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Lee Boulevard apartment
in Arlington, VA, April, 1944
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As residents of a brand new apartment building in
1944, even the most critical new tenant realized the handicaps
facing builders during the war years. We understood very well
the multiple problems of military priorities, shortage of building
materials, scarcity of help (skilled or otherwise)
and the limitations on transportation and delivery.
Still, our first experience with new wartime construction
was enough to try the patience of any saint.
Our First Misadventure…
You may recall my euphoric memory of the snowfall on our move-in
day and its transformation of our surroundings from refuse heap
to pristine park. As the winter storm abated, the curtain rose
on our first joint adventure. The next morning, we woke to find
the temperature had dropped and the mud ruts were frozen solid.
By exercising a bit of caution on the slippery surface, we discovered
that cars could be driven in and out at will.
It seemed so easy that many of the tenants
forgot too quickly the content of the ground beneath the icy glaze.
They also forgot, if they ever knew, just how rapidly the temperature
in the Washington, D.C. area can change. Without a doubt, Washington
had the “changingest” weather to be found anywhere.
The following night, owners nonchalantly parked
their cars on the improvised runway, wheels firmly anchored on
the crusty surface. And then, in only a few brief hours, a complete
reverse metamorphosis took place, changing our temporary winter
paradise into a mocking, muddy shambles. The makeup had been removed;
the veil had been lifted. The queen became a witch.
By morning, the thermometer had risen well above
the freezing point, and a complete thaw was in progress. All the
ice and snow had disappeared, melting into water which seeped
into the surface of the earth, completely saturating the dirt
so that once more the grounds, paths and roadbeds were just as
they were the morning we arrived. In short, their name was mud!
Most important to our new neighbors, however, was
the fact that every single car in the roadway was solidly and
irretrievably stuck. The mushy mire rose to the hubcaps and even
over the running boards of many of the helpless, stranded autos.
Any attempt to drive them out under their own power only resulted
in endlessly spinning the wheels, round and round, faster and
faster, embedding the cars deeper into the mud with each turn.
As new neighbors, we all pitched in to help. With
construction of the unfinished units still in progress, lumber
wasn't hard to find, so wooden reinforcements were erected under
the wheels and little boarded paths were made in front of and
behind the cars. An engine was started. The assisting men pushed,
pulled, lifted and shoved for all they were worth.
The car would quiver, groan, strain forward a few
inches with motor racing and then collapse hopelessly back into
its original hole. Batteries were soon run down from repeated
attempts. The men were exhausted, spent and disgruntled from their
fruitless efforts.
Tow trucks were called. Most would not even attempt
this futile engineering job under such adverse conditions. The
few which did brave the odds soon became stranded themselves and
were abandoned here and there, adding to the difficulty in removing
the original cars. One thing was certain. We had moved in all
right — but the only way out
was on foot!
Worse, the next few days produced nothing but rain,
rain and more rain, multiplying a hundred-fold the original plight
of the wretched cars. Most of them were there a full week, sinking
deeper and deeper, batteries dead, tires flattened, radiators
leaking and the owners cursing the day they ever moved in.
Of course, the rain did come to an end and the cars
were rescued, but only after several sunny days and with the assistance
of a fleet of tow trucks. By now, even the cheeriest among us
began to see the chasm existing between our interpretation of
“ready for occupancy” and that of the builder!
With Spring Came Many Outdoor Improvements…
Eventually, time did heal many of our wartime construction woes.
When, finally, the sidewalks had been laid, we forgot out weary
sloshing in the mud and our slippery walks across the icy gangplanks.
When the steps were finished, we forgot the detours and falls
which had been a regular part of our daily lives. When the drives
and parking areas were completed, we became reconciled to our
experience with the retentive mud and could joke about it.
With spring, our barren and trash-strewn grounds
became a beehive of activity. Workers buzzed around removing trash,
leveling the ground, digging holes, grading terraces, planting
trees and preparing shrubbery beds here, there, everywhere. A
carpet of sod was laid over the bleak, muddy topsoil. No longer
did we lower our eyes in shame as we directed guests over the
muddy trail to our apartment entrance.
