history – Old Pittsburgh House

September 21, 2019October 7, 2019

Double Springs Schoolhouse, Floyd County VA

In July 1870 the Virginia General Assembly passed an Act to Establish and Maintain a Uniform System of Public Free Schools. This law also required racial segregation in the schools. By November of that year the first public schools in Virginia had opened. Less than a year later, more than 2,800 public schools had been established, more than 700 of which were designated for African Americans.

The Double Spring Schoolhouse before restoration (Photographer unknown)

From an article in the Roanoke Times:

“Because there were no school buses and children primarily walked to school, schools were placed within 2 miles of students’ homes. This resulted in about 100 schools in the county by 1900. Some one- and two-room school houses were built, while some schools were housed in rented facilities.”

This is one of those country schools. The Double Spring Schoolhouse in Floyd County Virginia closed in 1948 and stood empty and overgrown for many years. Here’s the schoolhouse as it looked in 1934 …

… in 1991:

And here’s the schoolhouse today. A local family bought and restored the building and now it’s left unlocked for whomever wants to visit.

Again, from the Roanoke Times:

“Typically, teachers taught multiple grades — often all seven — in one room. The district school boards paid residents to deliver firewood to the schools in the winter. Often students were responsible for splitting the wood and keeping the stove well supplied.”

A photo of the students taken in the the early 1900s includes members of the Vest family, whose descendants bought the schoolhouse and restored it.

Photos of former teachers hang above a bucket for washing up.

Small details add to the ambience. They might not be strictly accurate to what was here in the past, but any schoolhouse in a rural community would have had a similar jumble of donated items.

On the back wall above the coathooks are a depiction of Mount Vernon, Gilbert Stuart’s unfinished portrait of George Washington and the flag.

People still add items, so the interior continues to evolve.

There’s even an amenity — not the original one, though.

In so many places it wouldn’t be possible to leave something like this open. It’d be vandalized, items stolen. But up here in the mountains, it stands unmolested. Occasionally there are visitors, sometimes a school group. The schoolhouse has become a collective project of memory.

One function of preservation is that an environment can take you back in time in a small way. Actors sometimes talk about how the right costumes and sets can make their job easier, projecting them into a story. An old building that’s been left as it was can enable anyone who enters it to do the same thing.

The Double Springs Schoolhouse is located at the intersection of Double Springs Road (870) and Stonewall Road (612) in Check, Virginia.

May 9, 2019October 20, 2024

Some old houses (and other interesting things) in SW Virginia

I visit southwestern Virginia regularly to see family and always end up looking around at old houses and suchlike. Lots of history around here, good and bad. Not a lot of money, generally, so old things tend to stay put rather than being torn down, tossed or made spiffy. For instance, this wonderful house near Fancy Gap, right off the Blue Ridge Parkway. Despite the issues, it seemed like it might still be occupied, or perhaps only recently vacated..

The porch and the trim with the little squares picked out have a folk-art quality; maybe that was a local style.

A much larger house on a rise overlooking the fields a couple of miles away has something of the same folk art feeling. I caught it mid-renovation, not looking it’s best. Still, it’s quite something to be driving up a country road bordered by fields, come around a curve and see this.

The house is asymmetrical, fairly simple in the basic structures, but on top of that the builder added windows of many different sizes, a tower (or is it a turret?), gables, multiple porches, a gazebo-like thing on one corner, lots of brackets and little notched trim along every edge. This house is sui generis.

I took these photos while standing in long grass on an uneven hillside, and later spent some time trying to rotate the photo to make it accurate, but some things just didn’t resolve — like that chimney. It has a gentle bend.

That wide cornice (?) on the porch is unusual and makes the columns look even more slender. I didn’t go up onto the porch, but here’s the view from the road in front of the house, which must look much the same as it did a hundred years ago.

A house like this must have a story and sure enough, this one does. Nailed to a post across from the house was a plastic folder with several copies of this flier:

Someone who lives in a nearby town told me that this area was a bit like the Wild West in those days; most people drank a lot, everyone had guns and there were feuds, both family and political. People got shot all the time. The Carroll County Courthouse tragedy of 1912 mentioned on the flier is a fascinating story, one that made international news at the time it happened.

