’s inconveniences were governed more by choice and location rather than financial means. Maybe that explains why our visits were always filled with laughter and food. The mandate of every visit was a meal or at least a snack.
Most of my uncles had careers in the steel mills of Allenport or Monessen, and probably made as much or more than my dad. My parents’ siblings, being from agrarian roots, farmed and gardened for a lot of their existence.
Like most of my relatives our family food supply was enhanced by my father’s ambition. He raised pigs just outside the borough, turkeys, and always, always planted a huge garden.
Mom did not work outside the home, but she earned a degree from Douglas Business College, and worked at West Penn Power until she and Dad married. She was an excellent bookkeeper and handled the family budget.
Another construct in my youthful skewed idea of wealth was the dream that we were going to have a private swimming pool, probably the first in Dawson. That dream would have materialized, had it not been for World War II.
My older brothers had excavated by hand, a large rectangle in our backyard, to a depth of about four feet. They were planning to do concrete construction when war broke out. Both boys left for the service, and my oldest sister left for emergency employment in the mill. With no help and
no materials available, Dad had to scrap the pool idea. With a bucket and shovel, the project was filled in.
We were wealthy, but not in things. We were rich in love and laughter. We were healthy and happy through good times and bad.
The boys came back from the war, my sister came back from the mill, all were
fine.
We lived in a good neighborhood, with good neighbors.
Roy Hess Sr. is a retired teacher and businessman from Dawson.