FROM WHERE I SIT Church Suppers October 13, 2008
I like to read a variety of area newspapers which post notices for church suppers. Photos flash through my mind of mouth-watering suppers at hometown churches. The ads remind me of how much I enjoyed real mashed potatoes, golden yellow squash, creamy coleslaw, glazed carrots, homemade buns and pies with flaky crusts, sometimes even fruktsoppa (fruit soup) and Julekage (Christmas bread). That’s my kind of supper!
In the fall and into the holiday season, many churches host suppers, waffle breakfasts, chili feeds and noon dinners. Back in the fifties when my family attended these county-wide church suppers, the main course was usually chicken, but roast beef dinners, meat balls, and ham dinners were also available. If you were willing to drive, a luscious meal was available.
Gravy was on every menu. Sugary-laced Kool-aid for the kids and black coffee for the parents were mainstays. Tables covered with white church tablecloths were lined up in the church basements, filled with tiny plates of chocolate, marble, white and spice cake slices as well as wedges of pumpkin, cherry, lemon meringue, apple, pecan, and sour-crème raisin pies, often with a dollop of real whipped cream. Each church seemed to vie for top honors with their fine array of pies and pieces of cake for dessert.
Church dinners were prime campaign spots for county candidates for office. I bet these dinners still attract candidates who want to meet and greet possible voters. It’s a delightful time to gather with neighbors in support of a church, the Boy Scouts, a school or another organization that needs to raise funds to continue its good work.
When my dad was up for re-election at the Pope County sheriff’s office, our family would attend many church suppers throughout Pope County. As I remember, when we parked the car, I could smell the succulent flavors of the tasty meal cooking in the church basement. I always cleaned my plate. But Dad hated having to campaign for office at the church suppers. He enjoyed going out for supper with friends and visiting, but glad handing wasn’t Daddy’s long suit. Short and concise were Dad’s talks to the voters. He felt his record should stand for itself. Buttering up crowds or schmoozing with would-be voters wasn’t his cup of tea. He was a straight arrow kind of guy. He believed his action should speak louder than words, promises so many candidates were great at pontificating. Usually we’d eat, shake a few hands, then leave. I remember Dad referred to Hubert Humphrey as “blabbermouth.” He talked too much.
Notices for those sought-after lutefisk suppers are appearing on grocery store bulletin boards and posted in offices by members sponsoring the event. Annual lutefisk and meatball suppers usually begin in October. I know there is a crowd that anticipates these dinners. Those folks are on a special mailing list to receive annual notices of where the lutefisk will appear and mark those dates on their calendar. Unfortunately, I have a gagging reflex at the thought of lutefisk and butter sliding down my throat. I have the same reaction with oysters. I’ve never been any good at dealing with fishy smells, though I enjoy Friday night fish fries during Lent.
Currently, my favorite holiday smorgasbord is the annual St Lucia dinner, around December 12, sponsored at a community Lutheran church. Scandinavian musicians, dressed in costume, play the fiddle as we wait in long lines at the reception room, drinking punch and nibbling dainty cucumber sandwiches. Piano music accompanies dinner. The servers are dressed in Scandinavian costumes of embroidered caps, black skirts with aprons, red vests, white blouses and fancy Scandinavian pins of silver and gold. Little girls serving sweet Lucia buns in a basket trimmed with red ribbons are lovely in crisp white robes with red sashes and crowns of candles and evergreens. The candlelit tables are draped in white linen cloths, featuring dishes of creamed herring, lefse, lingonberries, fruit soup and cream soup, pickled pickles, rutabaga, Swedish meatballs, Julekage and gravy. They always have my favorite sweet treat table. It’s so hard to choose only one or two: kransekage, rosettes, spritz and sugar cookies, fattigmand, sandbakkels, krumkake, and tiny pastel mints. My plate overflows with sugary treats.