(Here’s Jeremiah Sidna Allen, the man who built this house, and yes, that’s a mug shot)

The story has been well-told elsewhere, but here’s a quick version: J. (Jeremiah) Sidna Allen’s brother Floyd was a farmer, shopkeeper and moonshiner, famous for his temper. After his nephews were arrested for fighting (someone kissed someone else’s girlfriend) and taken by wagon to the jail. Floyd intercepted the wagon, beat the deputy and freed his nephews. He was arrested for assault and interfering in an arrest and was put on trial in the courthouse in Hillsville. Members of his family, including Jeremiah, brought their weapons that day and when the verdict of one year in jail was read, Floyd refused to go. The courtroom erupted in a gun battle. When it was over, the judge, the prosecutor, a juror, a witness and a sheriff were dead. Some of the Allens, including Floyd, were captured immediately; others, including J. Sidna, escaped.

(The house around the time of the Courthouse tragedy, photo from this blog)

There was a big manhunt and the story was in the news for weeks (only displaced by the sinking of the Titanic). Floyd and his son Claud were convicted and executed for their part in the massacre. J. Sidna and other family members got jail sentences and were later pardoned. Later in life, J. Sidna supported himself in part by telling his family’s side of the story and selling his woodwork. He was quite talented, as his fanciful house shows.

Fancy Gap is still a small community, not quite a town, with less than 300 people. I usually stop at the Pottery and Fabric Outlet when I come through; it’s housed in a couple of wood buildings right off the parkway. I didn’t get photos, except for this old carriage outside, but here’s their website so you can get an idea.

It’s definitely worth a visit. The pottery outlet has hundreds of glazed plant pots in all sizes, plus birdbaths. The pots are seconds but still quite good and the prices are maybe a third of similar stuff at a big box store. Inside, there’s a lot of home decor items, mostly very country or old time-y style. I got these simple iron hooks for $2.09 ea. They’re rough, but they’re going in the basement storeroom, so that works.

A little over an hour north and east is Salem, a much bigger town. We were just driving through when I glimpsed a mansard roof on a side street and had to check it out.

This is North Broad Street, where the folks with money lived — still live, given the level of maintenance it would require to keep houses of this age in such good condition. There are houses of many styles here, from the 1880s to the 1950s, all set back on large lots.

Of course this one caught my eye — I love mansard roofs. This is an example of the Second Empire style (that’s the reign on Napoleon II) was, which popular from about 1860 – 1880. The roof and the arched windows are the most recognizable elements of that style.

According to A Field Guide to American Houses, Second Empire homes were relatively rare in southern states. This one is also interesting in that aside from the roof and the ornate trim, it’s a rather simple brick building.

Shutters inside and out! (And a humble touch that reminds me of my own house: the plastic extender on the downspout.)

This lovely Queen Anne is right across the street. Like other houses on this street, it’s beautifully kept, as if it was never permitted to fall into disrepair.

That porch!! It makes so much sense that the most ornate part of the house would be the area where people will be able to see it up close. Even the screen doors and the mailbox are just right.

And such a good color scheme — there are at least five colors on this house, but it’s so well thought-out that everything harmonizes, nothing leaps out. Whomever came up with these colors really knew what they were doing.

There’s something so satisfying about seeing the same level of care and detail on the side of a house. And check out those cornerboards, picked out in the darker yellow, which help define the structure and visually break up large areas. So nice. Even the garage, just visible back there, got the same treatment.

Right next to that, a different approach on a smaller, less ornate house. Sometimes a very simple color scheme is just perfect.

It’s nice that the addition is smaller and behind the main structure, and that both addition and deck are the same color/style, so the original house remains the focus. I’m not so sure about the cresting (that little iron fence) on top of the bay window. The proportion looks off, it seems too big for that little bit of roof. I wonder if it’s original — if so, there would also have been cresting up along the roof peak. Still, cresting doesn’t seem right for the style of the house, which is more simple. Maybe that little bit was added more recently, to dress up the side of the house. Who knows? Most 19th century houses were very much mix-and-match, style-wise.

Back on the other side of the street, another simple pale color scheme on a much larger house.

The color isn’t historically accurate for a house of this period, but it’s really nice; the body and the trim are tonally close, with just enough difference to pick out the trim details and accentuate the structure. Subtract the porch and the bay window and this is clearly an Italianate style house, probably built in the 1870s. Although the roof is different, the basic shapes and proportions of the facade are quite similar to the brick house above. I’m guessing that lovely front porch and the central bay window above it were added 10- 20 or so years after the house was built, to update it a bit.

With so many beautiful houses in a small area, I know this town must have other great houses and buildings, but we were just passing through and didn’t have time to properly explore. I hope to come through again with more time and see more.

