Roger's Home Journal

Revealing Your Deepest Secrets of Home Improvement

By Roger Faris

The origins of these mysterious features are unknown to me, and the present occupants may well be living in complete ignorance of the true nature of their green and white gabled home. During my years in the house I was always surprised that the members of my own family seemed unaware of what was hidden behind the walls and beneath the floors. We never talked about it. My brothers would occasionally encounter a peculiar feature, but they somehow always failed to explore further. My oldest brother Bill hosted card games in the generous attic space above our dining room, and Jack occasionally hid contraband under the vermiculite insulation. I was apparently alone, though, in my suspicions about a warren of secret spaces. The discoveries I made as a youth sometimes seem more a dream than reality.

We didn't have that useful feature, a laundry chute, that I've often admired in other houses. I also regretted that we hadn't a dumb-waiter, or any possible need for one. I'd have loved to operate such a device, probably for hours on end. Our house appeared to be of standard construction, fairly small and uninteresting. The portals to its unseen chambers weren't Hollywood-style revolving bookcases or sliding segments of intricately paneled wainscoting. Clues to the existence of its hideaways were subtle. The builder had employed the effective ruse of masking the extraordinary with the ordinary.

I was nearly ten before I discovered the ancient opium den lying in dusty and airless silence beneath our basement floor. For many years our family had observed that small items stored above a tall storage closet could disappear into a dark void. No one took any action besides ineffective probing with flashlights and mirrors. One day I was alone and felt drawn to that corner of the basement. I stacked old trunks and boxes to gain access to the splintery floor joist cavity above the cabinet, and then wriggled head first down the impossibly narrow and vertical passage. Long expired tallow candles, broken oil lanterns, bamboo mats, and inscriptions on the earthen walls all yielded their stories of hopelessness and deep depression.

That spooky and exciting experience in our subterranean cave made me certain that there was more to find, and I was right. I'd often been to the far reaches of our attic crawlspaces, but one day I examined a small gap between siding boards at the endwall and realized that I was seeing a dark and empty space instead of daylight. After taking measurements in the rooms below I returned with a small pry bar and the confidence that new territory was about to be revealed. A complex arrangement of small rooms was my reward.

They were badly constructed, to say the least. Someone had attempted and failed to make this into a livable area, then carefully sealed their incompetence from scrutiny. Generations of squirrels had scampered and scratched over every surface. A small hole in the roof should have led to the discovery of this odd hiding place, but somehow the rains never penetrated to the rest of the house. Somehow, I was the only one to spend any significant time on the roof, or in that far region of the attic. Since I never mentioned my discoveries to anyone else, the torn shingles and devastated spaces may still remain just as I remember them.

The house had many other obscure recesses, but its most uncanny feature was the way it could transmit certain sounds. Betty and Boyar Gonzales were friends of my parents who dropped by from time to time. They always told great stories and laughed until the house vibrated with their happiness and humor. Even after bedtime I could listen to the party as it flowed through the ductwork and out of my heat register. The wonderful thing was that I could hear their laughter even when Boyar and Betty had returned to their own home, which was some miles away. It was faint sound, but unmistakable.

You may want to build a secret passage or two in your home. It could lead to a place for storing memories or other things of value. Later, you or someone else might find your way there and discover some meaning. I think it's a good idea, and a wise use of your time.

Roger Faris is the Director of the Well Home Program at the Phinney Neighborhood Association. The program provides advice, encouragement, tools, and classes for home improvement and repair. Call (206) 789-4993 for information. For the Home Earthquake Retrofit Program, call (206) 382-2159.

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