Memories of 82 Nuttall
Riverside, Illinois
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These are the memories of growing up in the "Reagan Hotel," and they were written by several of the twelve children who shared this remarkable home between about 1905 to the early 1930s. They were written for the 1967 family reunion to celebrate Ellen St. Cyr's 85th birthday. For more about 82 Nuttall, read The Reagan Hotel
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Riverside - May 23rd, 1920
Keturah Reagan Faurot
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Let's start when father came home and told us that he wished to marry Mrs. Goddard to give us a new mother and someone to take care of all of us. We were all delighted, and we told him so. The first thing that Mother had was the bridal dinner. All of us were so excited when we arrived to see the little pink paper cups with cupids on them filled with little candies. After dinner, the younger children had to go to bed and the older children were taken to a movie. Mother and Father went East for their honeymoon, which started at the end of September. While they were gone, we all, ten children, had the flu. The Goddard children had had one doctor and the Reagan children had had another doctor, so Aunt Edith, who had lived with us since our mother died, decided the only thing to do was to have the two doctors. No one having anything to upset them as to which doctor took care of the Goddard children and which took care of the Reagan children. Fortunately we all recovered and when Mother and Father were to return from their honeymoon, we were bathed and dressed and seated in the Bay window seats, waiting impatiently for two hours--and they didn't appear. Finally they did appear, in a taxi, and as they opened the taxi, out came ten pumpkins. Father had had a delightful time telling the farmer, he was returning from his honeymoon and that he needed to have pumpkins for his children. He would need ten of them. Thereafter the car broke down and they had to transfer to the taxi, that was the reason for the change.
As a big family, naturally we were quarantined many times, and in those days they had to seal off the doors by putting cotton around the openings and sheets over them so as not to pass the germs around. Every morning, this was, I think, during the diphtheria, the ones that were well had their desks in the library. Father stayed home from work in the mornings and taught us our school work. Every afternoon we had to go out and stay and play in the snow, regardless of how cold we were. If we were cold, it was our own fault. And there we would wait until we would see Father waving the newspaper as he came from the train. We felt almost like nice old little Peter Smith. Peter Smith took care of our cow and our chickens, and every evening, when it was time for Peter Smith and his shaggy Airedale dog to come, the chickens would run to the corner and the cow would start mooing, and that would get everyone excited; and that's the way we were when we could return to the house after the cold snow.
Miss Karrott had been the family dressmaker for many, many years, and she still came every spring and fall to lengthen or shorten the dresses according to who wore them. Also in those days we all wore very fine woolen underwear, 100% wool, and it was going to be worn out; and they really didn't care who had worn it the year before. If a girl had worn it, they got out the scissors, and if a boy had worn it the year before, they got out a needle and thread.
The one time we heard Mother tell someone that she couldn't go out for dinner was because she had to mangle that evening. We told her to go along and that we would be very happy to do the mangling. We found that we were going along very well, one girl on each side of this great, wide mangle. It became such fun that after we had the sheets and the towels and pillow cases done, we put through pajamas and they went along very well, so that week we didn't have to iron them. Then we put through the bloomers. The girls had elastic In the legs and at the top of their bloomers. We straightened them out very carefully so that they would go through very well. Mother never said a word about how foolish we had been to burn the elastic in all those legs. She just put new elastic in twenty-eight pairs of bloomers that week and said thank you to us for doing the mangling. I've often wondered whether I would have that much patience. We also had to do the hand ironing, and that was up to us. If we hurried home from school, we didn't have the shirts, but If we loitered along, we would take what was left, which was always the shirts.
We really can't talk about the house and the family without talking about Rina. Rina had been the chamber maid and helped with the children. Later she was a second maid and then when Mother knew that Father wasn't going to live, she felt she had to cut down. Rina had a very good job in Winnetka, and when she heard that Father wasn't going to live, she came back and said she was coming. Mother said she didn't know whether we could afford to have her, but she came. She was with us for many years. Rina was a person that wanted very much to please, but she was really quite a character. She knew very well how to serve, but the day that Mother would go to her club for lunch or out for some other reason, Rina would put all the food on the table and say, "Eat it or leave it or go to Hell." When I had my first dinner party, and I was having Belle Brown as the caterer, Mother said, "Now Rina must do something." So we decided she would pour the water and pass the rolls. She usually poured the water by holding the handle of the pitcher right on top of her fat tummy. She always got engrossed in everyone's conversation. This is what happened that evening: the water went down the neck of one of my friends, fortunately, someone that knew Rina well, so I wasn't as embarrassed as I would otherwise have been. It was Jane Story. We had many lovely evenings with Mother and Father and all the children sitting around the living room after dinner, and Father would read Dickens. The girls would do the mending, trying their best to darn stockings, long black ones that we wore, and the boys had long black heavy ones. We didn't do very well, but we did the best we could. The boys had to polish all the shoes. Everyone was very busy, but it was one of my happiest memories, to remember the fire in the fireplace and all of the lovely Dickens stories we heard.
One morning we had a very upsetting time. It was Sunday morning and we always had two newspapers which gave us two funny papers. There were no funny papers. All the children looked for them, and finally that evening Father said, "Now there must be someone who knows about these papers." Finally Sterling spoke up and said that he felt sorry for the hens that were setting up in the barn to hatch their eggs, that he had taken the papers up there and had nailed them to the wall so that the chickens could have something to look at.