But those extra long church tables of pies are no longer waiting for me to choose my favorite, lemon meringue or pecan pie. When I was a kid, I’d find those tables at the Methodist church on the hill going up to the school. I miss those long tables of tasty treat choices
I haven’t found any fall fundraiser suppers that compare to my festive childhood memories. Maybe they don’t exist any more. Today’s palates are so finicky. My own daughter is a vegetarian! She misses out on succulent roast beef meals smothered with onions, fried chicken with all the fixins, and even the clove spiced ham. However, Kate does enjoy her sweets, especially chocolates. The rest of my family will eat and enjoy everything offered at these tasty dinners. I’m checking today’s paper to see if there’s a church supper in the area this weekend. Hope so. 863 words
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Best of Times
FROM WHERE I SIT The Best of Times! Oct. 14, 2011 pat spilseth
I can’t imagine a better time or place to grow up in than the Fabulous Fifties and Sixties in Glenwood, Minnesota. Reading Bill Bryson’s THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE THUNDERBOLT KID, I find myself laughing out loud at his hilarious memoir of growing up in Des Moines, IA, at the same time as I did.
I know it was the Best of Times! The majority of American families had a mom and a dad. Divorce was a rarity. Our small houses had kids sharing bedrooms, one bathroom, and a big kitchen where everyone gathered for meals with a prayer of thanksgiving. Most of our families had a car, refrigerator and washing machine, a telephone, vacuum clearer, and a gas or electric stove.
Much of the rest of the world only fantasized about these modern appliances. Americans made almost all the cars sold in America. A few had bicycles made elsewhere like the fancy English bikes with several gears and skinny wheels. Many of us rode Schwinns with fat wheels and a bell on the handlebars. According to Bryson’s recall and research, LIFE magazine ran a photo in 1951 of an American family with a mom, dad and two kids surrounded by 2 ½ tons of food, which a typical blue-collar family ate in a year. Among the items were 450 pound of flour, 72 pounds of shortening, 565 pounds of butter, 31 chickens, 300 pounds of beef, 25 pounds of carp, 144 pounds of ham, 39 pounds of coffee, 690 pounds of potatoes, 698 quarts of milk, 131 dozen eggs, 180 loaves of bread, and 8 ½ gallons of ice cream. All could be purchased on a budget of $25 a week.
The above registers with my “meat and potatoes” family. One difference is that my dad hunted and brought home a deer most years. Fresh venison made up most of our winter meals: we ate venison hamburgers, steaks, roasts and sausage. His deer kill was processed at the local butcher shop, wrapped in white packages with identifying labels to be stored in our deep freezer in the basement. That’s where Mom’s Maytag wringer-wash machine and the white rope clothes lines were strung across the ceiling. They held Dad’s work pants and coveralls during freezing winters when Mom couldn’t hang the clothes in the backyard on lines strung from our back door to the garage.
Mom thought Crisco shortening was best for making flakey pie crusts with fluted edges and rich, buttery cookies. Sometimes, when Land o’ Lakes butter with the Indian maiden on the boxed cover was too expensive, we bought oleo margarine at Bob’s or Harry’s
Grocery stores downtown. Resting the package on the kitchen radiator to warm up, I’d get to burst the red bubble on the plastic bag of white gook, then massage it until the white mixture turned yellow, like butter. We didn’t dare bring out the ole margarine when our relatives from the farm visited. That would have been inexcusable.
Naturally my family, like Bryson’s Iowa family, ate Wonder Bread in the red, blue and white polka-dot plastic packages. That white bread’s slogan was “the bread that builds strong bodies seven ways”. We figured it must be healthy. Those air-filled slices of white bread were a luxury. Normally, Mom baked several loaves of homemade white bread at least once a week. After all, she had to feed the jailed prisoners too. The yeasty, sticky dough rose, overflowing in their buttered metal and pyrex bread pans, as they grew overnight under dish towels.
We didn’t waste. Towels that covered the bread also wiped the dishes. They were made of empty, washed feed sacks, hemmed and embroidered with the days of the week and appropriate tasks. Monday was wash day, Tuesday was ironing, etc. Our weeks had designated duties to perform.
