I remember in the early 50s the old man sleeping on the fire escape in Brooklyn once in a while during July and August. We lived on the top floor at 844 Flatbush Avenue and heat rises.

In the mid-50s in a house out on Long Island I remember going to bed in my drawers on just a sheet when it was 90 outside and no air conditioning. Somehow I always fell asleep and never woke up dead.

I have air conditioning now and wonder like a complete American jerkoff why I go for a zip-up sweatshirt when it get's chilly in my house in June.

I detest air conditioning, but here in Carolina, I could never live without it. Downstairs I'm able to keep it high--on 78. But upstairs at night, I have to lower it to 74, and even then have a ceiling fan on.

When I was a teen a lived in the upper floor of my deceased Dad's two family house. The unit had no electric except for the extension cord I ran from down stairs. That summer I only had a fan and the window. There were times when it was hot but people have the ability to acclimate. This type of living keep you in tune with your surrounding and maintains health. There are many fat tubs of lard out in the sultry suburban sun belt where the people are protected from the elements by the air-conditioned house to air-conditioned car to air-conditioned mall in their daily travels.

I was once in a hot sheets motel with a hot chick along Queens Boulevard and I refused to take my clothes off until the place got some heat.

Yes, it was August and I took the bus home alone to Woodside at 3 a.m.

The Mets Motel on Queens Boulevard in the late 1960s had young vets going in there with girls, pistols, beer, booze and rosary beads.

Fortunately at that time I was volunteering my off hours to St. Sebastaian on the corner of 58th Street and Roosevelt Avenue and only knew of the dirt, filth and depavity from the newspapers.

My family's home was built in the 1870's...one of those boxes with the wrap around porch.

My father inherited it from his father who bought the house in 1921.
In the 60's, the third floor was renovated. It was a 3rd fl/ two rooms w/ dbl windows,a bath and a walk-in closet area...but unused for 50 years.

My sister and I moved up there. Sounds nice. Wrong. My dad ran his own company and was tough as far as his 5 kids. The oil burner was from the 1940's and in the winter the heat barely reached the third floor. The windows had ice inside. My father didn't believe in rugs on the floor or air conditioning or fans. 40 deg bedrooms made you "tough" same as 100 deg "attic heat" in the summer.

I'm rarely cold in winter, but I cannot sleep w/o AC in the heat. I developed claustrophobia as a result of smothering in my "attic bedroom" in the summer.

Im with you here.....the only time I need AC is at night when it is really hot.

As a child I lived in a small 1200 Sq Ft 3 BR ranch. You know the type, where the BR's are all at the hall. We had one fan that my father would put at the top of the hall to cool all three BR's. Sometimes it would get so hot at night that my mother and father would pack-up my younger sister and I into the car and take us for a ride to the North Central State Airport and back to tire us out and cool us off. Never heard of A/C back in 1955.

In the 60's, growing up in Brooklyn, my parents once lugged 4 small kids to the Golden Gate Motel for a weekend due to 100 degree temps, we loved it, but my parents weren't exactly thrilled

'Atta girl, Wooley. I knew you were from good, tough stock!

These are some great stories. Sammie, BL and Jack, good ones, too.

When we were all growing up, we just didn't rely on being in the 72 degree year round thing.

I really do despise AC. It makes one ache, not move about as easily. I can get on my John Deere when its 95 degrees out, mow the grass, and feel better than before I went outside. It'll take me an hour and fifteen minutes to mow. Then, back in the house, another hour and fifteen to cool off. Still, I feel better.

I'll keep taking the hits from Wooley with good cheer.

She's from good stock, has good humor, plus probably carries about ten pounds of solid-steel backbone.

Even old farts more than 40 years out of the Marine Corps can salute girls like that with deep respect.