As the girls grow up, and there were a great many teenagers all together, Keturah, Caroline, Elizabeth, Babbie, and there was always little Ben. Little Ben would come when our beaus were there and he would stand there and say, "Can I go?" So we girls used to call him Little Can I Go. He was such a sweet little boy, and often we would take him with us, but if it was going to be a late time, we would just say, "No, you can't go," and he would go back into the house, but wouldn't cry or feel hurt.
I remember the time that the three Putnam children were living with us. Although Mother was bringing up our big family all alone, she also took in the three Putnam's while Mrs. Putnam had a nervous breakdown. When they first came, they didn't like this and they didn't like that. They soon learned to enjoy the lovely meals that we had because it was always something that one of our family particularly liked. That year Barbara and the younger children (she directed the entire play) gave a Christmas play. The dining room was the stage, the living room was where the audience sat because it had large sliding doors, the kind that push tight back into the wall, that divided our living room and our dining room. In this way the doors were pulled out for the curtain of the stage. The butler's pantry was the off stage. The first scene opened with the family sitting, just as we always did, hearing the night before Christmas. After that the stockings were hung. One of the Putnam children was the grandfather, he had on his bathrobe and a large piece of cotton stuck in his lower lip hanging down. When he got up to speak the piece that he had learned in Sunday School, he just removed the piece of cotton and put it in his chair. When he had completed the verse, he put his beard back on. It took quite a while for all of the Sunday School recitals that various ones had learned. The next thing was Santa Claus coming to fill the stockings. The Santa Claus was Herbie, and he was about four years old and had his home made Santa Claus costume on, which Barbara had made. It had the kind of underwear buttons that we wore in those days when the girls wore panty waists (yellow buttons on tape.) These were on his Puttees because, after all, there were loads of panty waists buttons around in our great big family. He patiently took a chair and filled each stocking having to get down and move the chair to reach the top of the mantle as he moved along. After that was completed, there was a bowl of fruit in the fireplace for Santa Claus. The audience sat and watched very patiently while our four year old peeled and ate an orange. That was the completion of Act #2. At the beginning of Act #3 we heard a great deal of commotion In the off stage, which was the butler's pantry. Suddenly, on came the three Wise Men, and then there was Bennie, just a boy dressed in cheese cloth, and only about one layer, like an angel--like the angel Gabriel. He had in meantime discovered there was a difference between little boys and little girls. So he had one arm down between his legs and the other arm was his wing. He said, "Good news, good news, the Christ Child is born." That was the end of Act #3. I really can't remember all of the acts, but when the play was completed, the entire cast came out in front of the folding doors to announce that they didn't know what the play was worth, but they would like to pass the hat around and have each one put in whatever they felt the play was worth. This they did (the entire cast following). When they had passed to all (the audience), they sat on the floor and divided the money, then promptly all went to George Schweitzer's (our one and only drug store) to have an ice cream soda.
I wish I had time to tell ever so many more happenings at 82 Nuttall, but I am anxious to hear from all the other brothers and sisters.
Caroline Goddard Saunders
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One of the most outstanding memories of our childhood at "82" for me is when Ruthie and Jaque had Scarlet fever and all of us except Keturah and Arch were quarantined. Rina's room on the third floor (empty at the time) was turned into a "Toy Town." Everyone was in the act, with orange crate doll houses completely furnished and wallpapered with our own creations and families of dolls, even running water into a tinfoil-lined sink. We had stores equipped with groceries and a "Mr. Liken's" dry goods store plus a dressmaker's shop. All my customers were required to purchase their material from the selections on the little shelves. The boys had a realistic railroad station and a railroad going through town. The doll romances were really something. The doctor and nurse had a courtship, parties and finally a lovely wedding out on the lawn in the spring. Mother made darling little parasols for the bridesmaids and helped us word formal invitations, of which I still have a sample. I think the experience has unconsciously inspired me with my present hobby and love of making and dressing dolls for my grandchildren and our Church bazaar, as well as starting a doll collection.
DO YOU REMEMBER?
Saturday shampoos given to us by Father--rain water having to be brought up from the basement and heated in a big bucket on the kitchen stove--and how dirty it was at the bottom.
Mother telling all the boys to get in the tub Saturday night for their scrubbing and one time a stranger turned up - it was little Jackie Hagen.
Sleeping porch days with Jack Hagen entertaining us in his sleeping nightshirt in has back yard.
Austin Murphy backing up his old Packard to the pantry window to lick the freshly baked and chocolate frosted cake - and it fell off to the floor below? He had to come back to apologize to Rina.
Dear old Peter Smith being met at the corner by the chickens he was coming to feed.
Our embarrassment of the cow in the yard where we had baseball games.
Games like "Red-light" on the front sidewalk on summer evenings.
That wonderful homemade ice cream after the cow had a calf.
The graveyard for the deceased pets with marble headstones beautifully water color painted, and the disappointment when it rained and washed it off?
The time a tramp came to the door while we were eating dinner and Father sent him on his way - only to have him return after having gone all around the block.