We put jigsaw puzzles together and played Whist, Rummy, and Solitaire card games and board games like Monopoly and Parchesi as well as checkers, but not chess…that was too sophisticated for most Midwestern kids. Few knew the game except for when it was shown in an old movie at the theatre downtown. Most of the time we played outdoors, from morning to supper time when the fire whistle blew, alerting kids to get home for supper.
Bryson lists words we used in the 50’s, but few know what they meant today: “mimeograph, rotisserie, stenographer, icebox, dime store, rutabaga, Studebaker, panty raid, bobby socks, Sputnik, beatnik, canasta, Cinerama, Moose Lodge, pinochle, daddy-o”. Some of us still remember...
Paperboys delivered the daily newspapers from the Cities. The morning as well as evening editions were available for many years. Of course, the Pope Country Tribune, then edited by Ed Barsness and later by Jim Kinney, was anticipated by everyone. When an Irishman by the name of Shannon came to town wearing a kilt, he created quite a fuss with the news he printed in his Green Sheet. Both papers came out weekly. News of the local communities was studied closely as well as the obituaries and who had won the Saturday night drawing downtown. The lucky winner might win a turkey or a ham, perhaps even a few bucks to spend at a local establishment.
We also read “The Readers’ Digest” and “Look” and ”Life” magazines. Teenage girls loved to buy “Seventeen” magazines, and guys often read “Mechanics Illustrated” and “Popular Science” at the library to figure out how to make a soapbox car or a fishing house.
A few lucky households had a black and white TV set, which was enjoyed by crowds of neighbors and friends. Mostly we viewed snowstorms on the screen and adjusted the reception with rabbit ears on top of the TV set.
America’s population in the Fabulous Fifties was half as much as today. There were no interstate highways and only a quarter as many cars. Men wore hats and ties. Teachers dressed formally at school: I remember history teacher Carlos Avery, math man Mr. McCarty, and English teacher Mr. Leaf in suits. Miss Olson wore suits with a sparkly broach pinned on the lapel.
Most wives stayed home and prepared the daily meals. Mom didn’t make “boxed” cake mixes: everything was made “from scratch” with butter, eggs and sugar. The milkman came to the back door delivering glass milk bottles. If you weren’t home, he’d leave the milk, butter and eggs in a metal box on the outside stoop. We looked forward to the mailman who delivered to our mailbox at the front door or into our hands as he knew everyone on his daily route. For many of us, those FABULOUS FIFTIES were the best of times! 1125 words
I can’t imagine a better time or place to grow up in than the Fabulous Fifties and Sixties in Glenwood, Minnesota. Reading Bill Bryson’s THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE THUNDERBOLT KID, I find myself laughing out loud at his hilarious memoir of growing up in Des Moines, IA, at the same time as I did.
I know it was the Best of Times! The majority of American families had a mom and a dad. Divorce was a rarity. Our small houses had kids sharing bedrooms, one bathroom, and a big kitchen where everyone gathered for meals with a prayer of thanksgiving. Most of our families had a car, refrigerator and washing machine, a telephone, vacuum clearer, and a gas or electric stove.
Much of the rest of the world only fantasized about these modern appliances. Americans made almost all the cars sold in America. A few had bicycles made elsewhere like the fancy English bikes with several gears and skinny wheels. Many of us rode Schwinns with fat wheels and a bell on the handlebars. According to Bryson’s recall and research, LIFE magazine ran a photo in 1951 of an American family with a mom, dad and two kids surrounded by 2 ½ tons of food, which a typical blue-collar family ate in a year. Among the items were 450 pound of flour, 72 pounds of shortening, 565 pounds of butter, 31 chickens, 300 pounds of beef, 25 pounds of carp, 144 pounds of ham, 39 pounds of coffee, 690 pounds of potatoes, 698 quarts of milk, 131 dozen eggs, 180 loaves of bread, and 8 ½ gallons of ice cream. All could be purchased on a budget of $25 a week.
