Old Signs Never Die

I decided to install shelves on the tops of some of the heat radiators in the house, so I took measurements and scrounged around in the basement for boards to use. There is a wooden lumber rack that hangs from the joists which I've always used. Today, however, I noticed that the boards of the rack's bed were right for the job and needed little trimming.

When I took the platform off and replaced it with an old door, I realized that the three boards were an old sign, but I'd never read it because it was always covered with boards and a lot of dust, and besides, the ends were at my eye level and there was no reason for curiosity.

Here it is, propped up and wiped down. The realtor painted over an earlier sign, of which I was able to decipher only the word APARTMENTS.

Irvin K. Hall (1893-1976) was a local boy, baptized in the Methodist faith at the age of 14. In 1914 (age 21) he was a student at UPenn's Wharton School, studying Finance in the year before the brilliant young Scott Nearing was removed from teaching economics there due to his opposition to child labor.

Irvin married Emma Cronin in 1919 and they lived with her parents for decades, first in the Cronins' home in town and the in Irvin's own place in a nearby, affluent susburb. Their son Robert came along six years later and seems to have been their only child.

The only place where I spotted this real estate operation occurs in 1962. I speculate that Irvin was the realty agent who handled the transfer of this house, when the previous owner (who later sold it to my landlord/housemate) bought the house, and the sign was put to its third known use right after the the deal was sealed.

Now the shelf on the radiator where we sort our mail reads, "OFFICE OF" and the one in the kitchen reads, "--RANCE, MORTGAGES, APPRAISALS." I decided that it as in the spirit of the house to leave the lettering in view.

The 1910 federal census names Irvin's older brother as Samuel T. Hall. That means that we must end with a song that my dear & departed friend Jan Oosting used to sing a capella --and in a more dramatic style than this.

Signs are like folk songs, eh?