The time Father made the very serious announcement that "Mr. Dibbies is dead-- there will be no more dibbies."
Mother's famous instruction to never go to the kitchen empty handed - a habit which has caught on not only by our children but our old friends and their children.
On Saturday's we couldn't leave the house 'till our rooms were cleaned. It didn't take us long when Father was to fill the big old Marmon to take us to High School football games.
Keturah bribing all of us to do things for her by giving us little perfume samples (or anything else) she collected and when they ran out Elizabeth earned an old worn out girdle.
And remember the big fight that followed--the four poster bed was pulled across the room. Father had to intercede that time!
Rina knitting argyles for all the young children for presents.
Miss Kerrot spending a couple of weeks twice a year remodeling, mending and putting new elastics in our bloomers according to a size chart on the wall. She also helped us with our sewing.
Will never forget my first trip to Mr. Liken's to buy my first bra.
Or the first dress I made - a blue linen and very complicated with cording.
Climbing around the whole nursery without touching the floor.
Speaking of the nursery - the time Keturah, Elizabeth and I had our tonsils removed the same day and were brought home one by one to recuperate - tonsils on exhibit on the mantel.
Mother and Father attending a movie at the Town Hall and to their utter chagrin an announcement flashed on the screen about a play to be presented at "82 Nuttall."
Everyone dressed up in clean long underwear for Sunday School. And the nickel for the collection and one for allowance.
Those marvelous Christmases when every present meant so much. When little Herbie and Bennie each had about 25 cents to spend and bought each person a present.
Those Charleston days when we pulled the mantel away from the fireplace practicing.
The St. Alban's parties.
Boys from Hinsdale fighting the jealous Riversiders.
Mother's San Souci meetings - we had to polish the silver. Card parties on the porch for the Guild's benefit.
The cabaret style Sunday night suppers.
The time Mother was cooking up something or other in the pantry and when she reached into a box a scared little mouse jumped out and somehow got into the back of her dress. Poor little Herbie was home with a cold and the only one to come to her rescue. I don't know which of the three was most scared. I do remember the mouse didn't live to tell the tale.
And remember how we finally figured out why there were mice in Barbara's room? Her canary "Petey" spilled his seeds out into the floor.
Killing mosquitoes in Barbara's room every night with a can of kerosene, I believe, attached to a broom handle.
Jaque's lovely little white bunny fur coat and matching bonnet.
Ruthie always won the prize for being the best behaved when Father and Mother took a trip.
Babbie doing her homework while we were all playing and stalling.
Ster always organizing a boys' club.
Les picking up a book wherever he lighted - and knowing just where he left off. The time he wasn't there for dinner and Mother asked where he was - it seems he'd been at Chandler Beach's for several days.
Little Bennie "Can I Go?"
The way we fought (for a while) to take care of the babies?
Oh! So much more. How wonderful to be a part of a big happy family.
Ethel (Babbie) Reagan Hellyer
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Where shall I start? How can I stop? I hope the rest of you are writing along with me. Perhaps just an outline will do. Do you remember when Mother and Father were leaving on their wedding trip and we all stood on the porch to wave them on? I do. I threw an old shoe and bit Father on the head!
After Aunt Edith MacArthur had left, I remember all the rations of sugar, and the Goddard girls making fudge for us! --- Fudge! Sugar! And we didn't have to ask permission.
Keturah, always the big sister (and little mother) knew all the correst ways to do things. I still remember how I envied her the fact she remembered Mother's and Father's anniversary, went to town and bought them a Chinese tray of curry dishes. They all fit together.
The first years come back. When Liz and I were in the middle room on the second floor, it had the telephone in it. And that is the room that I rearranged the furniture in, without telling my roommate. And jumping into bed one night, she jumped smack on to the floor. Sorry, Liz. I think those were the days we spelled our names backwards, and you, Liz, were Draddog Htebazile--and I was Lehte Negaer.
I don't remember exactly when we moved upstairs, but I know that we suddenly became interior decorators--cutting down beds, painting with a glorious new product, "Calsomine," right over the wallpaper.
All of a sudden I remember Toy Town. Those glorious doll houses--with running water!! (An alcohol bottle upside won with a rubber cork and tube.) How did we turn it on and off? With a paper clip? For hot water we put it on the radiator behind the doll house. And how about the bits of food we'd bring up from the lunch table. A doll with a broken arm had "arm disease." With a cracked head, "head disease." I can still see all the shops made out of suit boxes. Caroline had "Likens' Shop" with little bolts of cloth on the shelves; and also a dressmaking shop. Even then she made beautiful doll clothes.
And don't you remember the dolls' wedding one summer when we had it outside? The procession down the grass path to the tree in the flower garden. Mother came to the wedding and brought the bride a pink silk parasol, made with hairpins and a piece of pink silk.
I still have a wooden soap box, made into a trunk, painted dark green, and with rope handles, made by the GGR & Co. (Barbara was the "& Co.")--or do you have the box, Barbara? We had doll house furniture in it.
These warm summer mornings in Riverside, I think of the early mornings that we girls would show up to take over the boys' paper routes--pulling the wagon behind the bikes.
