Zenith City: Stories from Duluth

The Roomer

from october  until I departed Duluth, my family lived in a two-story white house on Tenth Avenue East and Tenth Street. Occupying the house next door on our north side was my maternal grandmother, Augusta Norquist, her unmarried daughter Ada, and Hilma Norquist, Grandma’s sixty-something spinster sister-in-law. The homes, which had been built by Mother’s father, Eric, were virtually identical. Each featured an enclosed front porch—an extended drawing room at Grandma’s house, but a repository for bicycles, camping gear, and athletic paraphernalia at our house. The houses shared a common driveway, which separated them, and a single-car wooden garage. None of the Norquist women drove, however, so for all intents and purposes, it was our garage. The only Norquist who ever parked in the driveway was Mother’s older brother, Howard, who invariably left his car there at the precise moment Dad had to hurry out to a meeting or a rehearsal for the Duluth Symphony, of which he was a charter member. While I’m probably exaggerating somewhat here, I recall that whenever Howard parked in the driveway and Dad had to dash off somewhere, Howard’s car refused to start. Howard would always tell Dad that as far as he was concerned, our driveway was a jinx on his car; it never gave him a speck of trouble anywhere else but would always shut down when he parked in our driveway. He just couldn’t understand it, he always said. Just as regularly, Dad would say that he didn’t care if Howard understood it or not and he should park his damn jalopy in the street from then on. And maybe the next time Howard visited, he would. But the car never failed to start when parked in the street, and sure enough, subsequent visits found Howard’s old Chevy stuck in the driveway again. 12 the roomer The Roomer | 13 The business of Howard’s car parked in our driveway formed the foundation of Dad’s relationship with his brother-in-law, though he never said anything to Grandma, for fear of hurting her feelings, nor to Hilma, who often found Howard’s antics irritating—Dad’s complaining about Howard would only give Hilma more fodder to use when ragging on poor Grandma, as gentle and kindly a soul as God breathed life into. Throughout the s, Grandma rented out the spare upstairs bedroom of her house to students, salesmen, or itinerant laborers. At times the room was vacant for weeks on end, since prospective roomers had to pass modest muster imposed by Grandma, who insisted that no liquor be brought onto the premises and that there be no smoking in the rented room except with the door closed. Getting past Aunt Hilma was another matter. Though Grandma owned the house, Hilma retained certain rights as she had forsaken a career and marriage to care for my grandfather’s aged parents. Eric Norquist, before he died, had made it clear that Hilma was to always have a home with his family because of her selflessness. A severe woman with a firmly set mouth, Hilma’s brown-gray hair was always tied back in a bun. She wore black linen dresses and a green wool sweater summer and winter. Hilma was opposed not only to smoking and drinking but to frivolous laughter and members of the Lutheran church. She turned down one man for being Lutheran. “Da Lutrans make a big show of church on Sundays, but da rest of da veek, vatch out.” Hilma, who was the only member of her Swedish clan born in America, nonetheless had the thickest Scandinavian accent of her surviving sisters. Now and again, when Hilma happened to be downtown or working as a seamstress at Garon’s Mill in West Duluth, Grandma would accept a man without Hilma’s approval. Then Hilma would sulk and keep to her room for several days, emerging only to eat well after Grandma and Ada had eaten. In time, however, she’d come to accept the new roomer if he caused no trouble. This did not mean she would speak to him, and, in fact, she never to my recollection spoke directly to a roomer. If she had a complaint, as she often did—“Da roomer used up all da hot vater” or “I seen some filty magazines on his bed”—my peace-loving [3.143.9.115] Project MUSE (2024-04-24 14...