Born in North Carolina during the Great Depression.
The street where I grew up. There was not much snow. But we had a sled for the few days any winter we could use it. The house had a coal fired furnace. As soon as I was big enough to hold a shovel, it was my job to fill the hopper each night. The coal pile was in a basement room, with a window high up through which a chute was placed, and specially granulated coal was poured in by the company that deliverd the coal.
I hated it when the coal pile was so low the shovel scraped on concrete, making my flesh crawl. The basement was full of spiders which terrified me. I hated having to stoke the furnace.
Also, part of the job was to remove clinkers from the furnace itself. You used iron claws to grab them with. You loosened them up with a great long poker, then put them in a wheel barrow. When the barrow was full, they were taken to the back yard and piled in a special place. The journy to the back yard was hazardous. If the barrow became unbalanced, as usual, for over filling, the journey up the 2 x 12 plank to the back yard ended in a clinker spill.
As soon as my brother got big enough to hold a shovel, he got the job. It was only after I left for College, that he got it. He hated spiders too. When he went off to collage, the job went to our youngest brother, who was not afraid of spiders. But he soon joined the Army.
The job went back to our father, and the furnace was soon converted to gas.
Now I live in Texas. I built a house without a basement or a coal furnace.
