That I overlooked before…

This (see below) is a Sears House, and more specifically a Sears “Dover.” Note the clipped gables on the roof’s edge (also called a jerkinhead).   This house is in Alton, Illinois and it’s one of my favorite Sears Homes, and this Dover is the prettiest little Dover I’ve ever seen.

A pretty little Sears Dover in Alton, IL

Recently, I traveled to southern Illinois to re-visit the site of the old Sears Mill.

In late 1911, Sears spent about $1 million to build a state-of-the-art mill just outside of Cairo, Illinois. The mill was actually located in a tiny burg called Urbandale. The Sears Mill was an impressive operation, covering 40 acres and employing about 80 full-time workers. About 20 acres were “under roof.” In other words, the site had 20 acres of buildings.

That’s a lot of buildings.

Each day, the railroad cars brought enormous quantities of yellow pine and cypress into the mill, right out of the virgin forests in Louisiana and Mississippi. Each day, those workers turned those logs into 10-12 kit homes. You read that right:  Hard-working men, using powerful saws and planers and other massive machines, carved those trees into kit homes. Kit homes with 30,000 pieces. That’s a lot of lumber.

In 2003, when doing research for my book, “The Houses That Sears Built,” I traveled to the site of the old mill. Not much to see there, but a couple little Sears Homes and a lot of woods and a couple bean fields.

Fast forward seven years to 2010.

Now I’m writing a new book about Sears Homes, and I decided it was time to dig a little deeper.

This time around, I contacted Richard Kearney, a local historian, long-time Cairo resident and all-around Smart Cookie and good man.

I asked him if he might have time to spend a day with me, helping me navigate the back roads of southern Illinois. To my delight, he readily agreed. Our day together could not have been any more delightful. With Richard’s fantastic knowledge of the area, I learned so much more about the old Sears Mill and its connection to local history.

One small example:  Soon after entering Urbandale, we turned onto “Sears Road” (the site of the old mill), and Richard spoke up and said, “You know, this used to be known as ‘Sears Roebuck Road.’”

I replied, “You’re kidding!”

He said, “It’s true. This road went all the way through, and when the Interstate came through, it cut the road right in half, creating two dead end streets on either side of I-57.”

This is the kind of quirky history that I just adore. I was enthralled.

“On the other side of the interstate,” Richard said, “you’ll find the other half of this road. It’s now called “Roebuck Road.”

Now I’ve been writing about Sears Homes for many years and I’ve been to Cairo many times and I’ve spent many hours learning more about Sears and Cairo and the mill, but I’d never heard any of this.

I asked Richard to show me where Roebuck Road was. He gladly obliged.

And there it was - Roebuck Road. And there was yet another bonus! Behind the Roebuck Road sign was a perfect little Sears house. It was a Sears Wexford.

A Sears House on Roebuck Road. Or maybe it’s a Roebuck house on Roebuck Road?

Either way, Garmin apparently never got the memo that Sears Roebuck Road had been sliced into two pieces.

Sears Road - in Urbandale

Note the little Sears Wexford in the background!

Someone needs to tell Garmin that Sears and Roebuck are now divorced - thanks to the Interstate!

Richard - thank you so much -  for sharing your knowledge and being such a good sport and giving up an entire day of your life to help me find my way around the southern-most tip of Illinois. You’re a real trooper and a treasure-trove of knowlege!

Sears Modern Home #163 in Taylorville, Illinois.

Whilst in Taylorville, Illinois last week, I found something I’d never seen before:  A Sears Modern Home Model #163. I talked with my dear friend Rebecca Hunter and learned that she’d never seen one either. In other words, this is a very rare model. And there it sits in Taylorville, a victim of insensitive remodeling.

This once-grand house has now been converted into a multi-family dwelling, which is especially sad.

As I’ve driven around the Illinois countryside, I’ve found that too many Sears Homes are in deplorable shape and are being treated like yesterday’s garbage. Hopefully, my new book on Sears Homes will do a little something to stem this onerous problem.

Back in the day, Ladies Home Journal magazine really was about women and housing. Today, it’s more about high-fat cake recipes and low-fat diets, but that’s another story…

In the first decade of the new century, Ladies’ Home Journal consistently featured a majority of articles centered on homeownership. The February 1911 issue was devoted to the new housing style:  Bungalows. One headline said,  “The Bungalow, because of its easy housekeeping possibilities is becoming more popular every year and bungalows show what can be done with a little money wisely spent.” The same issue featured these articles:

When you build a little house (common mistakes to avoid)

How I built this house for $700

The Bungalow - from $250 - $2500

What I did with an old farmhouse

Two houses built for less than $1500

What can be done with old houses

A fireproof house for less than $4000

If a woman must earn her living at home (A house planned by a woman to meet this need.)

It seems as though that the ladies were ahead of the men on this bungalow thing. Whilst Ladies Home Journal was promoting bungalows, American Carpenter and Builder described them as “tiresome.”