Inside Our Victory Model Apartments…
Inside the apartments, however, our victory model homes continued
to provide interesting challenges and it became clear that some
problems were with us to stay. Like all our new neighbors, we
grew testy as one person after another expressed their envy of
our wonderful new apartment. New they were; wonderful they were
not!
Paint was everywhere —
in the sinks, on the drainboard, in the bathtub, on tile
and floors and splattered all over the windowpanes, to say nothing
of the extra dripping our furniture acquired on moving day. We
lost count of the packages of razor blades we wore out trying
to remove the excess coloring.
Before we could use a closet, shelf or cabinet,
we had to do much more than simply wipe away any dust left in
the wake of a previous tenant. Each cubbyhole in every apartment
contained a generous supply of sand, mortar, sawdust, mill ends,
grease, dirty newspapers, the ever present paint, stale remains
of lunch and fragments of broken milk and soda bottles. It was
not simply a job for the dust cloth but an operation requiring
vigorous applications of brooms, chisels and scrub brushes.
We could and did defeat these original handicaps
but there were other obstacles in the path of housekeeping efficiency
over which we had little control. Though we had practically knocked
everyone down in our haste to rent one of these apartments, we
soon decided we would hate to actually own one of them for their
hasty construction meant that the equipment and fixtures fell
far short of mechanical perfection.
All the light switches were set in at an angle,
each different from the others.
The doors were not properly hung and, though we
have never decided whether they were too large or had been fitted
into openings that were too small, they always stuck at inconvenient
times. All the doors had locks but you would not use them as a
means of keeping intruders out, for none of the locks ever worked.
Drafts of air came in from all directions. If we
trapped their entry under the front door we found that they still
hit us in the neck from a leak around the windows.
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Apartment
entrance,
debris and all! |
The venetian blinds (victory-models) were
most unmanageable. They generally chose to go on strike just as
the sun glared into the room. If we became insistent and tugged
too violently, we simply broke their spirit and they collapsed
into a heap on the floor.
The floors rippled in varying degrees. Probably
each tenant should have been equipped with non-skid shoes to maneuver
around the apartment without tripping or falling. And apparently
the mixture used to cement the prefabricated flooring squares
together had lacked sufficient adhesive qualities. Before long
many blocks parted company forever, leaving cracks ranging from
the width of a finger to the size of a small book. They did serve
one useful purpose, however, since they furnished endless amusement
for all the babies who crawled around the floor.
All the faucets dripped incessantly. The one
in our kitchen was the most annoying, since it leaked straight
down onto the pots and pans stored beneath and indiscriminately
rusted the lot of them.
This leakage did not bother our guests nearly
as much as the leaky water closet in the bathroom. When the toilet
had been used it had an average refill time of about ten minutes.
Once the water reached the top of the bowl it continued to spill
over and splash rhythmically into its companion pool beneath until
the entire mechanism was set into operation again.
Usually after an unsuspecting guest had started
the merry-go-round, he would listen —
first hopefully, then suspiciously and then despairingly
— and finally overcoming his embarrassment he would
ask, “Is that darned thing EVER going to stop?”
We had lots of maintenance people take a look at
the leaks. Everyone tried to stop them, but no one ever mastered
them. Some looked the situation over, went away in search of additional
equipment and simply never returned. Others succeeded in plugging
the leaks long enough to receive our wholehearted thanks and a
tip before making a getaway. Invariably, once they were out of
earshot, the leaks began again with renewed vigor. We always wondered
if they were programmed by some prearranged signal.
Some of the tenants described their particular leaks
as “seasonal” or “chronic” or “occasional.”
Regardless of the terminology applied to them, they stayed with
us throughout our years in Arlington. Soon they became as much
a part of our lives as the sticky doors or squeaky, uneven floors.
One wag referred to our wartime way of life as “the
drip, squeak and stumble.” But for each us the apartments
on Lee Boulevard quickly became home. And in looking back, the
memories of our years there are very dear indeed.
