On Saturday or Sunday afternoons my father would often want to take a little ride. We would pile in the car and off we would go to places unknown. I say unknown because it was always my father’s desire to find a two track road that we had never been on before. Our 1935 Ford would take us through the very bumpy dirt roads, the winding roads and sometimes to dead-end roads. When dad came upon an old vacated house he would stop and we would take the tour. As we were walking through these old homes, I can still remember my day saying, “If only these walls could talk. Wouldn’t they tell a story?”


Every house has a story doesn’t it? Within the walls of each room are hidden the thoughts, desires, pain and love of those who lived there. A house may look like another, but the people that live within are what make it unique. People can have wonderful memories that they will always cherish about their childhood home or homes, and some have memories that they want to forget. I am going to tell you about my home in Montague, Michigan.

Our home on the corner of Williams and Sheridan Streets was purchased as a gift for my father and mother from my grandfather. It cost the huge amount of fourteen hundred dollars. I never knew my grandfather but heard about him through the stories that my father told. My grandfather was a very successful businessman in the Riverdale/Dalton, Illinois area. He was the editor and chief of the local newspaper, “The Pointer” where my father and his brother, my Uncle Edward, learned the printing business. My grandfather contacted pneumonia when he was in his 60’s. He died, as I was told, because penicillin was not available to him.

My father and my Uncle Ed served in World War I. After the war was over, they both settled into the family business. However, my father was not a businessman. He did not like the city life and every year would visit his cousin who had already settled in Montague.

Despite my grandfather’s disapproval of my fathers’ decision to move to Montague with my mother, brother and sister, dad convinced him that he felt it would be best to raise his family in an atmosphere away from the city. He also assured his father that he could continue in the printing business and would establish a small printing business of his own.

In June of 1936 my mother and father packed all of their belongings in and on top of their old car, and with my brother and sister, left the Chicago area and rented a home in Montague. It was in this area where I was born, and the home in Montague was to become my only home.

I was seven years old when my grandmother passed away. Dad inherited a small amount of money and he and my mother began to plan on renovations to the home. Dad was still thinking about beginning a printing business and he felt a basement under our home would be a good place for a printing press, so a decision was made to raise the house and put in a basement. Because we heated mostly with wood, my mother and father thought it would be wonderful to install a furnace. The kitchen was very small and mom only had an icebox. They decided to redo the kitchen and install a real refrigerator. Because there were only two bedrooms, dad decided to have someone design two bedrooms in the attic.

Dad hired a man named Winston to design two upstairs bedrooms. I loved Winston. We were not to disturb him while he was working, but when we couldn’t hear any movement upstairs, my brother, sister and I would sneak up to see him. We would sit around him while he told us stories. I huddled close to him and wished I was older! One of the stories he told was about a snake that escaped from its’ cage on a ship before its delivery to a zoo in Chicago. That story was told over and over again when I began teaching school. I’ll always remember how kind Winston was to us, and it was a sad day for me when Winston finished remodeling our upstairs. However, my brother and I loved our new bedrooms upstairs, and now my older sister had her own bedroom downstairs.

Although grandpa never saw this dream of my dad’s come true, dad did begin a small printing business called, “The South Hill Press." His printing business was his second job as his actual job was as a typesetter at the Shaw-Walker Company in Muskegon.

Dad bought a small ‘Prouty’ printing press and it fit perfectly in our basement. He did letterheads, envelopes, business cards, and stationery for people in our area. If I remember correctly, I also believe he was involved in the printing of the very first school annual for Montague High School. Dad had a wonderful friendly personality and was soon known by the community.

A woodstove was installed in the basement to help dry the ink on the printed material. Dad had various old tables where we helped him lay out whatever he printed. He would fire up the woodstove and once we had the ‘job’ laid out, we went upstairs. Later, he would have one of us go downstairs and carefully put one finger on the printed material to see if the ink was dry. If it was dry we would help him prepare the material for delivery.

Dad never became the businessman like my Uncle Ed. Uncle Ed began a successful printing company in the Chicago area called ‘The Kinney-Hood Printing Co.’ We would visit Chicago once a year and Uncle Ed would take us through his offices. I often wondered what my dad was thinking as he watched this vast operation.

We considered Uncle Ed a rich man. I’ll always remember sitting in his new Cadillac which had air-conditioning, something new that was being installed in luxury cars. My father drove our 1935 Ford for many years. He never acted as if he desired anything else, or did he act jealous of his brother. In our family, our riches came not from material things, but from the love that we had for one another.

Our home in Montague is still standing. Mom and Dad lived there until their deaths in 1990 and 1991. Dad was 97 and my mother 88. I have many wonderful memories that I will always cherish and will share with you as I continue writing. You must hear about my mother.