Andrew's house was between his brother Steve's and brother Martin's house on South Street. This was because years after immigrating from Poland in 1886 with their parents (Joseph Kubiatowicz And Josephine Larokowski), the three brothers Steve, Andrew and Martin built their homes in a row on South Street. There was a fourth home built for brother Joseph, but that one was sold and Joseph lived on the other side of town. I and my two brothers were born in a hospital that was just down the street from our (Andrew's) house.
The photo below shows Andrew Kubiatowicz's home under construction on South Street about 1911. The porch is clearly shown. It was still present when I lived there as a 7 year old kid in 1949.
Andrew Kubiatowicz's Home Being Built circa 1911
The photo below shows thr former Andrew Kubiatowicz home in 2001. The porch has been removed
Andrew Kubiatowicz's Former Home in 2001. Porch Missing
My story starts here: I liked to "play with matches". That is, I enjoyed lighting the matches, blowing them out, lighting some more and perhaps starting a small fire in an ashtray. I was constantly being disciplined for this activity.
One day in autumn 1949, I and my next door neighbor, cousin Doug (Uncle Steve's grandson) decided to crawl under the porch of my (Andrew's) house and burn a small piles of leaves. I remember there being a lattice work around the porch base so we could be unseen and wouldn't get into trouble for lighting matches. As the small flame got bigger, both Doug and I panicked. Fortunately we were able to smother the flame with a pile of wet leaves we found nearby. As the smoke from the extinguished flame poured out from under the porch we were discovered by mom.
Mom sent Doug home and ushered me into our kitchen, which had a cast iron cooking store. There mom insisted that I take a wooden match from a new box (like those shown below, with the phosphorus sulfide tips that would light anywhere), strike it on the side of the stove and let the match burn all the way down to my finger tips. I was allowed to drop the burning match only when my finger tips were about to get burned! I was required to continue this exercise until I had burned all the matches. This took an hour or more. Mom stayed with me the whole time to make sure I didn't actually burn myself or light the kitchen on fire. At least one friend knocked on the kitchen door wanting me to go out and play, but mom insisted I could go nowhere until I had completed my task.
This "punishment" cured me of the desire to carelessly light matches...at least for a few more years.
Permission to use this photo in this blog from
© Vlue | Dreamstime.com