February 6, 2019September 22, 2019

Old conveyances

I’m not into celebrating wealth, which has a tendency to take over anything it touches, but some things are worth looking at for reasons aside from who could afford to own them. These vehicles embody the work of the people who designed, built, operated and maintained them: engineers, craftspeople, laborers, mechanics, drivers, cleaners. As such they also represent the history of labor and not just the trappings of wealth.

Even knowing that, I wrestle with the context, so let’s get that out of the way. Henry Clay Frick was a big industrialist, union-buster and one of the wealthiest men in American in the late 19th and early 20th century. He started with a modest mansion in Pittsburgh then moved to a very large mansion in New York, which later became a museum filled with the art he’d collected.

The Pittsburgh property remained in the Frick family and is now open to the public. Some parts of it, including the Car and Carriage Museum, are free of charge. There are a couple dozen vehicles on display at any given time, dating from the 1880s to 1940. Many of the carriages and two of the cars belonged to the Frick family. Another 20 or so vehicles came from other collectors — too many to have everything on display at once.

(above and below: the Penn 30 Touring Car, manufactured by the Penn Motor Company in Pittsburgh in 1911)

(detail of the Penn 30)

They’re so beautiful. Almost hyperreal, at first. Old things have their own power but are usually faded, incomplete, or broken. Everything here is clean, polished and in excellent condition; the physical presence is undiminished. The craftsmanship, materials and forms shine out.

(above and below: details of a brougham manufactured by Brewster & Co. in New York in 1881)

The carriages were my favorites. They look delicate but were designed for bumpy cobblestones and unpaved streets (or no streets at all). The lines of the bodies and the finishes and decoration are similar to furniture and the interior design of the time, but more restrained, suiting their functionality.

The back of the brougham with it’s tiny little window. The surface of this was so interesting — lacquer, maybe?

The shape of that pull-up top!!

I wonder if this is a one or two-horse open sleigh. Also, what happens when you hit a rock going across a field?

(An electric Stanhope, manufactured in 1903 by the Baker Motor Vehicle Company, Cleveland, Ohio)

(1914 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost touring car)
This one looks like it was designed for the express purpose of mowing down the proletariat.

(The Stanley Steamer, made in 1909 by the Stanley Motor Carriage Company, Newton, Massachusetts)

(1939 American Bantam roadster)

The exhibit space is large, open and clean but the light is an odd yellow color. That’s probably for conservation reasons but it was actually a bit unpleasant and made it difficult to work out the white balance for photos. I’ll go back at some point and try again — it’d be nice to get more details.

Here’s some more info about the Car and Carriage Museum.

August 30, 2018September 22, 2019

A house history

(photo courtesy of David Bakaj)

Here’s my house in about 1947 (going by the license plates). It’s the one in the background on the right, with the little pediment roof over the front door. That pediment was new, aluminum supported by simple black iron brackets — a popular 40s style update. The window trim has been removed so that dark red asphalt shingle siding could be fitted over the wood clapboards. The house to the left, built around the same time but not yet updated, still has the style of a bygone era.

(original 1870s wallpaper in the upstairs hallway)

A good friend gave me a wonderful housewarming gift: a house history by Carol Peterson, which came in the form of a folder of maps, copies of deeds, and newspaper notices. Carol compiled this material from research in public records and wove it together to tell the story of the original owners. Below is her summary about the people who built the house and those who lived here subsequently, with my photos of house details.

James C. Rayburn Jr. and his wife, Hannah Dain Rayburn, had [the house] constructed between 1872 and 1873. The house was built on part of a double lot that Hannah D. Rayburn had purchased in 1871, for $1100.
James C. Rayburn Jr. was a bookkeeper and clerk with Armstrong and McKelvy, a paint company, during the time that he and his family lived [in the house]. He lived during much of his childhood on Penn Avenue in the Strip District, where his father was a Pennsylvania Railroad foreman and president of the neighborhood school board. Hannah Dain Rayburn also grew up in the Strip District. Her father was an Irish immigrant who ran a livery stable, and her mother was a Welsh immigrant.

The Rayburns were in their early 20s with two small children when they moved into the new house. They eventually had eight children, all of whom lived in the house. Hannah Rayburn’s mother Hannah Dain also lived [in the house] from the time that the house was built until she died in 1884.

In the early 1890s, the Rayburns moved to South Winebiddle Avenue. They owned [the original house] until 1896, renting the house to tenants.

(small objects found during renovation)

A section of brief notes brings later residents into view, sketching out the story of the neighborhood as well as the house.