The above registers with my “meat and potatoes” family. One difference is that my dad hunted and brought home a deer most years. Fresh venison made up most of our winter meals: we ate venison hamburgers, steaks, roasts and sausage. His deer kill was processed at the local butcher shop, wrapped in white packages with identifying labels to be stored in our deep freezer in the basement. That’s where Mom’s Maytag wringer-wash machine and the white rope clothes lines were strung across the ceiling. They held Dad’s work pants and coveralls during freezing winters when Mom couldn’t hang the clothes in the backyard on lines strung from our back door to the garage.
Mom thought Crisco shortening was best for making flakey pie crusts with fluted edges and rich, buttery cookies. Sometimes, when Land o’ Lakes butter with the Indian maiden on the boxed cover was too expensive, we bought oleo margarine at Bob’s or Harry’s
Grocery stores downtown. Resting the package on the kitchen radiator to warm up, I’d get to burst the red bubble on the plastic bag of white gook, then massage it until the white mixture turned yellow, like butter. We didn’t dare bring out the ole margarine when our relatives from the farm visited. That would have been inexcusable.
Naturally my family, like Bryson’s Iowa family, ate Wonder Bread in the red, blue and white polka-dot plastic packages. That white bread’s slogan was “the bread that builds strong bodies seven ways”. We figured it must be healthy. Those air-filled slices of white bread were a luxury. Normally, Mom baked several loaves of homemade white bread at least once a week. After all, she had to feed the jailed prisoners too. The yeasty, sticky dough rose, overflowing in their buttered metal and pyrex bread pans, as they grew overnight under dish towels.
We didn’t waste. Towels that covered the bread also wiped the dishes. They were made of empty, washed feed sacks, hemmed and embroidered with the days of the week and appropriate tasks. Monday was wash day, Tuesday was ironing, etc. Our weeks had designated duties to perform.
We put jigsaw puzzles together and played Whist, Rummy, and Solitaire card games and board games like Monopoly and Parchesi as well as checkers, but not chess…that was too sophisticated for most Midwestern kids. Few knew the game except for when it was shown in an old movie at the theatre downtown. Most of the time we played outdoors, from morning to supper time when the fire whistle blew, alerting kids to get home for supper.
Bryson lists words we used in the 50’s, but few know what they meant today: “mimeograph, rotisserie, stenographer, icebox, dime store, rutabaga, Studebaker, panty raid, bobby socks, Sputnik, beatnik, canasta, Cinerama, Moose Lodge, pinochle, daddy-o”. Some of us still remember...
Paperboys delivered the daily newspapers from the Cities. The morning as well as evening editions were available for many years. Of course, the Pope Country Tribune, then edited by Ed Barsness and later by Jim Kinney, was anticipated by everyone. When an Irishman by the name of Shannon came to town wearing a kilt, he created quite a fuss with the news he printed in his Green Sheet. Both papers came out weekly. News of the local communities was studied closely as well as the obituaries and who had won the Saturday night drawing downtown. The lucky winner might win a turkey or a ham, perhaps even a few bucks to spend at a local establishment.
We also read “The Readers’ Digest” and “Look” and ”Life” magazines. Teenage girls loved to buy “Seventeen” magazines, and guys often read “Mechanics Illustrated” and “Popular Science” at the library to figure out how to make a soapbox car or a fishing house.
A few lucky households had a black and white TV set, which was enjoyed by crowds of neighbors and friends. Mostly we viewed snowstorms on the screen and adjusted the reception with rabbit ears on top of the TV set.
America’s population in the Fabulous Fifties was half as much as today. There were no interstate highways and only a quarter as many cars. Men wore hats and ties. Teachers dressed formally at school: I remember history teacher Carlos Avery, math man Mr. McCarty, and English teacher Mr. Leaf in suits. Miss Olson wore suits with a sparkly broach pinned on the lapel.
