Hakol bnaitikvah org November 014 Cheshvan Kislev 5775 Volume 36 Issue 3

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HAKOL 

bnaitikvah.org 

  November 2014        8 Cheshvan - 8 Kislev 5775           Volume 36 Issue 3 

 

              

 

LYNNE WEISSMARSHALL 

    NOTARY PUBLIC 

 

 

 

 

20 INDI-

ANCREEK ROAD 

MATAWAN, NJ 07747 

         732-310-5665                    

Also available in the synagogue 

office 

732-297-2673 fax               

[e-mail]  

 

 

Another Viewpoint 

 

The Good Old Days:  

The Clothes Line Pole 

 

Some of us older folks remember the “Good Old Days” with affection. 

Well, let me tell you that the “Good Old Days” did not always exist. 

Let’s hope that they never come back. I’m talking about the Depres-

sion days of the late 1920’s and the 1930’s, and the desperation that 

was endemic in our country. 

 

A few of us may still remember the clothesline pole that was part of 

the life of every housewife. Our laundry was done in the family bath-

tub on a metal washboard. It was back breakingwork, bending down 

over the washboard or kneeling down at the side of the tub.  Those few 

who could afford it would send out the laundry once a week. When it 

was returned, wet, in a net bag, it would be hung out to dry on the 

clothesline and then hand ironed in the kitchen (which helps 

 explain why not many women had time to take outside jobs). 

 

A clothesline has two ends, one at a window and the other at a build-

ing-high pole either in the backyard or in the air shaft. From the street, 

it looked like all the buildings touched at the sides but, actually,  

beyond the first room that overlooked the street the buildings narrowed 

so that the rooms behind the front room could have an outside window 

between buildings. This provided a space between the buildings called 

an air shaft and in buildings that did not have a backyard, this was 

where the clothes pole was installed. 

 

I remember watching the clothesline installer climbing the pole when I 

was a boy. We lived on the third floor in our four-floor walk-up and, in 

order to reach our level, he had to make his way past the other pulleys 

and lines already in place. My stomach tightens into knots when I think 

of the dangerous job and I recall my mother in tears when she heard 

that a line man had fallen and was seriously injured. As a young teen-

ager, I understood the risks involved in that line of work, even though, 

by that time, the late 1930’s, things were not as bad as during the 

depths of the depression. 

 

And that’s where this story is going. The Great Depression struck in  

 

 

1929, when I was about eight years old. My father was a presser in the 

women’s wear trade. That put us in the working middle class and we 

lived in a working middle-class neighborhood. As far as food, clothing, 

and shelter were concerned, this did not affect me personally, but the  

catastrophes of the day have left me with memories of events that I 

pray we will never see again. 

 

At that time, we were living in an eight-family four-story walk-up. As I 

walked home from school one day, I saw a crowd gathered in front of 

our house. It looked like moving day for a family, but there was no 

truck. There on the sidewalk stood all of the furniture and possessions 

of one of our neighbors.  To my amazement there was the kitchen ta-

ble, the bedroom furniture, and dining room set with a beautiful carved 

wood sideboard. On top of the sideboard was a large dish into which 

passersby dropped coins. The pretty teenaged daughter of the 

neighbors sat on a sofa filing her nails while tears of shame and embar-

rassment ran down her cheeks. 

 

I pressed through the crowd to get to the entrance of the house and ran 

up to my apartment to my mother to ask what was going on. She ex-

plained that because the father had lost his job they could not pay the 

rent and the landlord had to put them out so that he could get another 

tenant. By the end of the day, sufficient money had been collected to 

pay part of the rent and the neighbors moved the family back into their 

apartment. At least temporarily. 

 

Oh, yes, the clothes pole. One night, shortly after the sidewalk scene, I 

got up to go to the bathroom. On the way back to bed, I passed the hall 

window that had the clothesline, and saw a flash of white go past. I 

thought as I climbed into bed that somebody’s wash must have blown 

off the line. It wasn’t wash. It was the evicted neighbor who jumped 

from the window. It seemed that in life he couldn’t feed his family so, 

by ending it, his family could live off his life insurance policy, at least 

for a little while. 

 

Today, in our neighborhood, no one lives in four-story walk-ups, but 

we do have families who are having trouble paying the rent. So don’t 

forget to give something to the South Brunswick Food Pantry. 

 

L’Shanah Tovah. 

Aaron Rosloff 

Originally published November 2008 

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Page  11 

HAKOL 

bnaitikvah.org 

  November 2014        8 Cheshvan - 8 Kislev 5775           Volume 36 Issue 3 

 

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