When
I was a kid, the postman's arrival could be a big deal.
I
had mailed off my three cereal box tops or twenty Bazooka bubble gum
wrappers to get that special toy, and then the waiting game began.
For
days, neither of my parents had to walk down the long driveway to
pick up the mail, because as soon as a delivery was made, I ran to
that box like a greyhound after a rabbit. If anyone in the family was
watching, they knew from my body language whether my package had
arrived. They either witnessed an immediate slumping of shoulders, or
an excited dash back toward the house.
If
a child can get that excited over the delivery of a cheap toy, I can
only imagine Roy Sizer's reaction 84 years ago when a train pulled
into the Milton depot with his
mail order purchase.
A
house.
Mr.
Sizer, the previous owner of my property, ordered the dwelling in
which I now reside from the pages of a catalog. We know this from
wood pieces cut out of our dining room wall during remodeling. The
wall boards are stamped with the equivalent of a shipping address,
“From Montgomery Ward & Co., Davenport, Ia. to Roy L. Sizer,
Milton, Wisconsin.” Other pieces were stamped with descriptions and
part numbers for easy assembly.
This
discovery sent me on a flurry of research. Kit houses or as Ward
called them, “ready-cut houses,” were not uncommon. According to
the book, “Houses By Mail,” over 100,000 were built in the United
States between 1908 and 1940, the majority from Sears. Montgomery
Ward's share, under their brand name Wardway Homes, was approximately
25,000.
So
while our house is unusual, it's certainly not rare. A major selling
point was the price. According to historians, Montgomery Ward
advertising promised that the typical homebuyer would save about
one-third the cost compared to traditional construction. And it was
obvious that Mr. Sizer was cost-conscious from the first time we
entered this house. Touring the basement, it was pointed out that the
floor boards had been used for framing the foundation.
Another
plus for buyers was the convenience. You could place one order with
Ward and get everything including the kitchen sink. From screens and
shades to roofing, wiring and refrigerators, you could literally get
every single thing you needed except masonry materials.
Though
I have viewed several Wardway Homes catalogs online, I have yet to
find our exact house, possibly because it was customized. One home
that does bear a resemblance, particularly in floor plan, is a 1930
catalog model called “The Maywood” - a steal at $2295 or monthly
payments of $45.
But
it appears that the bargain price was still too much for Mr. Sizer's
successors (he sold the home later in the 1930's). The property
abstract lists Montgomery Ward & Company as the owner of the
house for a brief period in 1940. That entry was always a
head-scratcher, but the discovery of our home's origins solved the
mystery.
You
see, Ward not only sold you a complete house, but offered financing
as well. I dug up the abstract and sure enough, this house had a
Montgomery Ward mortgage, which was apparently assumed by later
owners. The probable explanation for Ward's brief ownership is a
foreclosure. Regardless, Ward didn't keep the house for long and may
have rid themselves of it cheaply because the couple that bought it
in 1940 paid cash.
Fifty-two
years later, that couple's estate sold it to us. And though this old
dwelling has its quirks and non-standard oddities, I am thankful that
Mr. Sizer built, and later owners maintained, a solid house that my
family calls home.
And
I sometimes muse about two train cars full of building materials
chugging into town, and how quickly a young boy might have run from
the station to announce its arrival.
