I Miss the Old Radiators
Bring back the hisses and the clangs
There was a cozy sound that bopped, bleeped, and knocked through our house after the furnace kicked on, familiar noises of my childhood. It’s the waking cacophony of steam radiators. Yes, we had them in our three-family house when I was a kid. I loved them.
I was comforted by the first groans that quickly gave way to click, clank, knock, hiss, bang, and the exclamation, “Wow, the heat is coming.” On those frigid days, there was such a nice feeling to walk into the house, remove my jacket, and stand with my butt back to a steaming radiator. How comforting.
At winter’s shadow, we burrowed under covers to sleep, waking to the hiss and bangs of furnaces that clutched the steam heat from deep in the bowels of the cellar and pushed it up through expectant pipes into compact, silver, cold steel radiators in our third-floor tenement.
Radiators were perfect places to dry our winter mittens, warm our pajamas, or keep our cup of hot chocolate hot. We snuggled our cold, wet feet and itchy toes under them after a day in the snow.
At night, Mom placed a pan of water on our radiator. “It will keep the room nice and moist.”
But more than that, those sounds promised security that lulled us to sleep and to dream with noses tucked under covers. Before drifting off, I noticed the curved rim of ice on the window. The radiator was doing its job, taking the steam from one pipe, curling it through the radiator, heating our room, and pushing it off to another pipe.
Frost formed on the windows despite the heat. More magic.
In the daytime, those windows became drawing boards.
On occasion, Dad came in to turn something at the bottom of the radiator. “Dad, what is all that noise?”
“Trapped air in the system. One of these days, I’m gonna bleed the radiator and change all the valves.” Bleed a radiator? Change valves? I guess he knew what he was doing. It was of no matter to us.
The steam heat was so efficient that sometimes, when it got too hot, Mom would raise our window just a tad, push out the wooden storm, and latch it in place.
In the power plants deep in the cellar, tenants shoveled coal from their bins into the boiler with a long-handled, extra-large shovel. Called a bunk or coal shovel, it had a deep scoop specially designed for moving heavy, loose stuff.
When I grew older, I shoveled on occasion, but only when Dad was not home or busy. I was frightened when I entered the mysterious depths of the power plant.
Today, our home is warmed by hot air. A silent guest, it does the job much more quickly than the steam struggling to make its way from the depths. But it ain’t the same.
Silence replaces cozy cacophony.
No bop, bleep, knock, click, clank, hiss, bang.
I miss the old radiators.
© 2026
I love reading your memories! Most of them are mine, too.
I do, too!