Ohio Street

The Original Wurlitzer Park Village
by Ken Mountain

The Ohio Street neighborhood described by Ken Mountain as it appeared in 2004.

Ken Mountain is a systems engineer and history buff, who takes an analytical approach to studying history and his writing style combines the historical facts he gathers with a systems approach to logic and the possibilities of how events played out in times gone by.

(Ed. note: Once a sleepy little dead-end street, Ohio St. is now the main entry point to hundreds of homes in Wurlitzer Park Village.)

Ohio Street was 100% on Wurlitzer property originally.  Even the name “Ohio Street” was a Wurlitzer-creation, presumably named after the original home of the Rudolph Wurlitzer Company. The name didn't seem to fit any naming conventions or rationale prevalent in Martinsville.  This, alone, established Ohio Street as “different.”

Ohio Street was headed by the two largest houses (managers).  The other managers' houses were situated strategically so that a manager lived between, and directly across from craftsmen.  Since it was a dead-end street, and everyone either walked or rode bicycles, monitoring of all comings and goings would be extremely easy.  One has to wonder if Wurlitzer was a control autocrat or a fatherly benefactor, or both.  It was within easy and pleasurable walking distance to the plant.  It was totally developed by Wurlitzer as a form of compensation for some of it‘s manages and valued craftsmen.

There is no doubt that Wurlitzer was one of the largest mortgage holders in Martinsville. In the beginning, Ohio Street was 100% Wurlitzer.  Over time, as notes were paid off, employee relationships changed, people died, retired, divorced, or otherwise changed, certain homes became available to non-Wurlitzer people.

The street had twenty houses of varying size, roughly corresponding to the plant pecking order.  The size of the lots matched the house size.  The houses were wood frame, coal-heated with a basement (and coal bin).  The basic house had a large front porch, a living room, dining room, kitchen, three bedrooms, and a bathroom.  A full basement, minus the furnace and coal bin was available for laundry, shop, and all sorts of other enterprises, from canning, sauerkraut or home-brewing. The interiors were classical lath and plaster construction, covered with wallpaper.  Adequate hot water was a luxury, with small capacity, inefficient hot water heaters of that era.  The plumbing was all rigid galvanized steel.  Often the heat component of the water was dissipated by the time it reached the second floor bathroom.  Bulk use (especially those cold winter baths!) required support from a supply tank next to the furnace, or from the cook stove in the kitchen.  Heat was from a three to four foot register on the floor, between the living and dining rooms.  The larger homes (managers) were up-scaled relative to room sizes, two chimneys, additional rooms (parlors, studies, extra bedrooms, etc.), and most importantly, an extra bathroom!

Another view of present day Ohio Street.

Each house had a detached garage (also scaled).  Since most families on Ohio Street didn't have a car, the garages were turned into other uses. Most families had little side businesses, some grew into full-time businesses (often on the name of a child) while others lasted just long enough to support some goal. The craftsmen often had enterprises that related to their work specialty.  In some cases these businesses were based on other family member skills, such as hair dressing, baking or some other food preparation, music lessons, selling eggs, produce etc.  The success of the business was often related to the family name and reputation.  This was a built-in quality control mechanism that worked very well; all parties were well served by this small town feature.  There were many “Man & Son(s)”, but I don't ever remember seeing a “Woman & Daughter(s)”.

The sideline businesses fell into several different categories with various skill levels, ranging from highly skilled to labor intensive. These were businesses that found a ready clientele, based somewhat on proximity.  The limited transportation and convenience created a willing customer base.

Some of the types of businesses and services that were generally within walking distances were assorted and sundry, including such things as: honey, sauerkraut, pickles, sausages, pickled pigs feet, small machine shops, saw, knife, scissor sharpening, gardens plowed, bicycle repair, produce and fruit, eggs, fresh poultry, rabbits, candles, soaps, dressmaking, sewing, tailoring, welding, etc.  We were a lot more self-sufficient people back then.  We had tire pumps, shoe repair capabilities, washboards, hand saws, axes/hatchets, scythes, tire repair capabilities, etc.  It was not uncommon for many to have very keen competition, even within family units.  And lest I forget, an important, and seeming necessary business - alcohol.

Brewing personalized beer seemed to be a rite of passage for all males of German descent. Some of these beers - heavy, dark, rich, and strong - were of such high quality that limited commercial production was encouraged, though illegal. During the prohibition period, Ohio Street was commonly referred to as “Gin Alley,” based on the superior quality of the home-made gin, known as “bath tub gin.” Some fine grapes of the Great Lakes and local plants and fruits (dandelions, elderberry, and currants) were converted into wines, (for medicinal purposes, yeah, yeah, yeah) and local fruits made rich, thick brandies and schnapps.

The neighborhood also received delivered goods and services from outside vendors operating out of both trucks and horse and wagons. Typical of these were the ice man (pre-refrigerator), the milkman (milk, cream, butter, other fresh dairy products), the egg man (and fresh killed poultry), the bread man (all sorts of bakery items), and last, but certainly, not last, the ragman. Some came daily, others less frequently.

We had a car. Because Dad worked in the Falls, and was on rotating shift work it was virtuously impossible to have any kind of a car pooling setup. Mass transit had not quite arrived by 1940. The car was a 1937 Chevrolet two-door, black and rust. The car never saw the inside of a garage until 1947 at the earliest. The garage was a wood framed, dirt floored, very small one-car affair. It had a permanent 20 degree list to the east. It had no windows and was quite dark inside. It was a useless building for anything but storm window storage, lawn and garden tools, lawn furniture storage, garbage cans, and assorted household storage. This ugly little building was the center of my universe for several years.

An additional view of present day Ohio Street.

Our building was the headquarters for Ken, Inc.  It held such valuable collections such as the colored broken glass collection, the pretty rock collection, interesting stuff, lab supplies, assorted matching or fitting things, advanced future experiments, and stuff that can be fixed (when I find just the right thing), etc.  It also held Dad's special torture devices (cast iron push lawn mover, shovels, rakes, etc).

It seemed that each house had a kitchen garden, for whatever reason; possibly the war effort, or the inherent thriftiness of the people, convenience, background, healthiness, wholesomeness or some other factors or combination.

And recreation? We had it all: 1/2 block to Sawyers Creek; through the fields and through the brush line to the Ruie Road playground; Badminton, Volleyball, Croquette, water fun in nearly all yards (fences were rare: 1 mile to good fishing at Bull Creek; 2 miles to canal (fishing, swimming); parades down the center of the Street; whenever you wanted, baseball on field next to Newman's; kick goal in the street, etc.  We had it all in the original “Wurlitzer Park Village.”