Craftsman houses and odd bungalows will have their day. People may like them now, but it is an extreme type and will become tiresome in course of time. The uncompromising squareness in the craftsman style, with its small wall space does not permit of much artistic decoration (June 1913).

Within the pages of the 1920s LHJ, I was delighted to discover this advertisement for a catalog of mail-order kit homes. The next picture below features a real, live GVT #633 in Roanoke, Virginia.

Advertisement in LHJ for Gordon Van Tine/Wardway Homes

Wardway Home in Roanoke, VA

Dr. Joseph Lister - a 19th Century physician - is largely responsible for the bungalow craze, but that’s one tidbit that I’ve never seen in my books on architectural history. The fact is, Joseph Lister and his germ theory dramatically changed the way Americans thought about their homes.

For so many years, mothers could only watch as their young children died from any one of a myriad of “common” diseases. And then in the late 1800s, Dr. Joseph Lister discovered that germs were culprit. Mothers and fathers, weary of burying their infants, had a new arch enemy: household dirt. As is explained in the 1908 book, Household Discoveries and Mrs. Curtis’ Cook-Book:

Not many years ago disease was most often deemed the act of Providence as a chastening or visitation for moral evil. Many diseases are now known to be merely human ignorance and uncleanliness. The sins for which humanity suffers are violations of the laws of sanitation and hygiene, or simply the one great law of absolute sanitary cleanliness… Every symptom of preventable disease and communicable disease…should suggest the question: “Is the cause of this illness an unsanitary condition within my control?”

Now that the enemy had been identified, modern women attacked it with every tool in their arsenal. Keeping a house clean was far more than a matter of mere pride: The well-being, nay, the very life of one’s child might depend upon a home’s cleanliness. What mother wanted to sit at the bedside of their sick child, tenderly wiping his fevered brow and pondering the awful question: “Was the cause of this illness an unsanitary condition within my control?”

Because of Dr. Lister and his germ theory, the ostentatious, dust-bunny-collecting Queen Anne, with its ornate woodwork, fretwork and gingerbread fell from favor with a resounding thud.

Simplicity, harmony and durability are the keynotes of the modern tendency. The general intention seems to be to avoid everything that is superfluous; everything that has a tendency to catch and hold dust or dirt. Wooden bedsteads are being replaced by iron or brass; stuffed and upholstered furniture by articles of plain wood and leather. Bric-a-brac, flounces, valances and all other superfluous articles are much less fashionable (from Household Discoveries and Mrs. Curtis’ Cook-Book).

Remember the movie “It’s A Wonderful Life”?  There’s a 1920s scene where George Baily and his girlfriend pause in front of the massive Second Empire house. It sits abandoned and empty, deteriorating day by day.  This was not an uncommon fate for Victorian manses in post-germ theory America. Who knew what germs lay in wait within its hard-to-clean walls?

The February 1911 Ladies’ Home Journal was devoted to the new housing style: Bungalows. One headline said, “The Bungalow, because of its easy housekeeping possibilities is becoming more popular every year.

And all because of Dr. Lister.

(By the way, Dr. Lister did not invent the popular mouthwash but it was named after him and his discoveries.)

Magazines in the early 1900s extolled the value of cleansers that were effective in killing germs.  These advertisements (see two ads below) are from a 1924 Ladies’ Home Journal. Both promote the importance of germ-killing chemicals for the “safe” household.

Close-up of text

The first time I saw downtown Cairo, I stopped my car in the middle of the street and stared in disbelief. The entire business district, which comprised several blocks of brick streets in beautiful condition, was empty - deserted and devoid of all movement. Had it not been for a piece of trash blowing down the middle of the street, the scene could have been a still-frame.

The stillness, the quiet, the absence of any sign of life was fascinating, yet also left me wondering if the next sound I heard would be the theme from The Twilight Zone with a voice-over by Rod Serling.

Looking at the stunning late-1800s commercial architecture - most of which was in original condition and all of which had been abandoned - my intuitive sense told me that folks had left this place in a hurry. And as I began researching the area, I learned my hunch was on mark.

In the mid-1960s, racial unrest and riots were a sad part of the American landscape, but in Cairo, things went especially badly. African-Americans, weary of Jim Crow laws and disparate treatment, threatened to boycott businesses that employed only whites. White business owners responded by closing their stores. Large numbers of families - white and black - left the area and never returned. The population plummeted. Today, downtown Cairo is a ghost town - an incredible time capsule - frozen in the 1960s. The city that once boasted of 14,000 citizens now has about 3000 people living within its borders.

I’ve returned to Cairo several times since that first visit and each time, I make a point to drive through that incredible downtown area. I park my car and stare. I stare at the old buildings which are in fair to decent condition and still look much like they did when built 100+ years ago. I look at the store fronts whose doorways have not been darkened by a customer in many years. I study the two movie theatres that look much like they did when built in the 1920s and 30s. I take in the long view and look at the streetscapes, devoid of movement or activity.

Just behind those fantastic old commercial buildings lies a seawall and the Ohio River. I do believe that the city could build a fantastic tourism industry off this downtown area alone. I’ve never seen a sight like it.

