1967. The tiny commercial laundry was tucked under the Lunt end of the Morse-Lunt L stop in Rogers Park. Next door was the small variety store where the neighborhood kids would buy gleaming white rubber balls with raised stitching, the kind we would use to play fastpitch with in the schoolyard down the block.
My family’s apartment on Farwell east of Sheridan had plenty of advantages–it was close to the beach, the pier, the tennis courts, and the notorious Farwell Park bubbler — but the building was old and lacked a clothes washer and dryer, even in the musty basement.
On Monday mornings my mother would load our laundry cart, the upright type on two wheels, and pull it the 4 or 5 blocks along Lunt to the laundry. My Tuesday afternoon chore? I was to stop at the laundry on my way home from school, pay the $2.00 charge, and pull our cart, now full of clean, neatly folded clothes back to Farwell and up the three flights of stairs to our apartment.
The proprietor of the laundry was a middle-aged man, though he seemed very old to me. He spoke with an accent I wasn’t worldly enough to place. I recognized that he was foreign, just as my parents were. We would speak a few words as I carefully pulled a pair of wrinkled one-dollar bills out of my pocket and handed them to him. In the summer the heat in the laundry was nauseating, but on cold winter days I would luxuriate in the steamy warmth as I waited for him to retrieve our cart.
I was always careful to make sure no one saw me duck into the laundry. I would hope none of my friends were buying baseball cards or a candy bar at the store next door as I stepped outside to begin the trudge home. I don’t know why I found it so embarrassing, I was just doing a necessary chore, but as adolescents, don’t we find many things embarrassing?
I rarely get to Rogers Park these days. Maybe I will pack the grandkids in the car and give them a tour of the neighborhood I grew up in. I will show them the schools, the restaurants, the synagogues, and the location where my apartment building once stood. If the kids aren’t too bored I’ll include the spot under the L. And hope the fragrant steamy aroma of drying laundry still fills the air.
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Note: Further research indicates that the top photo MAY not be the Morse L station. My apologies for the error and any inconvenience.
Getting More From Les 
In a way, I miss the days of when I used laundry mats. It became a routine and made me feel closer to my community. at times, I would help the kids with homework who were also waiting for their laundry.
But now we have the modern conveniences of in-home laundry units – which is also very lovely.
Love this post!
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Thanks, Emily. So much in life is a trade-off!
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Those were the days my friend.
I grew up with the laundry machine in the house, but did the laundry myself as my mom was not well. Uggh
I became familiar with the laundry mat at college and my first apartment at Western and Bryn Maur. Seinfeld sometimes gets me to reminisce about the laundry mat.
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I lived on Greenleaf and Glenwood at the end of the 80s, and I towed my two-wheeled cart of laundry to a DIY laundromat on Morse a little bit east. Would pick up groceries at Jewel, then tow the whole mass home in the cart and up the stairs. I was in my 20s and hoped I wouldn’t have to tow that loaded cart when I got “old.” So far, fortunately, I don’t.
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