And Ruthie, do you remember how we used to make Barbara laugh by making her guess what we were imitating? One was "Barbara's Electric Lamp."
I wonder how many "secret" clubs we had. Edie told me that Sterling still has his ROCM pin! I hope he wears it to the party on Saturday night. ROYAL ORDER OF CAVEMEN we were and our "caves" were at the end of ditches dug in the vegetable garden, covered with boards, then dirt.
We also had tunnels by turning over all the straight chairs we could find, then covering them with rugs. And under what chair was it that Lester hid--calling out--"Come Find Me--Come Find Me--OH Holy Ghost, Come Find Me?" Or those wonderful games, "The Stair Game," and "Sea Monster."
Rina was so much a part of our growing up. I love to tell my children how she carried in a huge platter of runny hash, got it on the table and said, "Eat it, or leave it, or go to Hell."
Too many things to remember, and to write down these days as we all re-converge on Mother. Maybe we should turn out all the lights and have the Sea Monster chant:
"Oh by gum -- Here I come -- Spook of the fun."
Elizabeth Goddard Field
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Joining families meant joining toys, too. A group of us pulled and pushed Archie's goat wagon to Cowley Road and back to 82, full of Cowley Road Treasures. Part of the escort was on bicycles and on Herrick Road near the Story's old house, or near the present Catholic church, if you prefer, the village whistle began to blow. This signaled 60 seconds of facing East and praying for peace and for those who lay in Flander's field. I don't know whether anyone else in Riverside respected our Democratic President Wilson's request, but all of us dutifully turned around and proceeded backwards with the wagon or bikes, whatever we were attached to, until the time elapsed. I talked Barbara into trading a beautiful doll for one old doll house on the way and then took it back. I think the Indian Giver Guilt Complex resulted in our eventually building her an orange crate doll house during the G. G. R. session. This was the secret club in the basement that prepared Christmas presents one ambitious year, and launched Toy Town.
Christmases were tremendous. We never saw the tree until the sliding doors to the music room were flung open by Santa Claus, who came all the way down from the third floor ringing sleigh-bells and roaring "Merry Christmas." We had already had our stockings from the dining room mantel at breakfast time. What an array! Twelve times twelve packages, plus surprises from relatives.
Birthdays were equally breathtaking. Preparations in advance involved homemade place-cards, crepe paper festooned from chandelier to side lights, one guest allowed for the birthday child, and a free choice of menu. This choice was completely respected by Mother, though the rest of us tried to influence the decision. Usually futile, although one time when Little Jackie wanted just eggs we did persuade her to add bacon. The gifts were never much--a pencil, a candy bar, but the monetary value was so incidental it didn't register; it was the occasion that did.
There was so much to do with that many friends under one roof. We cut out paper dolls and their furniture and clothes from catalogues and whole families lived among pages of books in the day nursery. That room was also the setting for "Sea Monster". Only the Monster could be on the floor (or sea) blindfolded. The rest of us, not allowed to touch the floor, raced around the room from mantle to dressers to tops of beds and doors. The "Stair Game" was something like that: We could hang by a finger, or toe hold, as long as we touched the stair or banisters, trying to keep out of reach of poor blindfolded "It".
On that exciting day that Mother chose every week to take a day off and go to town, we raced home from school. On nice days we climbed all over the roof, three stories up, beautifully intricate and gabled. The highest achievement was the leap across space to the cupola point on the tower. Of the girls, only Keturah ever made it. It never entered my head to try. I was content to make the 2nd scariest peak high over the front walk.
That was right over the flagpole where the Boys hung Liz Crews' nightgown one day when she came over with her paper bag to spend the night. It was wonderful to see the indelicate sight billowing in the breeze. But it was even more wonderful to see Liz jumping and squealing to snatch it down.
Archie was a pretty exciting big brother to have as a High School senior. His friends were the great ones that are always in every class. Their senior class show was a musical, and included Archie parading hand on hip with purse swinging in a long, blue dress and a wig, as he sang "Alice Blue Gown." We could have burst with pride. He played end in the conference-winning football team, too. Imagine a Chicago columnist saying he was a "human stepladder." But he really wasn't with us much. His dimpled smile, his humor and his gaiety were his trademarks.
Keturah and Caroline, big sisters, were always one room ahead of Babbie and me as we progressed from room to room as we grew. But before we graduated to the Third Floor I made a big mistake. I went to the back hall for a too leisurely bath. I came out to find that all the lights were out and everyone was in bed, It scared me a bit so I flew back to our room and leaped onto the bed on my hands and knees. But my darling roommate, Babbie, had rearranged the furniture and I smacked onto the bare floor. We woke the whole family to share our hilarity. I don't know whether it hurt or not.
School was no problem, it seemed right next door from 82. More than once we made it to a desk before the tardy bell after the last swallow of cocoa-dunked toast at the sound of the last bell from the tower. Rina made stacks of toast and a gallon of milky cocoa every morning. I had a great affinity for her and her kitchen--a mutual interest in food. One time when we had guests her face appeared in the dining room door. "Pssst" she beckoned to me. The green beans were too salty. I poured hot water over them and I was a heroine. However, Old Mrs. Shepherd was at the table the next time an emergency arose. "Pssst" I heard again. This time the mashed potatoes were too loose. You had me there, Rina. She had a real blast on her Sundays off, but I didn't know that was why she didn't make it down to the kitchen one Monday morning. I made the coffee and carried a cup up to her. Later in the day I preened my feathers as I heard her tell Miss Karrott that "Leezabet" brought coffee all the way upstairs to her, "but," she added, "She needn't have bothered. It could have walked up by itself."