Apparently, word is getting out, because on my last visit, I saw two tourists taking a plethora of photos of this eerie but fascinating downtown. However, if you decide to visit - come prepared. Cairo has no public bathrooms, no fast-food joints and no public water fountains. About 15 minutes away, just across the Ohio River, is Wickliffe, Kentucky - site of the nearest public restroom. The nearest Burger Doodle is 30 miles southwest in Cape Girardeau.

One thing Cairo does have is plenty of vacant lots, such as 1501 Commercial Avenue. This corner lot is a few blocks from the downtown area and according to the 1922 Sears Modern Homes catalog, it was the site of a beautiful “Elsmore” (Honor-Bilt home).  The testimonial on page 111 of the catalog reads, “Built by R. P. Fitzjearl, 1501 Commercial Avenue, Cairo, IL. He says, ‘Already-cut lumber saves one-third of time. Plans as simple as reading a book.’”

When I drive through Cairo, I look at all those empty lots and try not to think about how many Sears homes have been torn down in the intervening years. Several? Dozens? Or worse?

Thus far, I’ve identified about 30 Sears homes in Cairo. Many are in poor condition and a few more may be torn down before the city awakens to its architecture treasures. The addresses of these Sears homes are at the Cairo Public Library on Washington Street and make for a fun driving tour.

In May 1911, Sears opened up a mill in Cairo, Illinois. Cairo’s location at the confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers made it a natural for shipping and distribution. At the turn of the last century, Cairo (pronounced “Care-Roe”) could boast of having four major rail lines, enabling it to become a centralized shipping point for lumber harvested from the South and sent to the North.

The Sears Roebuck Mill, also known as the Illinois Lumber Company, got its start when Sears Roebuck paid $12,500 for a 40-acre tract in North Cairo. 

On May 21, 1911, The Chicago Tribune reported that Sears intended to build a $250,000 plant. A few weeks later, The Cairo Evening Citizen had doubled that figure and reported “Half a million to be cost of new Sears Roebuck Plant” (July 29, 1911).

In November 1911, Sears ran a two-page advertisement in American Carpenter and Builder Magazine headlined “Great News for Builders.” The advertisement (see below) said,

Shipments have begun from our second and newest great lumber plant in Illinois. We can deliver you bright, fresh, clean lumber at manufacturer’s prices almost as quickly as you can haul makeshift sizes and weatherworn stock from a high priced neighboring lumber yard. Our mill work is sheltered from rain, sun, soot and wind. Our new Illinois plant is located on two of the largest and fastest railroads in the North with direct connections to over 20 different railroads.  (Weatherworn stock was a reference to the fact that, unlike Sears, many mills did not keep their lumber under roof.)

In March 1912, F. E. Van Alstine, Superintendent of the Sears mill was quoted in The Cairo Evening Citizen as saying that Sears had chosen Cairo because of “their low freight rates, superior shipping facilities and other natural and commercial advantages, (which) made the city more desirable than St. Louis, East St. Louis, Paducah (Kentucky) or Memphis” (Tennessee).

But later that month, the rains came and the floodwaters rose, nearly destroying the brand new mill in Northern Cairo. On April 5^th, The Cairo Evening Citizen reported that the “main building of the new Sears Roebuck factory was hurled off its foundation and is leaning toward the east. Just what damage was done to these buildings could not be ascertained, as there was no way to reach them except by skiff.”

In mid-April, the paper said that all seven lumber sheds had been torn from their foundations and much of the lumber inside the sheds had simply floated away.

By August, The Cairo Evening Citizen happily reported that despite the hard times and high waters, Sears Roebuck had decided to remain in Cairo.  It also reported that about half the lumber sheds had been rebuilt and some of that floating lumber had been recovered. The same article reported that the folks at Sears corporate headquarters in Chicago were so pleased with Van Alstine’s post-flood restoration work that they presented him with a brand new automobile.

The mill produced everything for the Ready-Cut (precut) Sears homes except for millwork. The Sears mill located in Norwood, Ohio, supplied millwork; windows, doors and interior trim and moldings.

By the early 1930s, sales of Ready-Cut homes had plummeted and the mill began looking for other ways to generate income. They began building crating material for tractors and other large equipment, including Frigidaire refrigerators and appliances sold by Sears. In the late 30s, the mill produced prefabricated buildings for the camps which housed workers in the Civilian Conservation Corps. Wheeler relates that a typical CCC camp (which included several different buildings) required 400,000 feet of lumber and about 35 of these camps were milled and shipped by the Cairo plant.

In 1940, Sears closed the plant and sold it to the employees. Shortly after the employees purchased the plant, they obtained a contract to build massive crates for shipping B-17 and B-29 bombers overseas for the war effort.

After World War II ended, the former Sears Mill - now called Illinois Lumber Company - drafted and published their own book of house plans and tried to sell Ready-Cut homes again, but without success. The Cairo Evening Citizen relates that the plant was liquidated and closed in November 1955. The article adds this interesting aside:  “Like several other Cairo lumber industries, it slowly died because the wood articles it manufactured were supplanted by iron and steel.”

