Flashback: Amnesty Days of Lore
It wasn't environmentally friendly and it wasn't pretty, but the annual garbage extravaganza promised the thrill of the hunt--and the occasional treasure.
Editor’s Note: Based on Tuesday’s Village Council discussion on the new solid waste collection and disposal contract, it seems there are still some loose ends to tie up before the anticipated vote on October 21. I’ll be back with more details about that tomorrow, but in the meantime, I’m posting a Flashback column about Amnesty Day. Once hugely popular, the annual junk bonanza will be eliminated in the new solid waste contract, probably forever. But back in the dark ages, before environmental sustainability was the goal, piling the flotsam and jetsam of your garage and basement on the curb—and poking through your neighbor’s trash—was accepted practice.
The growing pile of chipped planters, leftover lumber and shabby toys in the garage can only mean one thing: Amnesty Day is coming.
The annual opportunity for Downers Grove residents to rid their storage spaces of unwanted junk takes place the week of September 28 on your regularly scheduled pick up day.
For the price of three garbage stickers, Arc Disposal will haul away whatever you can drag to the curb. The only exceptions are tires, appliances, liquids, paints, used motor oil and other household hazardous waste.
Getting rid of all that useless stuff is great but, as far as I’m concerned, cruising the neighborhood in search of cast-off treasures is even better. Where else can you find a spinet piano on the curb, free for the taking (assuming you can swiftly access a team of strong men and a heavy-duty truck)?
One year, my son found almost everything he needed to build a go-cart on the Amnesty Day curb, including training wheels, a swivel chair seat and a pair of worn flip-flops for brakes.
A year or two later he snagged a heavy wooden ladder that, once trimmed to size, made an admirable conveyance to the playhouse loft. That was replaced a year or two later by an even cooler rope-and-wood ladder that could be easily drawn up in case of prowling animals or younger siblings.
He’s since outgrown the playhouse, but the aluminum folding chairs he furnished it with—also found curbside on Amnesty Day—are still pressed into service on concert nights.
Wandering the streets with a couple of buddies on the lookout for lucre has long been a pleasure—for him and for me. It’s the thrill of the hunt, the joy of finding something useful for free, and the satisfaction of being the first to spot the glittering prize among heaps of rusty rejects.
Not to brag, but I’ve claimed my share of prizes while scoping out Amnesty Day trash.
There was the time I happened upon someone’s abandoned upholstery project. The dainty chair with the pretty carved legs had been stripped to its canvas cover, awaiting the finishing touch. I provided it—with the help of a good upholsterer—and that chair now welcomes my daughter into my office every day after school.
Another time, years ago, I was driving down the street on Amnesty Day Eve just as my neighbor decided to finally part with grandma’s old chair. Horsehair was spilling out of the ripped leather seat and the wood finish was scuffed, but I knew an Eastlake when I saw it.
After checking to ensure that he really, really was willing to part with this treasure, I whisked it into the trunk. I relish that victory every time I walk past my reupholstered beauty, now holding court in the dining room.
I was glad my neighbor was at the curb that time—it only seemed right to ask his permission before helping myself to his family heirloom—but normally I prefer to trash-pick anonymously.
One time, a woman came bounding out of the house when she caught me eying her cast-off French door. She moved so quickly that she put a foot through one of the panes.
I hastily placed the door in the car before she could wreak further damage. Alas, the door wasn’t a good fit, so I recycled it by returning it to the curb—mine, not hers—where it was quickly claimed by fellow picker.
That’s just one of many auspicious but ultimately abandoned projects that have been jettisoned through the years. A particular favorite, a yellow painted cabinet with a split door, was rejected after it exceeded both my skill level and my husband’s free time to restore.
Once out on the curb, it happily disappeared before the garbage trucks could turn it into kindling (or more landfill waste).
I later learned a neighbor had claimed it and was in the process of refurbishing it, proving yet again that one family’s Amnesty Day trash is another family’s Amnesty Day treasure.
Originally published on September 10, 2009