Scary Kirbys
Here's my story about my Aunt Dabney and her Scary Kirby - and below is a composite photo I made of me, her house, and a Kirby!
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... [T]he second-most prolific brand of vacuum cleaner in that area, in those days (late 1950s), was Kirby. I can think of a half-dozen families right off the top of my head who had Kirbys - mostly the machines with gray or red-and-gray trim - and I hated them. (The sweepers, not the people!) I was absolutely terrified of Kirbys, but at the same time also fascinated by them -- as long as I kept a safe distance!
My aunt up the street had a very old Kirby with a big gray bag. I was so afraid of it that I would not even go into her house on the day for vacuuming -- every Thursday. If we pulled up in the driveway and I heard it running, I would only go up to the front porch and that was all. I would watch her vacuuming through the screen door but that was as far as I would go.
She sometimes -- but not often (because she had mostly hardwood floors except for one large area rug in the living room and a few throw rugs) -- used the Kirby as an upright. I was fascinated to see that big gleaming machine glide to and fro, with her holding the handle in one hand and the cord held aloft in the other hand to keep it out of the way. She would take long, slow strokes with it, rocking back and forth on her heels as she led the machine around.
However, she favored using the Kirby as a straight-suction machine, using the hose and attachments instead of the rug nozzle -- even when cleaning her rugs! She kept the long handle attached, and I would watch with rapt attention -- from the safety of the front porch, peering through the screen door -- seeing that long handle jiggle and bob back and forth as she pulled the machine around the living room.
She also at that time had a green Eureka canister vacuum that she kept in the garage -- my uncle used it to clean his Rambler station wagon. She liked to use the rug nozzle from that machine with her Kirby - she just stuck the green nozzle with the long chrome elbow onto the end of the gray wand and used it that way on both floor and rugs. Because the length of the single wand (even though the Kirby wand was rather long) and the Eureka rug nozzle was so short, she had to stoop over a bit, and when cleaning the carpets and rugs she sort-of "scraped" away at them with the Eureka nozzle. What a lot of work! One time I asked her why she vacuumed with her Kirby that way, and she said it was just too much trouble to switch the machine around from upright to attachments!
My aunt would frequently baby-sit me when Mama had to run errands or go to the church to practice the organ. She always had to be careful about not taking me over there on Thursdays because she knew I wouldn't go inside! One time, she dropped me off when I was sick. I was all bundled up in a blanket and Mama laid me on my aunt's sofa with a pillow, telling me to stay there and "behave."
Well, it was not a Thursday, but ... it was "spring cleaning time" for my aunt. She was in the room overhead cleaning. When I heard her fire up the Kirby, I got scared and scurried under the blanket. The motor stopped and there was silence.
Whew!
But then the machine started up again, this time making a vibrating, rumbling, whirring sound against the hard-wood floor -- she was using the floor polisher head. I got so terrified that I ran off the couch, across the living room, into the dining room, and dug my way underneath a buffet table in the corner of the room, knocking over a bag of empty pop bottles in the process.
I stayed under there, crouched, trembling, and cold for what seemed to be an eternity. Finally, the sweeper stopped running. My aunt came downstairs, and when she did not see me she started calling for me. I was afraid she had the Kirby with her so I would not answer. She worked her way into the dining room where she saw the pop bottles scattered on the floor. She came over to the buffet table, crouched down and said, "Chuck, what on earth are you doing back there? Come on out of there!"
I started crying, "I'm afraid of the sweeeeee-peeer!"
Her stern look softened. She cluck-clucked her tongue and shook her head and said, "Oh, CHUCK..... I promise I won't use it any more until you leave. Why don't you come upstairs and get on my bed, so you can watch TV while you wait for your Mama -- and I can keep an eye on you!"
Reluctantly, I followed her to the stairs. I could see the Kirby towering above at the top of the landing. I held back and said, "I don't want to go up there! It might turn on!"
My aunt sighed, trudged up the stairs, unplugged the cord and waved the plug at me -- "You see, it's not plugged in. It CAN'T start up now! She pushed it against the wall so I'd have a clear path around it. "Now, be a good boy and come on up here."
Very reluctantly, I made my way up the stairs. Slowly and gingerly, I crept past the Kirby leaning against the wall. I remember very clearly seeing the floor polisher nozzle and the rows of fluffy bristles. The nozzle was much newer and shinier looking than the rest of the machine, and the red belt lifter glistened and reflected the hallway light fixture.
When I got safely past the Kirby I made a dash for her bed and jumped up. My aunt turned on the TV - the game-show "Concentration" was on. I remember seeing the rotating panels that would clickey-click into place showing pieces of the hidden puzzle!
One time, we came over there and the Kirby was standing in the living room. It looked all shiny and new-looking, but somehow I knew it was the same one. I saw that it had a different bag -- dark gray with a silver mottled pattern, and even though I was too young to read, I did know how to read "Kirby" -- and I remember the new bag that the "K" and the "Y" extended in a long line down the front of the bag and met at point at the bottom. (It was not until many years later that I would see another bag like this!) It also had a new handle, with a shiny red handle grip.
I don't remember the exact conversation but it was something along the line that my Aunt had just had it repaired, and it was not as loud any more (that was partly why I was afraid of it, because it made an absolutely deafening roar - in retrospect, caused by a chipped or broken fan blade).
She coaxed me into pushing down the switch to turn it on, and sure enough, it made a completely different sound! I was still a little afraid of it, though, and did not want it to run for a long time. But she had to use it. I did, at least, stay inside ... but still kept a safe distance!
When she was finished, she lugged it over to the closet by the front door where she kept it. I ran over to see it in the closet. I saw that the bag - new and sort of stiff - was all puffed out. I told my Aunt that she should pat the bag down flat. She said, "Well, why don't you go ahead and do that?!"
That became something I had to do every time I came over there -- open the closet to see if the bag was all puffy, and if it was, I could not rest until I patted it down flat. Don't ask me.....! (At least I did not have a bag-sniffing thing, like Stan Kann did!!)