Most wives stayed home and prepared the daily meals. Mom didn’t make “boxed” cake mixes: everything was made “from scratch” with butter, eggs and sugar. The milkman came to the back door delivering glass milk bottles. If you weren’t home, he’d leave the milk, butter and eggs in a metal box on the outside stoop. We looked forward to the mailman who delivered to our mailbox at the front door or into our hands as he knew everyone on his daily route. For many of us, those FABULOUS FIFTIES were the best of times! 1125 words
The Best of Times
FROM WHERE I SIT The Best of Times! Oct. 14, 2011 pat spilseth
I can’t imagine a better time or place to grow up in than the Fabulous Fifties and Sixties in Glenwood, Minnesota. Reading Bill Bryson’s THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE THUNDERBOLT KID, I find myself laughing out loud at his hilarious memoir of growing up in Des Moines, IA, at the same time as I did.
I know it was the Best of Times! The majority of American families had a mom and a dad. Divorce was a rarity. Our small houses had kids sharing bedrooms, one bathroom, and a big kitchen where everyone gathered for meals with a prayer of thanksgiving. Most of our families had a car, refrigerator and washing machine, a telephone, vacuum clearer, and a gas or electric stove.
Much of the rest of the world only fantasized about these modern appliances. Americans made almost all the cars sold in America. A few had bicycles made elsewhere like the fancy English bikes with several gears and skinny wheels. Many of us rode Schwinns with fat wheels and a bell on the handlebars. According to Bryson’s recall and research, LIFE magazine ran a photo in 1951 of an American family with a mom, dad and two kids surrounded by 2 ½ tons of food, which a typical blue-collar family ate in a year. Among the items were 450 pound of flour, 72 pounds of shortening, 565 pounds of butter, 31 chickens, 300 pounds of beef, 25 pounds of carp, 144 pounds of ham, 39 pounds of coffee, 690 pounds of potatoes, 698 quarts of milk, 131 dozen eggs, 180 loaves of bread, and 8 ½ gallons of ice cream. All could be purchased on a budget of $25 a week.
The above registers with my “meat and potatoes” family. One difference is that my dad hunted and brought home a deer most years. Fresh venison made up most of our winter meals: we ate venison hamburgers, steaks, roasts and sausage. His deer kill was processed at the local butcher shop, wrapped in white packages with identifying labels to be stored in our deep freezer in the basement. That’s where Mom’s Maytag wringer-wash machine and the white rope clothes lines were strung across the ceiling. They held Dad’s work pants and coveralls during freezing winters when Mom couldn’t hang the clothes in the backyard on lines strung from our back door to the garage.
Mom thought Crisco shortening was best for making flakey pie crusts with fluted edges and rich, buttery cookies. Sometimes, when Land o’ Lakes butter with the Indian maiden on the boxed cover was too expensive, we bought oleo margarine at Bob’s or Harry’s
Grocery stores downtown. Resting the package on the kitchen radiator to warm up, I’d get to burst the red bubble on the plastic bag of white gook, then massage it until the white mixture turned yellow, like butter. We didn’t dare bring out the ole margarine when our relatives from the farm visited. That would have been inexcusable.
Naturally my family, like Bryson’s Iowa family, ate Wonder Bread in the red, blue and white polka-dot plastic packages. That white bread’s slogan was “the bread that builds strong bodies seven ways”. We figured it must be healthy. Those air-filled slices of white bread were a luxury. Normally, Mom baked several loaves of homemade white bread at least once a week. After all, she had to feed the jailed prisoners too. The yeasty, sticky dough rose, overflowing in their buttered metal and pyrex bread pans, as they grew overnight under dish towels.
We didn’t waste. Towels that covered the bread also wiped the dishes. They were made of empty, washed feed sacks, hemmed and embroidered with the days of the week and appropriate tasks. Monday was wash day, Tuesday was ironing, etc. Our weeks had designated duties to perform.
We put jigsaw puzzles together and played Whist, Rummy, and Solitaire card games and board games like Monopoly and Parchesi as well as checkers, but not chess…that was too sophisticated for most Midwestern kids. Few knew the game except for when it was shown in an old movie at the theatre downtown. Most of the time we played outdoors, from morning to supper time when the fire whistle blew, alerting kids to get home for supper.