All that remains today at the site of the Cairo mill are two Sears kit homes - two Rodessas - which were built as part of an experiment in 1921, to prove the superiority of Ready-Cut homes over traditional  stick built homes.

From the 1934 Ladies’ Home Journal comes this not-so-subtle message that if you don’t immediately purchase Djer-Kiss perfume, the only lovin’ you’ll get is when you kiss yourself in the mirror. Then again, if a fella catches you doing this, you can also kiss your dating life good-bye.

Or maybe (after a third read of the text below), the message is, “Buy this perfume and you’ll be so irresistible, you won’t be able to resist your own beautiful self.”

Not sure which message is more disturbing…

This photo appeared in the advertising section of the 1898 Ladies’ Home Journal. Presumably, it’s an remarkable photo of two little boys, but the term street urchins might be more apropos. However, if you look past their tattered appearance and look into their eyes, these two boys are a little unnerving.

I’m not sure how or why this was considered “good” photography 110 years ago.

Today, it’d just be classified as “heartbreaking.”

Little scary children

Thanks to the miracle of hydrogenation, we have “shortening” products such as Crisco. Shortening, I’ve since learned, is a nice word for white fat products that remain solidified regardless of room temperature. And the process of hydrogenation is also not a good thing.

The word betrays its etymology. Hydrogen gas is forced into shortening products (such as Cricso) to make it more solid. The irony is that, these shortening products were originally marketed as being good for one’s health.

Oopsie.

The jury is still out on hydrogenated oils, but more and more, it appears that foods with hydrogenated oils are extremely hazardous to one’s long-term health.

“Glorious music reproduced, as you have never heard it before!”

So reads the advertisement in the August 1926 Ladies’ Home Journal. The item being pitched is the latest and greatest from Victrola: The Othorphonic Record Player (with Tungstone needle!).

This must have been a pricey little affair, for the ad reads that an electric motor would increase the Victrola’s price by a hefty $35. However the “hidden electric motor” meant there was nothing to wind!

To my surprise and delight, the word “orthophonic” can be found in the dictionary. It means, “accurate reproduction of sound.”

This ad is quite interesting. Before there was television, apparently families sat around and stared at the radio.

Victorola Orthophonic

This ad is from a 1905 Ladies’ Home Journal, and in the early 1900s, x-rays and radiation was perceived to be scientific and modern and wonderful. I’ve no idea what this advertisement is suggesting, but it sounds like “X-Ray Polish” is a potent little chemical.

I guess this graphic answers the question, how many demons can dance on the head of a stove? I’m not sure. And I don’t know about the one at the bottom, pulling up the banner that reads, “Cut that out.”

Perhaps the devil is in the details.

According to historian Paul Frame, Radium was a newly discovered, valuable commodity in the early 1900s, and was perhaps even more valuable than gold.

Frame writes, “The term ‘Radium’ was incorporated into the brand names of any number of products even when these products didn’t actually contain radium. The same was true for the term X-ray.”

Learn more at his website here.

I'm not really sure what they're selling here

It was Christmas Eve night 2001 when Mom and I said our goodbyes. Our family (my husband and our three daughters) had come to town to visit her for the holidays. Standing at her back door the night before Christmas, we made plans for Christmas morning, and then Mom and I said our good-byes.

She threw her arms around me, pressed her soft cheek against mine and held me tight as we swayed left and right. She unclasped her arms and grabbed my upper arms and pushed me back a little bit and looked into my eyes. She put her hands up on either side of my face and said, “My beautiful, beautiful daughter. I love you.”

She hugged me again and said, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” I responded in kind. That was the last visit I had with my mother. As good-byes go, it was the best.

It was my expectation that she’d live far beyond January 2002. She was so healthy and strong. I had no inkling or idea that Christmas Even 2001 would be our last goodbye. This was an impossibly hard lesson to learn. Sometimes, people go to bed at night and leave for heaven in their sleep. Sometimes, there are no second chances to ask one more question. Sometimes, the last words you may ever hear someone say are, “Shut the door fast and don’t let the squirrels get in the house.”

It’s been eight years today and I still miss her so very much.

My mother with three of her granddaughters (about 1986)

Mom with her new granddaughter in Summer 1987

None that I can tell.

There’s a popular website where you can post pictures of your face and/or your body (in parts or as a whole) and then wait for others to rate your physical attractiveness and desirability.

Posting a head-shot at an internet dating site is just another version of “rate this face” but with much deeper ramifications. If you’re judged and found wanting at a public website, you’ll get a low score from the peanut gallery. If your face is judged unattractive at an internet dating site, the ramifications are far more grievous: You could be alone for the rest of your life.

The process of posting my pictures online for the entire world to judge was agonizingly painful and the steady stream of rejections that followed multiplied my pain tenfold. Despite all that pain, there was really only one thing that I hated even more than rejection:  Loneliness.