When I was older and racing for the 7:30 train to the city, my favorite breakfast was one of her Parker House rolls with a generous spread of her Homemade Norwegian "Roquefort." She made it in a crock in the basement; a secret process I could never wheedle out of her. It's probably better not to know.
There was never a lack of activity. The "Reagan Hotel" was a cheap place to visit. A big porch to sit on with endless railings. No snacks were served, and no one expected it. A wind-up victrola in the music room was as good as a Juke box and we learned to Charleston clinging desperately to the mantel for support 'till it literally separated from the wall.
There was one lonely little figure we discovered watching through the window: Jack Hagan, the boy next door. We enticed him in, and he provided us with his own type of entertainment in exchange. He slept on a sleeping porch opposite ours, and on moonlight nights danced for us in the garden in his nightshirt. We got him into a play. Quite a professional one out of St. John's Magazine with a tremendous cast, all of us in it. Jack could remember his lines to a point, but the whole play was in rhyme. That was beyond him so we let him ad-lib in prose. It nearly broke us up, but we held on because we had charged admission; even advertised it on the screen at the town hall movie.
Father and Mother were the center of attention the night that flashed on the screen to surprise them. But Father loved to surprise us, too. He willingly wrote in our memoir books, Favorite Occupation, "Spanking Children." And one night we were all listening to the wonderful books they read aloud to us, as we worked on Christmas presents. The Old Curiosity Shop, and A Christmas Carol had been enchanting, but this night was The Last of the Mohicans. Mother was reading when Father stopped her and handed the book to me. I read in unbelieving horror of Uncas crashing to his death. As I looked up speechless wanting reassurance, I saw his arm nudge Mother and his twinkling eyes. I had to accept the fact that it was just a book, and my reaction was part of the entertainment value. He had a great, great heart with room for everyone of us. We knew it and adored him.
What were we doing in the choir? I sing flat, if at all. All the advantages were ours: Out on one school night; every other night the rule was come home when the gas street lights go on. Who needed watches. We could go to the opera and sleep in the top gallery seats, and in the front row seats at Edwina Love's wedding.
But we did appreciate it was a break in the monotony for Mother. She never registered a complaint, but we know how many lonely hours and years went by where just to keep up with the load and just to keep busy she ran that old gas fired ironer in the basement at night, and was a demon incarnate by daylight. She ran a pretty tight little ship with a minimum of confusion. I have never met anyone who could have equaled her achievement--and always the prettiest, always the cheeriest, and always the lovingest Mother ever.
Barbara Reagan Toole
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In thinking of us all together at dear old 82 Nuttall, I see each one in his place at dinner around the dining room table, and since so many happy times were had there, my memories will be centered around this room.
Remember--"three bites"--often washed down with glasses of water! "Birds on the Roof"; "Simon Says"; etc., games played at the end of a meal with Father the leader. How Mother could stretch a leg of lamb or roast of beef to feed so many and have leftovers for Monday night! The happy time of hanging our stockings on the mantel there after Father had read so beautifully, "The Night Before Christmas."
The dining room brings forth many more memories besides the ones above. The plays we put on, using it as a stage and the living room for audience with the folding doors being the "curtains." Two plays stand out in my mind; first, the John Martin Book play, which was advertised on the movie screen at the Town Hall, and a real surprise to Mother and Father, but they didn't stop the show, just left town instead; and the play several years later which I wrote, coached and made the costumes for each actor. It was a Christmas Pageant and I remember the many after-school hours I worked making a red calico Santa Claus suit for Herb who was about five. All those button holes on the legging part which buttoned to 10 or 12 underwear buttons on each leg! Then I made Ben a cheese-cloth angel costume trimmed with tinsel and studded with silver stars--a crown of silver tinsel went around his little head, and I believe he had wings and a wand, but I'm not sure. By the next spring at his costume birthday party, with a St. Patrick's Day motif, he had grown a little too much for his costume, but he wore it anyway!
I loved working out birthday parties and I remember the one just mentioned. Invitations to each family member asking they come in costume were "sent" out. Shamrocks cut from construction paper were used profusely in the table decorations and I'm sure crepe paper in green and white festooned the room from corner to corner ending at the chandelier plate over the dinner table. This particular party set me aglow with its success and I basked in the happiness derived from it. However, it was short-lived, for after dinner Babbie said, "You always plan parties on a school night and then Elizabeth and I have to do all the dishes." Ah well, she had a point!
I remember the wonderful Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners in that room too, and Rina's delicious rolls and strawberry ice cream! And the beautiful wedding receptions of many of the girls. I loved it all!
