Our old house on Sherman Street was destroyed back in October of 2006. I had lived in it since the spring of 2001 and Yolanda moved in after the summer of 2002; we both moved out in the spring of 2005 when we bought our current house at 728 W Gilman St.

You can find photos and movies of the destruction here.

The Sherman Street house had served us well and we were sad to see it go, but it was definitely un-saveable. The walls in the upstairs were covered with black mold that wouldn’t leave, despite many bleachings that we did while living there — due to a lack of insulation, the upper floor walls and ceiling got cold in the winter, allowing condensation to run down them. In the last years of its existence, water from rain had started to seep into the ceilings as well, adding to the problem. There was a constant bat infestation; at night we could hear them climbing up and down inside the walls and chimney, and we chased 4 or 5 around the house with cookie sheets and paper bags while living there.

The house had started to collapse in upon itself long before I took up residence; indeed, it has suffered through a lot of abuse and neglect over the years, and one has to wonder if the proper care was given if it wouldn’t still be around instead of gracing a landfill. The main support joists in the basement were held up in multiple points by stacks of two-by lumber, propped up instead of repaired, as rampant moisture wreaked havoc in the crawlspaces. The previous owner had clearly failed to notice that the washing machine drain dumped into the crawlspace instead of heading down the drain properly, so the wood suffered years of wetness. This coupled with a complete lack of insulation and the freeze/thaw cycle of Iowa winters had done its worse to the superstructure of the foundation.

Problems upstairs were numerous — the walls were either insulated with corn cobs and dried horse shit or straw; the former fell out of any hole made in the wall like winning the jackpot on a slot machine in Vegas. Cold seeped through a lot of the walls and formed pools of moisture around the frames. The floors were uneven, mostly due to the foundational problems; bat shit covered the insulation in the ceilings, and age-old wiring sat in the walls. The furnace had a single, primary cold air return right above it, ending in two large grates right in the center of the floor of the living room. This meant that nobody failed to notice the furnace coming on or running. The furnace had a tendancy to light erratically; that is, sometimes it wouldn’t light right away, allowing the gas to build up considerably. Inevitably, it would ignite, resulting in a slight “Boom!” and the house would shake as the gas ball went up all at once. It was…disturbing.

The outside wasn’t much better. The siding was wood and was sorely in need of replacement — so bad, in fact, that the nails were working themselves out on their own, and it was a yearly task to go around and tap them back in with a hammer. The paint on the wood got less and less each year as it flaked off in the changing temperatures. The roof was better than some, but needed some replacement, and the rafters that were burned and charred in a house fire many years back had subcummed to the weight of the roof, bowing it along its length.

And yet, despite all these flaws, the house had a lot of character. From the add-on porch that still had the old siding inside on the house side, to the 1970′s inspired shag gold-and-green carpet upstairs, there were lots of quirky things to love. The wall texturing in the living room and kitchen were unlike anything I’ve ever seen, or probably will again, composed of what must have been buckets and buckets of plaster slapped on in a random way, making texturing so deep and rough that it took a 3″ napped roller and lots of brush time to repaint it. The bedroom doorway was just under 6′ tall, which meant that my head smacked it repeatedly during my stay there. The door itself for this was a barndoor style construction; I kept it when I stripped out the house, because it was so unusual. In the bedroom there was a built-in jewelry cabinet in the wall with a small glass door on it; quite unique. The bedroom closet was actually a walk-THROUGH closet to the big room on the south-west side of the house that I used for a computer room.

The upstairs was a 1/2 story with walls so slanted that almost nothing could be put up against them. The previous owners had left the rust-brown and gold-’n'-green shag carpet up there, and someone had, at some point, tossed an entire bag full of sex toys into the attic, which I discovered before moving in. These toys are now sterilized, painted gold, and arranged using fishing line into a mobile in my basement.

While living there, I redid a wall in the bathroom that was crumbling and redid the plumbing and wiring as well. While banging out the wall, I found newspapers lining the old wallpaper that were marked with the date 30th October 1888 — I was amazed. I carefully took all these off and have them in a box; I hope to make a framed poster for the wall some day with these pieces of yesteryear. These pieces proved that the house was built before 1888, probably at least 10 years, making it easily one of the oldest if not THE oldest houses in Sheffield. Even the buildings on main street aren’t that old.

Both I by myself and with Yolanda had some great memories in that house.   We fell in love in that house, essentially, although a lot of that was online.  From parties and gatherings to incidents with bats; playing with technology or playing carpenter in an attempt to better the place; housing guests from Australia and guests on the day after our wedding — it was a good house and didn’t owe us a thing by the time we left. I’m nostalgic about it, but practical, as I know that in later years it was an eyesore and a health hazzard to anyone in or near it, so it was time. But I’m glad it was there when I needed it and I’m glad I was able to be a part of its history, even if I was the last part of over 118 years of existence.

Good knowing you, 212.