Many mornings and evenings, I’d plop down at my computer and log into my account, only to find those three dreaded words at the top of the web page: No new emails. Each time those words appeared, it felt like yet another “I don’t think you’re very attractive” vote from some anonymous man out there on the world-wide web.

Each day that my email inbox remained empty was a bold affirmation that yes, I really was as unattractive as I had feared. That was on my better days. On my not-so-good days, the empty inbox brought forth a torrent of tears and a growing dread that I was destined to spend the rest of my life alone, just because of my less-than-average physical appearance.

Read more here.

Thanks to terrorist du jour Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab , airline passengers will now have to remain seated one hour before landing, and during that last hour, they’ll not be allowed to access to their own carry-on bags (or anyone else’s, I would hope). For those who have been avoiding the television for the last 48 hours, Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab is the Nigerian charged with trying to blow up NWA Flight 253 as it descended into Detroit Metro Airport on December 25th.

Three years ago, I took a one hour and 45 minute flight from Denver to Quinter, Kansas. After I made the reservation (and paid for the tickets), I learned that my plane was a 12-seater puddle jumper with no bathroom. For many days before the plane’s departure, I had nightmares about being stuck on a tiny little plane with no access to any bathroom.

And then the day of my flight arrived. As soon as the pilot shut the wee door to the wee plane, I suddenly had to go wee wee. For one-hour and 45 minutes, I did everything within my power to not think about how badly I needed to go. It was horribly unpleasant. And it was also an experience that I will never ever repeat.

Think about the implications of this new law. Practically speaking, it means that on 90-minute flight, there will be no access to the lavatory, period!

Speaking as someone who’s flown on many planes to many places, it’s typically 20-25 minutes into the flight before you’re allowed to “move about the cabin.” And now that the final hour is shaved off the moving around time, that’s pretty much a “sit-down-and-shut-up” arrangement for anyone on a 90-minute flight.

Many years ago, airlines stopped serving olives on their salads - in the hopes of saving money and reducing weight. Next, they ditched in-flight telephones to reduce weight. More recently, in-flight magazines were removed from planes.  Now, with this new law, it’ll probably be the restroom that gets removed from these CRJs and Embraers and other commuter planes.

What’s the point of hauling around a lavatory that weighs a few hundred pounds if the passengers will never be allowed out of their seats?

It’s enough to scare the &#^% out of someone.

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Merry Christmas from Teddy the Dog!

Teddy has been with us for one year now, and we’ve hit a few bumps along the way, but she’s turned out to be a delightful little dog. And at 30 pounds, she’s not so little anymore. She’s a very sweet and polite dog, and even tolerant of being asked to sit in a little red wagon for a Christmas photo.

Speaking of good gifts, check out this one.

Teddy the Dog hopes you have a good Christmas

In 1918, Standard Oil of Indiana made mail-order history when they placed a $1 million order with Sears Roebuck & Company for 192 Honor-Bilt homes. It was purported to be the largest order in the history of the Sears Modern Homes department. Standard Oil purchased the houses for their refinery workers in Southwestern Illinois.

Of those 192 houses, 156 went to Carlinville, 12 were built in Schoper and 24 were sent to Wood River. Throughout the 1920s, pictures of these homes were prominently featured in the front pages of the Sears Modern Homes catalogs.

Construction of the 156 houses took nine months, not six as expected. The reason?  A nationwide shortage of wheat. Charles Fitzgerald, spokesman for Standard Oil and Manager of Houses explained to The Chicago Daily Tribune (November 3, 1919) what happened.

“The company (Standard Oil) purchased a forty acre wheat field and the government would not permit the destruction of the crop,” he said. “On the first home, we were erecting the studding while the harvesters were shocking wheat twenty yards away.”

According to the papers of the day, “smut” was another reason for the wheat shortage. When I first read about smut and the wheat shortage, I imagined a large group of idle field workers, sitting cross-legged in the expansive fields, poring over magazines with pictures of scantily-clad women.

Smut, I later learned, is a particularly nasty fungus that creates black, odious spores and ruins wheat crops. In 1919, smut damaged a large proportion of America’s wheat fields.

And “shocking” was another interesting term. As a city girl, I’d never heard that phrase before. “Wheat shockers” are the field workers who bundle up the wheat.

While doing research for my book The Houses that Sears Built, I read hundreds of newspaper and articles from the early 1900s and learned that there is a wholly different vernacular for that time period. Words have different meaning in different times.

One of the Sears Homes in Wood River, Illinois - part of that $1 million order that Standard Oil placed in the late 1910s. There are 24 of these Sears Homes in a row on 9th Street in Wood River. The 12 Sears Homes built in Schoper, Illinois were torn down in the 1930s.

One year ago today, I adopted a new baby. She was the cutest little thing I’d ever seen. It was not my intention to get a dog at that moment, but I fell completely in love the second I saw the little furry form, sitting in the large yard and looking a little worried about life.

At first, my husband wasn’t too keen on the idea of getting a dog, but in time, he also fell in love with our “Teddy.” In fact, Teddy’s newest problem is a little bit of weight gain. Every time the hubby walks into the kitchen, he gives her a treat. She’s now four pounds too heavy and for a little dog that weighs 25 pounds, that’s a lot.

