58 
F A 
House b° Garden 
THE CHANCES FOR 
In the Modern House Some Provision 
Should Be Made for a Map s Hobbies 
T H E R 
S OiME years ago there could have been seen, driving around the 
streets of New York, a bakery wagon that bore the sign: 
father’s bread 
GIVE THE OLD MAN A CHANCE 
Doubtless inspired by the fact that Mother and Grandmother were 
then enjoying extensive advertising as breadmakers, this mention 
of Father came as a stimulating contrast. It reminded people, how¬ 
ever vulgar the parlance of its phrasing, that the breadwinner ought 
to be accorded some respect for the bread he won. It may also have 
been a reaction to the song which assured us that everybody worked 
but Father. In short, at this time Father did not figure very prom¬ 
inently in the scheme of things; he was considered after everyone 
else had been given his or her share. And yet even in those days 
Father had a room to himself in the house. It was called his “den”, 
as if the old gentleman kept bones there. But he didn’t seem to 
mind what it was called so long as he had the room. Today, if we 
judge by the plans of houses which appear in our popular maga¬ 
zines, he hasn’t even the room. 
E ach issue of house & Garden contains many views and plans 
of recently erected houses, ranging in size from the smaller 
types to the larger. They are pleasantly laid out; you usually find 
an adequate living room, a serviceable kitchen, perhaps a library, 
bedrooms aplenty, often a nursery and always the necessary quota 
of bathrooms. As issue after issue appears we look at these plans, 
study them for the house that we intend to build and make notes 
on the things we want that house to contain. In only the rarest of 
instances, however, have we found any room definitely allotted to 
the head of the family as his very own. This, we feel, is a serious 
matter. We make every provision for children, for making sure— 
or as sure as we can—that our boys would rather be at home than 
anywhere else, but we apparently take it for granted that Father 
will stay put without any especial accommodation. 
J UST why should the head of the house have a room to himself? 
What sort of a room should it be? And just what should the rest 
of the family do about it? 
Every intelligent man has, in addition to his business, a hobby 
which he rides when the mood strikes him and when he feels a need 
for change from the routine and exactions of his business. He may 
have the carpentry complex and want to work with tools, or he 
may build ship models, as many men are doing now, or he may want 
to write or study or just sit still and think. The kind of hobby will 
decide the kind of room. Plenty of men are taking up gardening; 
for such men a small greenhouse would be the ideal sort of private 
room. The carpenter will want a workshop, the literary man a 
library and the chap who just wants to read and think, a room 
away from the noise and confusion of the house. 
Practically every man has some few possessions that he treasures, 
possessions that the other members of the family simply can’t 
appreciate. What, for example, is a man to do with his framed 
college diploma? With his college photographs? He worked four, 
hard, long years to get that sheepskin; and the photographs remind 
him of the times when he didn’t work. Things of this sort don’t fit 
into any other room of the house, and yet it is a pity for them to be 
relegated to the attic, just because they aren’t accommodating to a 
scheme of decoration. Certainly the man should be permitted to 
furnish and decorate that room according to his own tastes. They 
may be atrocious tastes, and his room may be a junk pile, but if he 
is happy with it, let him have it. 
B ehind this desire for a room to himself lies a phase of male 
psychology which few women understand or attempt to 
understand. It is because of no lack of affection for the members of 
his family that a man wants occasionally to crawl off by himself. 
There are times when he craves solitude, when he hungers for the 
chance simply to be by himself, to do what, for the moment, pleases 
him. Reading, writing, wood-carving, fussing with plants—all 
these are innocuous and engaging hobbies. A man might be worse 
occupied—far worse—than in puttering around his room with them. 
Fortunate is the household whose head is so inclined that he takes 
pleasure in these things. 
But if he is thwarted in his effort to enjoy them, he may either go 
to the dogs or the drama queens, become short-tempered, sullen, 
grouchy and eventually feel that, in a way, he is a failure. The 
sense of being thwarted is the most ruinous one that can come to a 
man. He may have a bad day at the office. Everything has gone 
against him. Let him come home, put on old clothes and slip into 
his greenhouse for the evening. At least the plants aren’t against 
him—that’s the way he thinks about it. He may have failed at 
business that day, but the strip of linen-fold paneling he carves 
that night proves that he is no failure. He may have been thwarted 
all week long in his business, but the story he reads over the week¬ 
end leaves him triumphant. 
N O man is defeated so long as he has hobbies and is permitted to 
ride them. But he must be given a loose enough rein to ride 
them within reason. That is why he should have a room somewhere 
in the house that is absolutely his. That is why the other members 
of the family should respect his privacy while he is there. That is 
why, if he likes a mussy desk, he should have a mussy desk. And if 
he enjoys gazing at his diploma and photographs of himself in 
running trunks, for all that is good and true in life, let him gaze 
upon them without scorn from his family. 