Bryson lists words we used in the 50’s, but few know what they meant today: “mimeograph, rotisserie, stenographer, icebox, dime store, rutabaga, Studebaker, panty raid, bobby socks, Sputnik, beatnik, canasta, Cinerama, Moose Lodge, pinochle, daddy-o”. Some of us still remember...
Paperboys delivered the daily newspapers from the Cities. The morning as well as evening editions were available for many years. Of course, the Pope Country Tribune, then edited by Ed Barsness and later by Jim Kinney, was anticipated by everyone. When an Irishman by the name of Shannon came to town wearing a kilt, he created quite a fuss with the news he printed in his Green Sheet. Both papers came out weekly. News of the local communities was studied closely as well as the obituaries and who had won the Saturday night drawing downtown. The lucky winner might win a turkey or a ham, perhaps even a few bucks to spend at a local establishment.
We also read “The Readers’ Digest” and “Look” and ”Life” magazines. Teenage girls loved to buy “Seventeen” magazines, and guys often read “Mechanics Illustrated” and “Popular Science” at the library to figure out how to make a soapbox car or a fishing house.
A few lucky households had a black and white TV set, which was enjoyed by crowds of neighbors and friends. Mostly we viewed snowstorms on the screen and adjusted the reception with rabbit ears on top of the TV set.
America’s population in the Fabulous Fifties was half as much as today. There were no interstate highways and only a quarter as many cars. Men wore hats and ties. Teachers dressed formally at school: I remember history teacher Carlos Avery, math man Mr. McCarty, and English teacher Mr. Leaf in suits. Miss Olson wore suits with a sparkly broach pinned on the lapel.
Most wives stayed home and prepared the daily meals. Mom didn’t make “boxed” cake mixes: everything was made “from scratch” with butter, eggs and sugar. The milkman came to the back door delivering glass milk bottles. If you weren’t home, he’d leave the milk, butter and eggs in a metal box on the outside stoop. We looked forward to the mailman who delivered to our mailbox at the front door or into our hands as he knew everyone on his daily route. For many of us, those FABULOUS FIFTIES were the best of times! 1125 words
I can’t imagine a better time or place to grow up in than the Fabulous Fifties and Sixties in Glenwood, Minnesota. Reading Bill Bryson’s THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE THUNDERBOLT KID, I find myself laughing out loud at his hilarious memoir of growing up in Des Moines, IA, at the same time as I did.
I know it was the Best of Times! The majority of American families had a mom and a dad. Divorce was a rarity. Our small houses had kids sharing bedrooms, one bathroom, and a big kitchen where everyone gathered for meals with a prayer of thanksgiving. Most of our families had a car, refrigerator and washing machine, a telephone, vacuum clearer, and a gas or electric stove.
Much of the rest of the world only fantasized about these modern appliances. Americans made almost all the cars sold in America. A few had bicycles made elsewhere like the fancy English bikes with several gears and skinny wheels. Many of us rode Schwinns with fat wheels and a bell on the handlebars. According to Bryson’s recall and research, LIFE magazine ran a photo in 1951 of an American family with a mom, dad and two kids surrounded by 2 ½ tons of food, which a typical blue-collar family ate in a year. Among the items were 450 pound of flour, 72 pounds of shortening, 565 pounds of butter, 31 chickens, 300 pounds of beef, 25 pounds of carp, 144 pounds of ham, 39 pounds of coffee, 690 pounds of potatoes, 698 quarts of milk, 131 dozen eggs, 180 loaves of bread, and 8 ½ gallons of ice cream. All could be purchased on a budget of $25 a week.
The above registers with my “meat and potatoes” family. One difference is that my dad hunted and brought home a deer most years. Fresh venison made up most of our winter meals: we ate venison hamburgers, steaks, roasts and sausage. His deer kill was processed at the local butcher shop, wrapped in white packages with identifying labels to be stored in our deep freezer in the basement. That’s where Mom’s Maytag wringer-wash machine and the white rope clothes lines were strung across the ceiling. They held Dad’s work pants and coveralls during freezing winters when Mom couldn’t hang the clothes in the backyard on lines strung from our back door to the garage.