Unfortunately, with her extra fluff, she really does look like one of the family now.

The baby in Wayne's arms. She was about seven weeks old here.

Our little girl is getting all grown up. She's about one year old here.

Thanksgiving dinner with the family. Teddy especially loved the gravy.

Prior to my divorce, I hadn’t asked anyone out since 1976 when I asked Richie Brooks to be my date for the senior prom. In other words, it had been awhile.

Being thrown back into the dating pool, I had to sink or swim. I learned a lot in a hurry.

For instance, which is better? Dinner or drinks?

In the beginning, I had dinner with my first dates. Bad choice. Too much time and too much money and too many calories. Drinks are better and more affordable and it’s easier to split the tab. I preferred to pay my own way, but - I didn’t argue if he insisted on paying.

Secondly, how do you talk to a guy you just met?  It’s easy. Treat him as you’d want to be treated, and don’t ramble on about your ex, your health problems, your flaky skin, your weight or your diet.

Ask questions. Remember, she who asks the questions controls the conversation. Learn about him and his interests, because your goal is to figure out if he’s worthy of a second date.

Next, there’s the good night kiss. Many men will move in for the good-night kiss at the end of the first date. If you’re already feeling like there’s not going to be a second date, avoid the kiss. It just muddies the waters.

When a not-so-great first date was drawing to a close, my preference was to step back and extend my hand for a warm and meaningful handshake. Then I’d say, “Thank you so much for a delightful evening” and walk away quickly. This simple action spared me many awkward “what do we do now” moments.

If he asks for a second date, be honest and straight-forward. If you don’t want a second date, have a ready-made phrase ready for moments such as this. Mine was, “I had a lovely time but I don’t feel like we’re a good match.”

Don’t get mired in an argument over this. If he wants to argue the point, just say, “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to change my mind on this,” and walk away.

If you do want a second date, be clear and forthright. Above all, ignore those so-called “Rules” that tell women to play games in order to snare a man.

Be authentic and be real. Don’t play a part.

In short, treat Mr. First Date the way you’d want to be treated, with honesty and grace and sensitivity and forthrightness and good manners.

Next:  Red Flags to Watch Out For!

Buy Rose’s book here.

When my husband read an early draft of my manuscript on internet dating, he suggested I make a change in the chapter I’d titled, “Rose’s Tidbits and Miscellany.”

“You’ve listed ‘persistence and perseverance’ as two important qualities for successful internet dating,” he said. “I’d put much more emphasis on that, because those are two of the most important qualities.”

He had a point. I’d talked to so many women who’d given up after a dozen dates, and had reconciled themselves to living alone for the rest of their lives. And I’d met also many women who’d found their one true love in less than a dozen dates.  But that wasn’t my experience. As the months rolled by and the dates kept coming (and going), I had only two choices: give up or push on. I decided to push on.

Perseverance is a common quality found amongst successful people. It was clear to me that perseverance had been the key to my success as both a freelance writer and self-published author. In 2002, I spent more than two years lobbying (perhaps even hounding) a woman at the Smithsonian to allow me to speak at that prestigious and well-known institution.

Eventually, she said yes and that event - that one-hour talk on Sears Homes - became one of the proudest moments of my career. For four years, I mounted a campaign to get the Wall Street Journal to write an article about my work and my book, The Houses That Sears Built. In Summer 2006, the Wall Street Journal called and asked for an interview. That article appeared on page one, above the fold! Reviewing my successes in those hard-to-succeed-in areas, I reasoned it’d be helpful in the dating world as well. And it was.

On October 29, 1941, Winston Churchill told a gathering of upper school students, “Never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.”

The great statesman’s words apply across the whole spectrum of human effort. If you give up too soon, you’ll be depriving not only yourself of much potential happiness, but some well-deserving and decent man, as well.

My 70th first date (now my husband) tells me that he’s glad I persisted and persevered. So am I.

Want to read more? Buy Rose’s book here.

Dr. Joseph Lister - a 19th Century physician - is largely responsible for the bungalow craze, but that’s one tidbit that I’ve never seen in my books on architectural history. The fact is, Joseph Lister and his germ theory dramatically changed the way Americans thought about their homes.

For so many years, mothers could only watch in helpless horror as their young children died from any one of a myriad of “common” diseases. And then in the late 1800s, Dr. Joseph Lister discovered that germs were culprit. Mothers and fathers, weary of burying their infants, had a new arch enemy: household dirt. As is explained in the 1908 book, Household Discoveries and Mrs. Curtis’ Cook-Book:

Not many years ago disease was most often deemed the act of Providence as a chastening or visitation for moral evil. Many diseases are now known to be merely human ignorance and uncleanliness. The sins for which humanity suffers are violations of the laws of sanitation and hygiene, or simply the one great law of absolute sanitary cleanliness… Every symptom of preventable disease and communicable disease…should suggest the question: “Is the cause of this illness an unsanitary condition within my control?”