A few sentences may bring to mind an unthought-of incident: the beautiful silver bowl always filled with nuts and raisins at Thanksgiving and Christmas; Grandma Reagan's apricot turnovers; the picture of the Madonna which filled me with apprehension after Liz told us one night to be careful for her eyes followed us wherever we went--and they did!; the boys basketball games in the front hall; limp, wet mittens crowding for room on the two hall registers; Saturday morning cleaning--at first the bathrooms were my lot and later the Music Room; the night not one of us noticed Father had shaved off his mustache.
And to each of you a heart-felt thank you for your loving kindness to me during my long illness. I shall never forget it; and to Mother, especially, for her patience and understanding. It wasn't an easy task and as the years go by I appreciate it even more.
Ruth Reagan
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It was a hot summer day-and Father and Mother piled us all in the car, Marmon, with a side seat that held four children. (It was a piece of plywood and it fit over the two side seats.) We were going around the corner of Delaplaine and Michaux Roads and Father turned too quickly and I went out. Barbara said "Why, Ruthie!" I was up on my feet, brushing the dirt off and running for the car when Mother said, "What is the matter with Ruthie?" Barbara said, "She fell out back there!"
We went on a picnic on Fox River where we were going to have our picture taken if we caught a fish. I had the picture taken because I caught a fish but it was a dead fish and I never saw the pictures.
Another picnic we went on was at Lincoln Park Zoo. We had a lovely time but I lost the braces for my teeth. (I took them out while I ate the sandwiches.) Babbie said "That's all right Ruthie, someone will think they belong to the monkeys."
I got a beautiful dress for Christmas. It lasted me all through nurses' training. It was green and it was all beautifully smocked.
One time, as I was "the oldest of the youngest," I had to be blamed for the bulb change in the nursery.
Every Saturday afternoon I'd have the care of Herbie and Bennie. How they would love to sit on the corner in their wicker rocking chairs and watch the people come home from the train.
To earn my allowance, I'd shinnied up the long rope of the swing out in the front yard. I must have been nine years old. That started my 25 cents a month. I remember how pleased Father was with my 5 cent present of a big box of matches for his birthday.
When Mother and Father took a trip out of town we would take a vote for "the best behaved while they were away." I would win the 25 cents and I even voted for myself.
There were never any golf games on Saturday for my father because we'd get our hair washed AND WE GOT OUR HAIR WASHED!
One day Barbara's canary was singing but we thought it was making too much noise, so we took it over to the Jones. They lived right next door to us. We never should have taken Pete out for it was a very warm day. Over at the Jones' was a new Pekinese, Nakapoo, and I had to hear about it at the wrong time--right at dinner time.
We had The Rev. and Mss. Grobb for dinner with us on Easter. We had the it table all fixed up for them. One of the things Mrs. Grobb asked was, "Can anyone tell me what February 2nd is?" Ben said, "Ground Hog Day."
When we had our cow, Bessie, she ran away to church and then she ran over to the grammar school. There wasn't any school, but it was a new life for Bessie.
We had our 13th child when Bessie had a new baby calf. That was what we told our teachers. "That's no bull," said Mr. Smith! The spring calf always ended up in Mr. Owens' butcher shop and Mother would say, "Don't you send me any veal for two months!"
Our dinner was quite the meal because we learned that "Mr. Dibbies was dead" so my father informed us. "Birds on the Roof" and "Buzz Game" helped us with our school tables and other numerous games we were taught. We learned to shuffle cards and we got started collecting stamps.
Rina was the one who would tell us, "You do the work. I'll take care of Ben."
Joseph Sterling Goddard
​
In spite of my desire to be an artist, I guess I was really cut out to be a Merchant.
As far as I can remember, I always had some kind of a project going, and, while I never seemed to make enough at it to set aside any sum of money, at least I kept busy and made enough to finance my model trains.
I'm sure all of our neighbors must have had a pat phrase when I approached the door. "My God, what's that kid selling now!"
Products and Services offered: (My age for each venture is forgotten.)
1. Shoe Shine Concession. 82 Nuttall had lots of shoes. Every week day evening, like the Continental Hotels, I made the rounds with my Sears and "Sawbuck" kit, and shined the shoes left outside the doors. On allowance day I presented my bill for the week before anyone could spend it. 5 cents a shine, no shine if bill not paid. If there were no shoes outside the door, a loud rap must have roused many an early retirer with a start. My best customer was Keturah, my worst was Lester.
2. Root Beer. I brewed gallons of the stuff in the basement, bottled it in Mason jars, and shooed away would be tasters and spongers like flies. What I didn't drink I sold on the corner at 3 cents a glass, moderately cold. Some of the stuff hung around long enough to get pretty heady and even foamed. Door-to-door it was a flop item, even when I offered a free taste without obligation.
3. Paper Route. Bus and I split a route between us. It went as far as Delaplaine Road, the outskirts of Riverside. I got the tough part because my last House was the Van Arsdales. They had a lovable Airedale named Flash, who had an aversion to newsboys, and bit me regularly. Actually he tried to bite me, but, since I wore heavy socks and corduroy knickers, his ancient teeth never quite penetrated. However, his bark was fierce and frightening. It was always a rather hair raising game to see if I could deliver the paper without getting bit. This I did by ducking from bush to bush, tree to tree, and carefully casing the area between dashes to see if I could determine which direction the beast would attack from. He usually got me in the end.
