Insulbrick Memories

Insulbrick, many people will wonder what is Insulbrick, especially the younger readers. This product was a heavy tar paper created to insulate and protect homes from harsh weather and cold. It was heavier than the roofing shingles we now use to cover the roofs of our homes to keep us warm and dry. Insulbrick arrived in stiff, heavy rolls that were uncoiled and nailed to the rough-sawn board sides of homes to make them weather tight, watertight, and more appealing to the eye. The thick tarpaper had coarse mineral coating applied in patterns to resemble brick or cut stone. The simulated brick product was offered in a dark red color or in a lighter tan palette, while the cut stone presented in a pale gray hue. The lines that created the stone or brick patterns were areas where the mineral coating was absent and the tar underlayment showed through.

The house that my father, Carl Beck bought was covered in the brown brick pattern, while the neighbor’s house was wrapped in the gray stone appearing design. Jesse Hall had built both homes, moving into the larger one when its construction was complete.

As a youngster, I can remember many of the homes in our area were wrapped in this product. One building was the Assembly of God church in Melcroft, Pennsylvania. It was a large structure, dark and almost forbidding with double doors and small windows. The dark red expanse of Insulbrick seemed grim, imposing, and not very welcoming at all. The inside was less intimidating with light colored walls and fold-up theater seats.

The old seats were wonderful. Their fold down section wore a thick-spring and cloth-covered cushion that made sitting to listen to a long sermon much easier to endure. I seem to recall there was a patterned, burgundy carpet lining main aisle that separated the two sections of dusty gray colored seating. It sloped downward toward the raised dais stage portion of the church.

That Insulbrick covered church is now gone. It’s become merely a part of my past. I was quite young. Now, it’s just a faded recollection, only vaguely seen through the dusty lens of a child’s memory.