Now that the enemy had been identified, modern women attacked it with every tool in their arsenal. Keeping a house clean was far more than a matter of mere pride: The well-being, nay, the very life of one’s child might depend upon a home’s cleanliness. What mother wanted to sit at the bedside of their sick child, tenderly wiping his fevered brow and pondering the awful question: “Was the cause of this illness an unsanitary condition within my control?”

Because of Dr. Lister and his germ theory, the ostentatious, dust-bunny-collecting Queen Anne, with its ornate woodwork, fretwork and gingerbread fell from favor with a resounding thud.

Simplicity, harmony and durability are the keynotes of the modern tendency. The general intention seems to be to avoid everything that is superfluous; everything that has a tendency to catch and hold dust or dirt. Wooden bedsteads are being replaced by iron or brass; stuffed and upholstered furniture by articles of plain wood and leather. Bric-a-brac, flounces, valances and all other superfluous articles are much less fashionable (from Household Discoveries and Mrs. Curtis’ Cook-Book).

Remember the movie “It’s A Wonderful Life”?  There’s a 1920s scene where George Baily and his girlfriend pause in front of the massive Second Empire house. It sits abandoned and empty, deteriorating day by day.  This was not an uncommon fate for Victorian manses in post-germ theory America. Who knew what germs lay in wait within its hard-to-clean walls?

The February 1911 Ladies’ Home Journal was devoted to the new housing style: Bungalows. One headline said, “The Bungalow, because of its easy housekeeping possibilities is becoming more popular every year.

And all because of Dr. Lister.

(By the way, Dr. Lister did not invent the popular mouthwash but it was named after him and his discoveries.)

The news media is reporting that Oral Roberts passed today, and already countless blogs - those ubiquitous internet personal journals that seem to have absolutely no social filters or editorial double-checking - are already offering extremely negative and vitriolic commentary on the man’s life.

Color me old fashioned, but I think it is wrong to speak ill of the dead, and it also shows a lack of grace and a lack of basic civility. Victorian essayist Henry Drummond once wrote that good manners are the habit of showing “love in the trifles.”

Oral Roberts was just a human being with all the accompanying foibles and follies that go with that condition, but he accomplished a tremendous lot with his life, including founding a major university in Oklahoma. That is a life well lived.

How about we look at the good that he did, instead of examining his mistakes, and hope and pray that someone will do the same for us one day?

In 2002, when my long-term marriage ended, I sat down and wrote my four-page mission statement detailing what I wanted in a man. That mission statement said nothing about finding a man who bore a strong resemblance to Santa Claus.

In my previous life (like so many good wives and mothers) I’d spent 20 years “playing” Santa and doing Christmas for others. It was a wife’s job to handle all the organizational details for Christmas. I was the one who ran myself ragged buying things and making things and cooking things. One year, I spent countless hours writing and editing a 130-page memoir, a typewritten manuscript for the kids, filled with memories of their growing up years.

In short, Christmas was a fantastic amount of work. The ex didn’t believe in giving Christmas presents beyond a token gift. I gave a lot and got a little. And so it went for many years. I looked to my left and right and saw many other wives and mothers in the same boat as I was. A woman’s lot in life, I’d decided.

And then, when I was 47 years old, I met my 7oth first date. And then we were engaged. And then came Christmas. I was touched to my core with the number of gifts I received from him. And they were all delightful surprises and thoughtful gifts and beautiful things.

But wait, there was more.

He did the Christmas errands, too. He fetched the tree. He decorated the tree. He purchased fresh wreaths for the house and fancy bows for presents. He handled Christmas cards and bought holiday stamps. It was an amazing thing to behold.

“It makes me very happy to be able to enjoy the holidays with a woman who loves me,” he said when I expressed awe at the gifts and the work and the errand-running. “And this is our first Christmas together. I wanted it to be special.”

Turns out, my 70th first date didn’t just look like Santa. He has St. Nick’s warm heart and generous spirit, too.

The fake St. Nick gazes up at the real Santa with a measure of reverential awe and envy

The real estate agent must have thought I was off my rocker when she saw me lean my hand against the plaster wall in the empty house, close my eyes and concentrate. After a moment of silence, I opened my eyes and said, “This house has known sadness and pain, but predominantly, it’s a house that’s filled with many happy memories and good times and joy.”

The real estate agent’s eyes grew big and her brow furrowed. After looking at me askance for a moment, she turned her attention toward the hallways and said, “And what a beautiful staircase it has.”

“The listing says it was built in 1920,” I said to the real estate agent. “That’s not right. I’d say 1924 or maybe early ‘25.”

“Those listings are based on tax records and they’re pretty accurate,” she replied. “If it says 1920, it was 1920.”

I poked my husband and whispered, “That’s not right. It’s clearly 1924 or ‘25.”

When we toured the basement, I admired the oversized beams and massive piers. I reached up and stroked the beautiful knot-less lumber.

“It was an individual owner who built this house,” I said as my fingertips caressed the beams. “Someone who knew their lumber built this house. In fact, I’d venture to guess it was someone who was involved in a lumber business or maybe construction.”