4. Bacon and Hams. Mrs. Mary Bradley lived with the Randolph's and had a ham and bacon business. Every week she would get orders for different weights of hams and give the list to me. She ordered the produce from some packing house and I would pick them up at the express depot every Friday, sort them in the barn, attach the customer's order, and load my Model T. Saturday morning they were delivered and I collected the money, took orders for the following week, and gave an accounting to Mrs. Bradley. This system worked fine until one hot summer week when the hams arrived on a Thursday. By Saturday when I delivered them, they were a rather odd green color. Oddly enough, Mrs. Bradley's business seemed to go down-hill after that and I was soon out of a job.
5. Grass Cutting. This was a good business during the summer and today's kids never had it so good with power mowers. My best customer was old Mrs. Gould with one rambling eye. I never could figure out which one I should look at or what she was looking at. I will never forget her, though, because she always had a cold pitcher of lemonade for me in the back entry. By the end of the hour I was really sloshing. It was one row of grass cutting and one glass of lemonade. This added up to thirty glasses of the stuff.
6. Other ventures of varying degrees of success.
a. Perfumed sachets: Lousy.
b. Christmas Seals: Fair. (Only family and friends ever bought them.)
c. Lead Soldiers: Good demand, slow production. 5 cents per soldier, 10 cents per horseman. Hand cast and hand painted. My biggest order was from Mrs. Scolville. $5 worth of soldiers for Wallie's birthday. It took me a month and $4 worth of material. My time was pretty cheap.
d. Photo Albums: Good profit. I sent away for small albums, paying 50 cents and selling them to the 8th grade graduating class for $1. I sold forty of them and have often wondered how many of them are still tucked away in my classmates attics.
Lester O. Goddard
​
I have presumed that the anecdotes we are to conjure up out of the past should revolve primarily around the "Reagan Hotel."
My own first memory of 82 Nuttall, aside from recalling Sterling and I bringing over our worldly goods in a little wagon at the time of the Goddard-Reagan merger, involves the unforgettable Rina Udland. If poor Rina were alive today this same recollection would not be a happy one. It seems that one of the first discoveries made by two little boys was a large sack of potatoes in the basement, which we proceeded to distribute all over the basement stairs. Poor Rina, who at that time, I believe, was known as the third maid, stepped on one of them and shortly thereafter found herself at the bottom of the stairs with a broken leg. Despite this initiation, she stuck it out and even came back for more. In due time, of course, with the aid of a depression in the construction industry, she combined the various functions of third, second and first maids with that of chef-cook-and-bottle-washer, and thereupon became a legend of our times. I am sure that a large number of the anecdotes contributed by the Goddard-Reagan clan will involve poor Rina. To her, I shall return later.
Sterling and I grew up surrounded by females, with a couple of younger brothers farther down the line. Our time was less occupied with the goings-on around the house than it was with the multifarious outdoor activities that consume any boy's time, but perhaps there was also an element of self-defense involved. With the vast expanse of land available to us just west of the house, this led to a succession of clubs starting with the "Dugout Club", followed by the ROCM (Royal Order of Cavemen), and then, as we emerged above ground, perhaps in the manner of forebears many centuries removed, the LBA (Loyal Boys of America). In front of our clubhouse bravely flew the flag of the United States. These were essentially clubs for youthful males only, but we did break down the barriers by creating a Nurses' Auxiliary, of which Ruthie, along with such as Betty Potter and Cordelia Willard, were charter members. There were times when Ster and I had dirt fights with Barbara and Ruth, which naturally put Ruth temporarily into the camp of the enemy.
Other outdoor sports included a contest timed by a stopwatch. The object was to see who could reach the ground in the fastest time, starting with a hand touching the topmost part of the highest cupola on the roof, then sliding down shingles and flashings, dropping down rainspouts, and jumping from roofs and porches until solid ground was touched. I can't recall who held the record. Although all this was accompanied by diverse shouts and noises, as for as we knew Mother was never aware of what was taking place overhead because her hearing was not of the best.
Then there was the "porch game," amounting to a variation of tag, usually resulting in a greater or lesser degree of damage to the bushes and an occasional twisted ankle. The inevitable scraps and arguments between two brothers of a near age almost universally led to my beating a retreat, though there was the one glorious moment which I shall always treasure, when I landed a strictly fortuitous blow to the solar plexus causing Sterling to lose a very recently consumed lunch. This made me a temporary hero with the result that Sterling kept a respectful distance from me for at least three days. Sic transit Gloria.
At times Ster and I, along with the small fry Herb and Ben, were mere spectators at some of the outdoor going-ons. Fuller details will be supplied by the older girls. This all involved the Sunday battles between the swains from Riverside defending their home grounds against the invaders from La Grange, or was it Hinsdale?
Then there was that marvelous retreat for a rainy or snowy day: the barn. The upper story contained boxes and boxes of old records to be thumbed through, and a variety of rooms for hiding in, or for solitary meditation. More important to a young boy, it was a place to smoke the White Owl cigar pilfered from Father Reagan's stock; or for two or three of us to gather to consume a "portico" of "kabublas", limited in those days to Camels, Lucky Strike or Chesterfield. Once we did manage to lay our grubby little hands on an exotic box of Egyptian cigarettes. This marked the heyday of our youthful smoking endeavors. Anything after that was an anti-climax. Of course all of this activity had been preceded by the normal smoking of corn silk behind the barn. It wasn't until we had become cash-rich from our paper routes that we could afford the luxury of real tobacco.