Mom thought Crisco shortening was best for making flakey pie crusts with fluted edges and rich, buttery cookies. Sometimes, when Land o’ Lakes butter with the Indian maiden on the boxed cover was too expensive, we bought oleo margarine at Bob’s or Harry’s
Grocery stores downtown. Resting the package on the kitchen radiator to warm up, I’d get to burst the red bubble on the plastic bag of white gook, then massage it until the white mixture turned yellow, like butter. We didn’t dare bring out the ole margarine when our relatives from the farm visited. That would have been inexcusable.
Naturally my family, like Bryson’s Iowa family, ate Wonder Bread in the red, blue and white polka-dot plastic packages. That white bread’s slogan was “the bread that builds strong bodies seven ways”. We figured it must be healthy. Those air-filled slices of white bread were a luxury. Normally, Mom baked several loaves of homemade white bread at least once a week. After all, she had to feed the jailed prisoners too. The yeasty, sticky dough rose, overflowing in their buttered metal and pyrex bread pans, as they grew overnight under dish towels.
We didn’t waste. Towels that covered the bread also wiped the dishes. They were made of empty, washed feed sacks, hemmed and embroidered with the days of the week and appropriate tasks. Monday was wash day, Tuesday was ironing, etc. Our weeks had designated duties to perform.
We put jigsaw puzzles together and played Whist, Rummy, and Solitaire card games and board games like Monopoly and Parchesi as well as checkers, but not chess…that was too sophisticated for most Midwestern kids. Few knew the game except for when it was shown in an old movie at the theatre downtown. Most of the time we played outdoors, from morning to supper time when the fire whistle blew, alerting kids to get home for supper.
Bryson lists words we used in the 50’s, but few know what they meant today: “mimeograph, rotisserie, stenographer, icebox, dime store, rutabaga, Studebaker, panty raid, bobby socks, Sputnik, beatnik, canasta, Cinerama, Moose Lodge, pinochle, daddy-o”. Some of us still remember...
Paperboys delivered the daily newspapers from the Cities. The morning as well as evening editions were available for many years. Of course, the Pope Country Tribune, then edited by Ed Barsness and later by Jim Kinney, was anticipated by everyone. When an Irishman by the name of Shannon came to town wearing a kilt, he created quite a fuss with the news he printed in his Green Sheet. Both papers came out weekly. News of the local communities was studied closely as well as the obituaries and who had won the Saturday night drawing downtown. The lucky winner might win a turkey or a ham, perhaps even a few bucks to spend at a local establishment.
We also read “The Readers’ Digest” and “Look” and ”Life” magazines. Teenage girls loved to buy “Seventeen” magazines, and guys often read “Mechanics Illustrated” and “Popular Science” at the library to figure out how to make a soapbox car or a fishing house.
A few lucky households had a black and white TV set, which was enjoyed by crowds of neighbors and friends. Mostly we viewed snowstorms on the screen and adjusted the reception with rabbit ears on top of the TV set.
America’s population in the Fabulous Fifties was half as much as today. There were no interstate highways and only a quarter as many cars. Men wore hats and ties. Teachers dressed formally at school: I remember history teacher Carlos Avery, math man Mr. McCarty, and English teacher Mr. Leaf in suits. Miss Olson wore suits with a sparkly broach pinned on the lapel.
Most wives stayed home and prepared the daily meals. Mom didn’t make “boxed” cake mixes: everything was made “from scratch” with butter, eggs and sugar. The milkman came to the back door delivering glass milk bottles. If you weren’t home, he’d leave the milk, butter and eggs in a metal box on the outside stoop. We looked forward to the mailman who delivered to our mailbox at the front door or into our hands as he knew everyone on his daily route. For many of us, those FABULOUS FIFTIES were the best of times! 1125 words
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