Within 30 days, my husband and I were the happy owners of the 2,300-square foot, center-hallway Colonial Revival home. And I went right to work tracking down the home’s prior owners. With the help of one of my neighbors, I found Laura and her brother, Ed. The two siblings - fraternal twins - had been born in the house in 1949 and now lived in a nearby city. I invited them to come out to the house on a Sunday afternoon. In a few days, Ed and Laura were back at the front door of the house - my house - where they’d spent their childhood.

“My grandfather started building this house in 1924 and finished it in March 1925,” Laura told me. “He owned a local lumber yard in downtown Norfolk. When we were kids, he told us that he’d hand selected every piece of lumber that went into this house. He loved this house.”

I poked the hubby again and whispered, “See, I told you.”

We also learned that their grandfather had built the house for his wife. She was ill during the construction and he told her, “Just hang on, and I’ll build you a beautiful house.” His wife passed on a few months after they moved into the house. Her wake was held in the living room, in front of the large fireplace.

The grandfather - the home’s builder - died in the house in the 1960s, leaving the house to his son. Laura and Ed’s parents moved out of the neighborhood in the early 1970s. The house had remained in the same family from 1925 to 1971. In the 1990s, the grand old house was converted to a boarding house, and still has the scars to prove it.

Laura, Ed and I walked upstairs and they reveled in the tour of their family’s home. Tears came to Laura’s eyes as she stood in the hallway by the walnut staircase railing.

“This was such a good house for us to grow up in,” she told me as she brushed a tear from her cheek. “So many happy memories here.”

I turned to my husband and mouthed the words, “I told you so.”

Laura and Ed replicate a pose from the early 1950s

The house as seen in 1949

In one of my favorite movies, Fried Green Tomatoes, there’s a scene where the young woman dies and her attendant immediately arises and covers a large mirror and then stops a nearby clock. I’d always been fascinated by this old tradition/ritual and wondered about its meaning. I assumed that these practices must have a reason , but I had no idea what that reason might be.

And then I happened to talk to an old friend who explained the reasons for these “odd” traditions.

Let me tell you about my old friend. Her name is Joyce and she’s in her late 70s now, but was raised in the backwoods Georgia of the 1930s. Translated: It was a land and a time more reminiscent of Victorian America. When Joyce was growing up, she had a little sister named Louise that died at the age of three from whooping cough. Joyce remembers “Granny” rocking the child through the night and praying for her, hoping against hope that the little girl would pull through. It wasn’t to be.

Sometime in the wee hours, the little girl looked up at Granny, smiled broadly and passed on quietly. Later that morning, someone in the family went outside and rang the large bell in the front yard.

“It was almost like morse code,” Joyce said. “The bell was tolled a certain number of times for different things. When Louise died, they rang the bell a certain number of times and everyone knew what it meant. Almost immediately, people started coming to the house to help.”

Joyce said they sent the little girl’s body to the mortician who embalmed it and returned the body to the family, for the wake at home. In preparation for the wake, the mortician brought heavy, deep red draperies into the front room of the old house and hung them over the windows, blocking out all sunlight.

“I’m not sure why they put up those drapes,” she said. “Maybe it was to give a solemnity to the wake.”

During the two days of the wake, the little girl’s beloved dog sat dutifully beside the coffin and emitted a mournful wail. The mourners commented on that lamentable howling, and it left them all with a chill. After the wake, the coffin was moved to the church where a service was held. The child’s body was buried in the church cemetery.

The dog followed the family to the cemetery. Some time later, the dog’s body was found along the road. It appeared that the little girl’s pet had literally laid down and died.

My friend Joyce knows a lot about the old ways and about these old rituals.

When one of her elderly aunts lay dying, a family member sat quietly by the bedside. When the old woman breathed her last, the family member arose and draped a heavy cloth over the mirror and opened the clock’s glass face and stopped the clock.

“I saw someone do that in a movie,” I told Joyce. “What’s that about?”

“The cloth over the mirror is for the protection of the departed,” she said. “It’s believed that the spirits of our loved ones may glance into a mirror and become frightened when they see no one looking back.”

That had a resonance of truth, as I’d heard stories about people with near-death experiences saying they couldn’t see any reflection when they looked in a mirror. Wonder how they knew about that back in the 1930s?

“And the clock was stopped for a much more practical reason,” she said. “The clock was stopped so that the mortician would know the time of death.”

There was also a requirement - never to be breached - that a loved one sit with the body until burial. I’d imagine this was a throwback to olden days before medical equipment when the dead occasionally came back to life (much to the surprise of the watcher).

It was all fascinating.

As Tevye sings in Fiddler on the Roof, “because of our traditions, we’ve kept our balance for many years.”

Traditions should be remembered and honored, because oftimes, they were created for very practical reasons.

Note at the bottom of this old tombstone, the macabre reminder, "Reader, you must die." Photo is courtesy of Crystal Thornton, copyright 2009, Crystal Thornton.