I swung through Sauk Centre recently and took a picture of the birthplace home of writer Sinclair Lewis (1885-1951). It’s hard for us to imagine how popular his books, Main Street, Babbitt, and others were back at the beginning of the twentieth century. They were immediate hits, turning the small-town boy into a millionaire.
He was born to a doctor and his wife in 1885 in this home in a town which then was home to about sixteen hundred residents.
The detail work on the structure is notable for a home of this period. The balustrade along the porch roof, a frieze below its eaves, the dentil work, and scrolled corner brackets. The windows are topped with a cornice and sided by shutters. One must wonder if immigrant labor from the old country was put to work in creating such ornate structures. The timber most likely arrived on the railroad tracks which ran through town less than three blocks away. The rail bed is now a regional bike trail facilitating a different type of traffic.
It’s a handsome home. At the time it was built, there was no electricity. That would have come later. The roads were dirt, and in the back stands a structure more attuned to a small barn, most likely designed for a carriage. The turn of the century brought all sorts of technological improvements from plumbing, to windows, and lighting. Foundations changed from dugout cellars to functional deeper spaces. But whenever I see the attention to artistic accents on the Victorian era homes, I have to think there was an extra pleasure in their creation.
The town is only three times the size it was back when Lewis exposed the stifling discomforts of small-town life. In a way, he is similar to his peer Zora Neale Hurston (1891-1960), who wrote about her youth community in Florida, telling of insights some would prefer not be exposed. Norms are meant to be understood and followed but not openly discussed in good company.
Home Economics 