First thing to come to my mind: Alku 1
Alku 1 was the first co-operative apartment building in the United States, opened in 1916 in the Finntown section of Brooklyn, NY, now considered part of Sunset Park, which lies directly up the street. Alku means "start" in Finnish.
Although it had 16 apartments total, 15 families bought in, leaving the 16th, Apartment number 3, as free housing for the family hired to keep the grounds clean.
This is the building I grew up in. A few memories follow:
Alku 1 was the first co-operative apartment building in the United States, opened in 1916 in the Finntown section of Brooklyn, NY, now considered part of Sunset Park, which lies directly up the street. Alku means "start" in Finnish.
Although it had 16 apartments total, 15 families bought in, leaving the 16th, Apartment number 3, as free housing for the family hired to keep the grounds clean.
This is the building I grew up in. A few memories follow:
The sidewalks were washed with soap and water, while the entire building was always clean and polished.
In the basement there was a large room which any occupant could use for a party or meeting, as needed, while another area was utilized for items no longer needed, free for anyone else to take as their own.
There was also a free washing machine, for anyone's use.
Although there was a workshop with 16 bins for residents to keep tools, these were open, with no locks, for it was expected that if you needed to use a plane, or rasp, for instance, you were free to use that of another. Nothing ever went missing, nor was abused. There was also a scrap pile of wood and other items free fo taking. Someone made stools for the children one year from scraps; I wish I remembered his name, although I do remember he had bushy white hair and whiskers, and wore lederhausen, of all things.
There were locked walk-in storage areas, although the doors did not actually reach to the ceilings. I suppose the locks acted more as a sign that the things stored within were for private use, yet those without locks were none-the-less respected.
But I do remember the widow, Mrs. Oksanen, who taught me how to paint with watercolors. She had trailing vines climbing up the corners of her rooms, which continued along the trim up near the ceilings. Anytime she finished a bottle of bleach, she'd fill it with plaster of paris, then carve out statues. She made all the children scrapbooks using the Parade insert from the Sunday paper, pasting in all sorts of pretty and interesting pictures she'd cut from other magazines and books.
And then there was little Mrs. Renne directly upstairs from us, who sewed and baked. She would make drawstring bags out of scrap material, fill them with doughnut holes or cookies, hang them on someone's doorknob, then ring the bell. By the time you'd run up the hall to answer the door, she'd already be gone. It was a few years until we found out it was her; how she moved so fast was the greater mystery.
By 1926 15 more Finns had built Alku 2 next door. In fact, my neighborhood had a number of such buildings, filled with Scandinavians.
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All in all, growing up in this environment was a wonderful experience. While some people only 'saw' the Finns as communists, I got to see them practice what they preached close to their hearts.
Yikes! I just remembered Jorma, my first crush, who lived down the block.
He was this gorgeous tall boy with long blond hair, who possibly didn't even know I existed.
When I was fifteen I returned from a family wedding in Montreal to find he had died.
I was devastated.
It was a big thing in our neighborhood, also.
I don't have one, but, to this day in winter I'll open the windows in my bedroom, go soak in the hottest bath, then cool off by the windows.
It's like a rebirth, and the best I can do here in the city.
Although the buildings are still there, the environment has changed.
The original by-laws stated you must be of Scandinavian blood, yet the time came when, in a charter renewal I believe, the board was informed that this law was unlawful.
As the Finns are a hearty people, many of the original owners lived into the 1980's. As they left us, an increasing number of their children were already nearing retirement in lives they had made for themselves elsewhere.
Thus began the expansion of other nationalities, mostly from the old Polish community on the other side of the park, some who would purchase adjoining apartments, transforming them into amazing duplexes.
Within 20 years the neighborhood was no longer the perfect piece of Scandinavia it once had been. We lost Finn Hall to a catering concern, and Imatra Hall became a Church.
Imatra was the center of community life.
It was built in the 1890's as a social club, which also served as an aid society for new immigrants.
Inside the main hall was a large bar where the men would gather daily, while upstairs was a room with a stage, sometimes used for weddings or parties, where the children would perform their little 'plays' on holidays, or imagine they were poets or actors while the women gathered to make crafts, tend to the community affairs, or simply talk. It was sometimes just a baby-sitting service so parents could have alone time.
My memories of Imatra Hall are perhaps the sweetest of my childhood. The grounds were huge, with lots of room outside for picnics and parties, or simply for the children to play while daddy was inside with friends at the bar on weekend afternoons.
The Norwegian part of the neighborhood has transformed into Chinatown, while the area which was Finntown is now little more than a sweet memory, and a piece of Finnish history in America.
Picture of the buildings: [link to www.placematters.net]
What is not visible is the huge courtyard between the two buildings, the side yard where we would entertain the residents of the nursing home next door, the magnificent long backyard and the tunnels which led to them where we'd dig for China, insert pennies into nooks in the wall for future generations to find, or play house and camp out in the many refrigerator-sized boxes that would mysteriously appear for us to play in, until they mysteriously disappeared once losing their shape.
The views to be seen from the large rooftop was spectacular. The roof was utilized for picnics, stargazing, sunbathing, and sometimes dates with your sweetie. It was also where I got to see my first UFO!
As for the sunbathing, that was one far section of the roof where you'd often see some old flabby nude bodies on a warm day, no matter what season it was.
The original by-laws stated you must be of Scandinavian blood, yet the time came when, in a charter renewal I believe, the board was informed that this law was unlawful.
As the Finns are a hearty people, many of the original owners lived into the 1980's. As they left us, an increasing number of their children were already nearing retirement in lives they had made for themselves elsewhere.
Thus began the expansion of other nationalities, mostly from the old Polish community on the other side of the park, some who would purchase adjoining apartments, transforming them into amazing duplexes.
Within 20 years the neighborhood was no longer the perfect piece of Scandinavia it once had been. We lost Finn Hall to a catering concern, and Imatra Hall became a Church.
Imatra was the center of community life.
It was built in the 1890's as a social club, which also served as an aid society for new immigrants.
Inside the main hall was a large bar where the men would gather daily, while upstairs was a room with a stage, sometimes used for weddings or parties, where the children would perform their little 'plays' on holidays, or imagine they were poets or actors while the women gathered to make crafts, tend to the community affairs, or simply talk. It was sometimes just a baby-sitting service so parents could have alone time.
My memories of Imatra Hall are perhaps the sweetest of my childhood. The grounds were huge, with lots of room outside for picnics and parties, or simply for the children to play while daddy was inside with friends at the bar on weekend afternoons.
The Norwegian part of the neighborhood has transformed into Chinatown, while the area which was Finntown is now little more than a sweet memory, and a piece of Finnish history in America.
Picture of the buildings: [link to www.placematters.net]
What is not visible is the huge courtyard between the two buildings, the side yard where we would entertain the residents of the nursing home next door, the magnificent long backyard and the tunnels which led to them where we'd dig for China, insert pennies into nooks in the wall for future generations to find, or play house and camp out in the many refrigerator-sized boxes that would mysteriously appear for us to play in, until they mysteriously disappeared once losing their shape.
The views to be seen from the large rooftop was spectacular. The roof was utilized for picnics, stargazing, sunbathing, and sometimes dates with your sweetie. It was also where I got to see my first UFO!
As for the sunbathing, that was one far section of the roof where you'd often see some old flabby nude bodies on a warm day, no matter what season it was.
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