From Monday on, my cares are over
From Monday on, I'll be in clover
We picked on Monday because it's washday
And we'll wash our blues away
From Monday on, the skies will look bright
Don't tell me different, I know I'm right
I'm gonna start shouting Hey Hey
When he says Love Honor and Obey
I'll be happy, from Monday on.

A catchy late '20s Paul Whiteman tune with Bing and the boys singing about wedded bliss.

Couple years later, couple blocks south, couple blocks other side of those train tracks -- one of the kids playing under those clotheslines will be named Henry Louis Gehrig.

The lady in the upper left window has to be Mrs. Goldberg. She is getting ready to stick her head out the window and give us some words of wisdom.

Rain must have made for an interesting day at work the next morning.

The Great Sam Levinson wrote of such a scene that his mother's nightgowns hung down a full three stories when wet, and his sister's skirts which "Dripped technicolor onto other people's whites"

Great photograph! Is that some sort of an animal on the window sill next to the top, far left?

Btw, I see some unmentionables on the lines, but of course I can't, er, mention 'em.

More interesting was watching the man who visited your backyard two or three times a year climb the poles to attach the clotheslines. "I climb poles" would echo through the yards. He charged around 25 cents for the climb and would sell lines and pulleys. If one planned ahead, the line and pulley would have been bought in the local hardware store for a small savings.

PS The roof was used for sunbathing (Tar Beach)

In my world wash day is when I can be sure of a good warm sunny day, or after the heaters go on, whenever i don't mind my lower floor of the house filled with wet hanging clothes. I don't know what folks did when it rained on wash day. I usually pay attention to the weather. If I do get rained out, fortunately there's still laundromats around with electric dryers. I do have a state-of-the-art front loader machine for the washing (anyone want my old maytag wringer?)
I refuse to get a dryer just as I refuse to add a dish washer, or get an air conditioner. One simply has to draw a line.

Gracious me, it makes me grateful for the "carbon footprint" of my washer and dryer for it keeps other "carbon" life forms from not only seeing my unmentionables, bot those who might leave a little carbon signature of their own on them.

Of course most of these clothes were washed in boiling water that had been heated on a coal stove. So that's a few tons of soot right there.

You can almost hear Ralph yelling out the window at Norton

There is no Metro North station (back then, "New York and Harlem" station) between 42nd Street and 125th Street, or at least there hasn't been for a long time. This photo was probably taken through the window of a train that had stopped on the tracks for some reason.

[This photo was made with a giant view camera (11 by 14 inch glass negative) on a tripod. It's not a snapshot from a train window. Detroit Publishing was a professional outfit. - Dave]

I guess wash day was also No Playing in the Backyard Day!

If a big enough gust hit, those building could go sailing off into the sunset.

What would today's NIMBYists have to say about this scene?

Must be Monday!

What a beautiful example of a "carbon footprint" this photo is showing. Not an electric clothes dryer in sight. Brings back memories of the postwar 1940s era. For some reason washday was always on a Monday, today's washday is a push of a button any day or time of the week.

Wow. Here's the world of my immigrant grandparents -- the intimate backyard world. I love the details of the shirtwaist-wearing women in the top story apartment, whose child is out on the fire escape. And the folks around a table on the right hand side of the picture, one story down. They've got a plant on the fire escape and some other stuff -- it's like a balcony!

Wonderful picture - thanks Dave!

Imagine what marks some birds with digestive problems could leave on those washday whites.

What? No jockstraps or thongs?

If putting your wash out on the line causes rain, there must be a hurricane headed for Manhattan.

My grandfather was section chief for the DM&IR Railway in Duluth, Minnesota. The company-owned house was directly next to the tracks, as these tenements are. My grandmother was fortunate to have her clothesline on the other side of the house. But I remember her hanging out to the schedule of the Number 9 coming out of the Range with a load of iron ore.

See the lady in the window? Maybe she sees King Kong!

Don't the people at the far end of the block do laundry?