1900
The 1900 census enumerated the Gallagher and Greenawalt families living in apartments at [the house]. James Gallagher, 43, was a day laborer who had immigrated from Ireland in 1873. His wife Julia, 36, had immigrated from Ireland in 1876. The Gallaghers had been married for 20 years and had nine children. Seven of their children were living: Edward, 19, a day laborer in a mill, Margaret, 16, a packer in a cracker factory, James, 13, Ellen, 11, Mary, six, Sarah, four, and Julia, one.

(labels found in back of a closet on the first floor)

William H. Greenawalt, 34, and his wife Jennie M., 33, rented the other apartment. Both were at least second-generation Pennsylvania natives. William Greenawalt was a blacksmith’s helper. The couple had been married for ten years and had three children, two of whom were living: Clyde A., eight, and Jennie B., seven months.

1910
Records of the 1910 census do not identify occupants of [the house].

(Fragment of a comics page from 1911, found stuffed in a wall)

1920
In 1920, the Raschle and Kaylor familes lived [in the house]. Albert and Sophie Raschle were both 29-year-old Polish immigrants. Albert had immigrated in 1909, and was a hammerman in a forging plant. Sophie had immigrated in 1912. Neither had learned to speak English. Their children were Albert, six, Olga, four, Arthur, three, and Edward, one.

(linoleum rug, found upstairs when removing wall-to-wall carpeting)

Mary Kaylor, 35, was divorced and worked as a car cleaner in a railroad yard. She had been born in Pennsylvania to parents born in Alsace-Lorraine and England. Her daughter Margaret, 16, was a buncher in a cigar factory. Catherine Negley, 24, was a sister of Mary Kaylor and a widow. She lived with the Kaylors, and was also a railroad car cleaner.

(ruler from a local shoe store, found behind a baseboard)

1930
Polish immigrants Piotr and Mary Kozlowski owned and lived [in the house] in 1930. Piotr Kozlowski was a rail car cleaner. Census records show that the Kozlowskis had learned to speak English, but neither could read or write. Their children Tadeusz, 13, Waclaw, 11, Raymond, nine, and Edward, four.

Vincent and Frances Przyeck rented an apartment at [in the house]for $15 per month. Vincent, 25, was a laborer in a rivet factory. He and Frances, 23, had been born in Pennsylvania to Polish immigrants. They had been married for two years and had no children. Michel Olnicki, France’s widowed father, lived with the couple. He spoke English but could not read or write.

Information about past residents ends there. Carol noted, “Manuscript census records are withheld from public view for 72 years, to protect the privacy of persons who were enumerated.” After living in this neighborhood for over ten years, I’ve gotten to know several other people who lived here and learned a little bit about their stories.

(layers of floor coverings in the upstairs kitchen)

I came to think of the previous residents of this house as neighbors, separated by time instead of distance. They made food in the same kitchen, maybe put their bed in the same spot. They were also awakened by the train whistle and the boom of freight cars shaking the hillside. They slept, or tried to, when storms shook the house. Maybe they also put a chair in front of the window that catches the breeze from the north in the summer.

(upstairs sitting room)

Reading about my neighbors-in-time is a reminder that although I’m here now, like them, one day I will leave and not come back. In art this understanding can be prompted by a memento mori, an object/idea which provides perspective and some wisdom by reminding us of the impermanence of life. Maybe all histories work that way, but Carol’s house history is also about change and renewal through the narrow lens of one simple wood house and the people it sheltered.

Carol died in December 2017. She’s missed. As a historian she believed that the history of working class people was worth preserving, including their homes. She bought old houses herself and with a series of light-handed renovation projects she proved that it’s both financially feasible and market-friendly to preserve old houses, rather than gut or demolish them. She created the Pittsburgh House Histories Facebook page, which her friends are maintaining, to make this point. She co-wrote (with Dan Rooney) Allegheny City: A History of Pittsburgh’s North Side. She was a tireless advocate for the value of historic preservation, which is how I met her. She wasn’t afraid to stand up and ask uncomfortable questions at public meetings. And she did house histories, hundreds of them. Many homeowners in Allegheny West who got house histories from Carol shared them for this online archive.

(Carol’s own house in Lawrenceville, one of her restorations.
Photo from this blog)

If you’d like to know more about Carol, here’s an article about her house histories. Here’s an article about her work as an architectural historian. And here is the appreciation of her life and work in the local paper.

Thank you, Carol, for all that you did.