The Basement
The Mary-Etta basement was a maze of dimly lit rooms, each one leading into another like a series of chambers in a cave. No two rooms were the same. Some had dirt floors; some floors were concrete, or even wood. Ceiling heights varied, too, to match the changing floor levels of the party rooms and lobby overhead. I remember three staircases, one of which led...nowhere. There was also a ramp that rose up from the basement to a walk-in cooler, up to the kitchen, and on outside. One room contained huge water heaters, a furnace, and a deep, rectangular pit that used to contain a behemoth of an old furnace. Few of the rooms were lit with more than a single light bulb. Creepy, yes. Definitely a little boy's dream. My brother, Dan, and his friends, spent hours, even days, exploring the hotel basement.
Soon after we moved to the Mary-Etta, Dad hung three swings from the rafters in the back basement room, one for each of us kids. Laura's swing was the kind of inside-out tire swing that works well with toddlers, Dan's swing was a traditional tire swing, and mine was a traditional board and rope swing. There was also a pre-existing "trapeze" that we could hang from. The swings were hung in such a way so we could all swing at the same time, if we were careful. Milly and Ann, the cooks who worked in the kitchen directly above, were more than a little surprised and scared by the noise of the swings the first time we tried them out, because no one had thought to tell them about our new playroom.
The swing room, which was adjacent to Dad's workshop, contained piles of lumber and other building supplies leaning against a center post. The dumbwaiter door opened into that room, too. A dumbwaiter is a primitive elevator that works with a system of rope pulleys, and is used to transport laundry, trash, or even food from one floor to another. We weren't ever allowed to use the dumbwaiter by ourselves, but we enjoyed riding up and down on it with Dad or one of the hotel staff. The swing room also had a toilet stall and a sink, so it was very convenient for us to play there with our friends. Neither the toilet, nor the sink, were cleaned very often, if at all, but that didn't bother us much.
Several of the basement rooms were used for storage of unused furniture and things that hotel guests had left behind. The huge room at the front of the building had a dirt floor, open rafters, several support posts, and access to the elevator shaft, where Dad worked when the elevator needed adjustment so it would stop in the right place, instead of a foot (or more) too high or low. We found many treasures hidden away in the basement rafters, including lots of unique old glass bottles that Mom added to her collection. Dan and his friends spent countless hours sprawled on the dirt floor under the low ceiling beams, waging full-scale wars with their toy soldiers or cowboys and Indians.
Dan had an unusual hobby for a young boy--he collected empty beer cans. The tavern trash supplied a steady source of cans to add to his collection, but he also turned into a proficient dumpster diver, collecting beer cans from all of the accessible garbage cans in town. After he had accumulated too many cans to keep in his bedroom, he claimed one small basement room as his own, stacking his cans neatly into pyramids against the walls. As I recall, he ran extension cords into the dark room, which he lit with old neon beer signs that had been stored elsewhere in the basement. Dan researched beer cans at the public library, located just a few blocks up the street, and carefully stockpiled hundreds of different cans, which he sold for an amazing amount of cash when he finally grew tired of his collection.
The basement, with its abundance of nooks and crannies, was a wonderful place to play hide-and-seek, especially during the winter months when we couldn't play outside in our friends' yards. And for several years, in the fall, Dan and his friends created an effective haunted house in the basement, inviting numerous friends and acquaintances to come through to experience the basement's spookier-than-usual atmosphere. Even now, when I'm visiting my family in Fairbury, people I don't really remember will mention the wonderful basement haunted house that they toured years ago with Dan and his friends.
In order to get from the hotel lobby to the big kitchen, we had to walk through one of the party rooms. If they were both in use, we could head up the stairs to the second floor, walk down the long hall that led past numerous hotel rooms, and tiptoe down the back stairs that led to the kitchen. Or, we could dash down the stairs located right behind the front desk, scurry through the cool, dark basement, and come up the back stairs into the kitchen. We usually chose the basement route. Creepy, perhaps. But we knew that basement well, and we claimed it as our own.
Soon after we moved to the Mary-Etta, Dad hung three swings from the rafters in the back basement room, one for each of us kids. Laura's swing was the kind of inside-out tire swing that works well with toddlers, Dan's swing was a traditional tire swing, and mine was a traditional board and rope swing. There was also a pre-existing "trapeze" that we could hang from. The swings were hung in such a way so we could all swing at the same time, if we were careful. Milly and Ann, the cooks who worked in the kitchen directly above, were more than a little surprised and scared by the noise of the swings the first time we tried them out, because no one had thought to tell them about our new playroom.
The swing room, which was adjacent to Dad's workshop, contained piles of lumber and other building supplies leaning against a center post. The dumbwaiter door opened into that room, too. A dumbwaiter is a primitive elevator that works with a system of rope pulleys, and is used to transport laundry, trash, or even food from one floor to another. We weren't ever allowed to use the dumbwaiter by ourselves, but we enjoyed riding up and down on it with Dad or one of the hotel staff. The swing room also had a toilet stall and a sink, so it was very convenient for us to play there with our friends. Neither the toilet, nor the sink, were cleaned very often, if at all, but that didn't bother us much.
Several of the basement rooms were used for storage of unused furniture and things that hotel guests had left behind. The huge room at the front of the building had a dirt floor, open rafters, several support posts, and access to the elevator shaft, where Dad worked when the elevator needed adjustment so it would stop in the right place, instead of a foot (or more) too high or low. We found many treasures hidden away in the basement rafters, including lots of unique old glass bottles that Mom added to her collection. Dan and his friends spent countless hours sprawled on the dirt floor under the low ceiling beams, waging full-scale wars with their toy soldiers or cowboys and Indians.
Dan had an unusual hobby for a young boy--he collected empty beer cans. The tavern trash supplied a steady source of cans to add to his collection, but he also turned into a proficient dumpster diver, collecting beer cans from all of the accessible garbage cans in town. After he had accumulated too many cans to keep in his bedroom, he claimed one small basement room as his own, stacking his cans neatly into pyramids against the walls. As I recall, he ran extension cords into the dark room, which he lit with old neon beer signs that had been stored elsewhere in the basement. Dan researched beer cans at the public library, located just a few blocks up the street, and carefully stockpiled hundreds of different cans, which he sold for an amazing amount of cash when he finally grew tired of his collection.
The basement, with its abundance of nooks and crannies, was a wonderful place to play hide-and-seek, especially during the winter months when we couldn't play outside in our friends' yards. And for several years, in the fall, Dan and his friends created an effective haunted house in the basement, inviting numerous friends and acquaintances to come through to experience the basement's spookier-than-usual atmosphere. Even now, when I'm visiting my family in Fairbury, people I don't really remember will mention the wonderful basement haunted house that they toured years ago with Dan and his friends.
In order to get from the hotel lobby to the big kitchen, we had to walk through one of the party rooms. If they were both in use, we could head up the stairs to the second floor, walk down the long hall that led past numerous hotel rooms, and tiptoe down the back stairs that led to the kitchen. Or, we could dash down the stairs located right behind the front desk, scurry through the cool, dark basement, and come up the back stairs into the kitchen. We usually chose the basement route. Creepy, perhaps. But we knew that basement well, and we claimed it as our own.
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