Every Saturday we trudged off to the movies in Berwyn, for a feature and the cliff-hanger serial. One day we were treated to an extra, a documentary on the life of an Eskimo, called something like "Kivarina of the Northlands." This led to our finding a wonderful, seasoned, oak plank in the barn, which we placed over a log, and then proceeded to propel one another skyward by jumping on one end whilst a teammate stood on the other end. As our skill and confidence increased, and as the old oak plank grew more pliable, we achieved startling heights. This particular form of amusement reached an abrupt end when the old oak plank snapped in two. We were never able to find a satisfactory replacement.
So much for the outdoors. Indoors, I insulated myself from the hubbub primarily by keeping my nose inside a book. The story is somewhat apocryphal, but nevertheless with some element of truth, that I kept a book in every room in the house, so that no matter where I happened to find myself, I could open a book and carry on with the story. My intimate knowledge of the life and hard times of Frank Merriwell, Buffalo Bill and Nick Carter (the detective) stem not so much from life at 82 Nuttall, but from choir boy days at the Episcopal church. Never did I enter the choir stall without a paper-back "dime novel" under my vestment. This led to a near-disaster. One day the visiting Reverend Waldo was delivering himself of a sermon in the monotone to which we choir boys were accustomed from our own succession of pastors. Frank Merriwell was baffling the Harvard batters with his amazing double-shoot, after breaking loose from kidnappers just at game time, when suddenly Rev. Waldo whirled around, pointed a finger straight at the choir stall, and shouted, "Zachariah, come down out of that tree." Well, no one will ever know how close the choir stall came to crashing down with Zachariah. It didn't really faze us, however, and it was probably Buffalo Bill that held my attention the following Sunday.
None of us who participated will ever forget that wonderful invention of young minds called, "the stair game," or that spectacular drama, "The Green-eyed-Jealousy", or the Christmas Eves when the tree was decorated. Elizabeth will surely supply the details of her marvelous jump onto the non-existing bed, followed by peals of laughter that startled all of us smaller fry out of our skins. Others will recall with better details the disappearing act put on by Ruthie on one of our famous Marmon outings of a Sunday afternoon. And speaking of automobiles, I shall never forget the thrilling ride Archie gave me on the running board of his Dusenberg, wherein he attained the speed of 60 miles per hour from a standing start.
And now we must return to Sivarina Udland, Norway's contribution to the Reagan-Goddard menage. No story of the Reagan Hotel could be complete without at least a paragraph about Rina. Her "First you like the cot and now you don't like the cot," and, "I like 'em brown" were more specifically directed at me. More generally, but always just out of earshot of Mother, was--"Eat it, or leave it, or go to Hell." When imagination otherwise failed our gang, the King boys could liven things up by sticking a face into the kitchen and calling Rina "a yellow Swede." Rina's stock response was to call them the "dogs" and chase them with a bucket of water and a broom. This was usually good for at least a half-hour of acrobatics. The time she became so interested in the conversation at the dinner table that she poured water down the neck of the guest of honor has probably been fleshed out in more detail by some other member of our family. I just remember the highlight.
Strangely, one incident involving Rina is of almost no consequence except that it sticks in my mind. One Sunday evening when Rina was in Chicago soaking up dandelion wine with her friends and relatives, I asked Mother what she was cooking. "It's Farina," was her reply. "Well," I said, "that's nice, but WHAT is it?" So Mother repeated, with some annoyance, "It's Farina." After a couple of more exchanges along these same lines, I decided to leave well enough alone, and retreated from the kitchen. Maybe history isn't made of such trifles, but for many days after that I wondered how Rina could possibly care for that Mush when she came stumbling home that night. I never found out.
Herbert Everett Reagan
​
There are so many memories of "82" that it is hard to pick only one. For instance ---
The alarm string attached to my big toe and hung down the side of the house so Wally Scoville could wake me up early.
The dress rehearsal for the boy scout play when we loaded the basement with dry leaves for realism.
The glimpse of a real jigsaw in the Christmas basket in Mother's bedroom.
Train layouts in the library.
Scrambled eggs on toast for Sunday night supper in Barbara's bedroom.
Ironing board rides down the third floor stairs.
"Fishing" for cats--with a fishing line hung from a trap door in the upper story of the barn and the hook buried in some food "bait."
Janet Bragg's face pushed against the dining room window.
The swing on the big elm in the front yard.
Counting cars down at the corner.
Fourth of July parades.
Rina's pat on the backside with the comment, "How's your little poop today?"
The day Ben and I got brand new mattresses, with new green blankets and bedspreads.
However, there is one incident that particularly sticks in my mind. That's a photograph that Mother had taken with me sitting beside her and Ben on her lap. I liked it so much that I asked Betty to have one taken with about the same pose when Johnny and Mark were about the same age as we were. It turned out to be as good as the original, so now I have two favorite photos.
