“The House By The Side Of The Road”

by Rosalie Bock

May 2008

In Europe, the peasants looked to the castle for leadership, and support.  In my neighborhood, we looked to the Settlement.   That is, the Northwestern University Settlement House.  The building still stands at the corner of Augusta Boulevard and Noble Street, Better known to many of the older ladies then as “Bingo” street, for they couldn’t read, but they knew that if they got off the Streetcar when the driver yelled “Bingo” they would find several halls were “Bingo” was played. 

The Settlement, as we lovingly called the old building was a haven for everyone.  The hungry got fed.  The poor got clothing and the all sorts of  assistance  they needed to find jobs, to get citizenship papers, to have something that frightened them read, a place to get vaccinations, to leave their children while they worked, to help them assimilate in every possible way.  The staff lived there, so there was 24 hour help available. 

Women were taught child care, and learned to knit or crochet or sew.  There was a gym.  There were classes of all sorts.   There was a haven where people could find others like them with whom they could become friends.  The use of the building was such that by the time I was grown the front door step, made of stone, was worn down in the middle so that it was ankle deep at the sides. 

The after school programs that I attended helped the Displaced Children assimilate.  These kids came to America in ill fitting clothes with large tags attached.  They were afraid to remove them.  Naturally, the neighborhood bullies picked up on the tags and  had loads of fun at their expense. To be a “DP” was the ultimate in lowliness.   The Settlement was there to help the children and  their families (if they had anyone, as most lost many family members in the War).  Wanda was a fine example.  Alone with her Grandmother, they lived in an apartment that had a dirt floor, and lived primarily on potatoes and milk.  She had no socks, and her shoes never did fit.  She and her Busia were just dropped here. She spoke no English, she could not read or write her own language. 

Through the help of the people at the Settlement, they got clothing, and some public aid for money, and soon they moved to a better neighborhood where Busia was doing cleaning for “rich ladies”.   Wanda was my buddy.  Along with Andrea, the daughter of the neighborhood drunkard, we played on the porch in front of my house on a daily basis.  The porch was more like a bridge from the street to the house covering the space made by the uplifted boulevard.  We played with cut out dolls, played school, and generally bothered no one.  I was not allowed to play anywhere else because my mother feared so many things.   We looked pretty ragged.  Two kids from homes where money was always a problem, and one kid who jabbered in Polish until we got her to speak some English. 

During the summer, the Settlement had a summer camp for the kids of the neighborhood. It was called the “House in the Wood”.   We were called “Underprivileged Children”.  (I didn’t know that I was “Underprivileged” until I applied for College, and had to tell the schools that we had no hot water, no tub, and not central heat.)  This camp existed before I was born, taking city kids out to a campground in the forest preserve on Milwaukee avenue, near Golf Road.  It was situated on the DesPlaines River, and had several buildings that included a Dining Hall, a Swiss Chalet Dormitory and two other army like dorms along with some small huts for the help.  For a minimal amount, you went to the camp for two weeks.  It was heavenly.  I learned all about nature, ate great food, sat around camp fires where the counselors did all they could to scare us with their stories, learned lots of crafts, and generally had a great time.  Since this was a Forest Preserve, there would be company picnics on the adjacent grounds.  When we knew they were coming, some of us would join in the games and try to win prizes.  We only got caught once!!!

Next door is a cemetery where the first caretaker is buried.  Benny lived and died on the grounds, and I remember his tombstone was a slice of a log  with his name carved in it.  It was made at the Settlement by a boy in the woodshop class.  Benny’s dog is buried next to him.  All the kids revered this spot which was not scary, but very tranquil.  It belonged to Benny. 

Across the street was a Nightclub.  The” Villa Venice”.  We once snuck across at night to see the ladies in their very fancy dresses and listen to the music.  I later found out that it was reputed to be a Gang owned establishment.  I wonder if we saw any real gangsters and their molls. 

Just down the road was the Palwaukee Airport.  At that time it consisted of two buildings and a couple of little planes.  In front of the Dining Room at the camp, the Gardener grew a large “N” “U” “S” of white petunias, surrounded by other plants.  The pilots always gave us a dip of their wings when they saw the planting as  they flew over.  These were little planes, but still, during the war this was a big deal. 

There was a large vegetable garden there, where tomatoes, onions and potatoes were grown to share with the neighborhood around the Settlement.  The natural spring on the grounds had the best tasting water, but a very unreliable pump that gave everyone fits.  The pump was in a building covered by a grape vine, and I do mean covered.  It looked like a giant bush.  It never had any grapes but it was beautiful. 

When I entered my teens, the camp was moved from the leased property to Lake Delavan, Wisconsin.  Since my uncle was Head Resident of the Settlement, he used us as volunteers to take care of the grounds and buildings of this camp.   I spent most of my adolescence cutting the grass, painting the buildings, cleaning, and caring for this wonderful property.  It retained its name, and I became a camp counselor there.  This was my first job, for which I was paid $20.00  and all I could eat for four weeks of working with the kids.  For the caretaking work, I received nothing, but the pleasure of taking care of the buildings and grounds, and swimming in the lake when I was finished.   

I had been going to the settlement since I was two.  I went to the Kindergarten, the after school classes, the camp, and I learned so very much about people, about helping, about sharing, it was a good place.  I am honored to have known Harriet Vittum who was the founder and eschewed any publicity on the grounds that it was not right to give to others in order to receive accolades.  Shje was an imposing figure with her lorgnette and brown dress.  She always wore brown.  She walked with a limp, a leftover from her younger days when she crashed her convertible into a fence.   She was truly kind the fullest sense of the word.  Her respect for others led her to be a star in the realm of social workers. 

My uncle took her place as its leader, and continued with work that was a real pioneering venture in Social work. Thousands of people benefited from the work of this organization, and thousands are grateful for it all.  When I last visited the building, the old squeaky stairs were gone, the beautiful railings, even the Inglenook in the Guild Hall was gone,  Much of the tile work and the old antiques that graced the entry were replaced by modern school related equipment.  Even the old switchboard which drove me crazy with all of its plugs and wires was gone.  But the feeling is still there.  The strength, the security and the respect were still there in the form of a very special school.

There used to be a poem by the door  “Give me a house by the side of the road, and I will be a friend to man…”  Indeed, the Settlement was a friend to everyone who stepped on its worn front step. 

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