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