Dear $$firstname$$,

This month’s newsletter has mostly a 1940s flavor to get you in the mood for a special DVD of pictures, film and real-life stories from Reminisce readers who lived through this fascinating decade. Look for more details in a future newsletter. Also make sure to check out the nostalgic tours survey in this issue of the newsletter. It’s your chance to help design future trips offered by World Wide Country Tours. Happy reading!

—The Folks at Reminisce

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In this issue:

• The Wedding That Almost Wasn't
• The Wheels I Remember
• The Army Goes to College
• You Decide! Help Select Future Tours
• Poem: We Didn’t Think We Were Poor
• Over the Back Fence
• Time Capsule Trivia
• A Thought to Remember

By George A. Thomas Sarasota, Florida

The Wedding That Almost Wasn’t

May 23, 1942 was a memorable day for our family.

Nestled in the foothills of the Berkshire Mountains in western Massachusetts, the little village of Colrain sprawled 5 miles east of our white-clapboard farmhouse. The public library, a general store, the post office, and two churches—one Catholic, the other Protestant—lined up around the town square in this quintessential New England town.

The Congregational Church had opened its doors for the 3 o’clock wedding of my oldest sister, Madeline. Lilac bushes bathed the air for blocks around with their fragrance. No clouds spoiled the cerulean blue sky.

Joe Pinter, a U.S. Marine, had finagled a 2-week furlough away from fighting in the Pacific for his wedding and honeymoon. Parked in front of the church was Joe’s shiny 1941 Plymouth sedan, festooned with “Just Married” signs and tin cans, ready to whisk the married couple off to their honeymoon.

Friends and family jammed the little church, anticipating the start of the service. All ingredients were assembled for a perfect wedding—all but one.

Unaware of events at our farmhouse, Joe and his brother, Ed, the best man, entered the church’s oak-paneled minister’s study. By the grandfather clock, ticking in a corner, it was 10 minutes before 3 o’clock.

Rev. Everett Johnston, dressed in his customary double-breasted, pinstriped suit, pumped the hands of both men. He appointed me errand boy—a momentous assignment for an 8-year-old. As he donned his clerical robe, he dispatched me to the bride’s waiting room to remind Madeline that she had 5 minutes before the ceremony would begin.

I knocked. No one answered. I pushed open the door into a sun-flooded but otherwise deserted room.

I rushed back to the minister’s study. Our gray-templed, patrician-looking minister squinted at the grandfather clock and frowned. He stood undecided for a few minutes, then strode to the wall, lifted the telephone receiver off the hook and turned the crank. He barked, “Emma, get me the Thomas residence, then paused and said, “I know they’re all supposed to be here. Just ring the house, please!”

Drumming his fingers, the minister waited for several minutes and then his eyes widened. With an effort, he steadied his voice. “Grace, what’s happening? Why aren’t you here at the church? What?!”

At 3:10 p.m., Mr. Osbourne, the organist, plunged for the third time into the prelude music. In the sanctuary, the wedding guests fidgeted and darted nervous glances at their neighbors.

By 3:25, Rev. Johnston, visibly agitated, strode to the phone and asked Emma to ring our house again. He looked dazed as he said, “But…but…” He hung up the receiver and stared at it, then shed his robe and slouched into the leather swivel chair behind his heavy mahogany desk.

Emma Swett, the town’s “central” telephone operator, filled her spinster days with unconscionable eavesdropping on all the party lines in town and made it her business to spread the news—the juicier the better. As I learned later, not 10 minutes had elapsed after the second call from the pastor to our house before she’d relayed the news to most of the townspeople. Singly or in pairs, folks emerged onto their porches along the street leading up to the church and peered toward the building, shaking their heads in disbelief.

In the minister’s study, Ed removed his bow tie and mopped his face and neck. Joe perspired profusely, soaking the front of his tuxedo shirt.

I just knew something was wrong. Maybe Sis had been hurt or had fainted. I pictured her spread out on the bed, her face as white as her wedding dress. I bit my lip to keep from crying, but it didn’t help.

The grandfather clock chimed the quarter-hour, signaling 3:45 and rousing our pastor to his feet. As he advanced toward the door, the phone rang. He jerked the receiver off the hook and listened, and then replied briefly, his face ashen.

It must have been worse than I thought. I knew Madeline was 23; that was old, but it wasn’t old enough to die, in my eyes. She had promised me I could come visit her when she returned to New Jersey after the wedding. I cried even louder.

The minister stared down at me. “Son, that doesn’t help at all. And you look a sight!” he said, patting my shoulder. “Go wash your face with cold water. And try to think of something pleasant.”

Madeline, the late bride, is pictured with her hands on the author’s shoulders with two other siblings 3 months before her wedding. Click for larger image

When I returned, the pastor sent me back to the bride’s waiting room. I counted the long minutes. At last, the door flew open and there stood Madeline, serene and unruffled, her bridesmaids and my mother in tow. She tweaked my ear as she glided past and said, “Why do you look so sad, hon? It’s my wedding. I want to look perfect, so I took my time getting ready. They can hardly start without me, can they?”

I rushed back to the pastor’s study to tell him Madeline had arrived. He pulled on his robe and guided Ed and Joe down the quiet, carpeted corridor to a door opposite the pulpit. He opened it a crack and signaled the already flustered organist. As the initial chords triggered the processional and the remarkably calm-looking pastor entered the sanctuary, his grandfather clock chimed the hour of 4.

Down through the years, Madeline would create many memories for us by arriving late for important gatherings. But, for me, this one was the most unforgettable.

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By Charlotte Giventer Jarmy Los Altos, California

The Wheels I Remember

With gas prices so high and cars clogging our highways these days, I have a longing for travel by bus, streetcar or even the subway.

These were my New York City “wheels” when I was a young woman in the 1940s, when short rides on trolleys with open sides offered a breeze and an upfront look at neighborhoods that were unfamiliar.

I particularly loved the streets where Italian shops offered deli and pizza scents that made me breathe deeply and say “yum.” The benefits? No charge and no calories.

Best of all, I craved the open air at the top of New York’s 5th Avenue buses. We climbed up to our favorite seats, chomped on peanuts and pretzels, chatted happily with friends or flirted outrageously with passersby who might wave or blow us a kiss.

Friends gathered in Central Park, New York, 1945: (from left) Bernice, Phyllis, Charlotte (author) and Ethel. Click for larger image

My cousin and I made this trip often in the humid days of summer. We would stay on the bus for as long as possible as it made its way past the high-class department stores offering expensive clothes to those of us who allowed ourselves to dream. We didn’t have to hear the “may I help you?” questions of the snobby salesladies, who looked askance at teenage bobby-soxers in wildly colored clothes.

Other times, I had a choice of elevated trains or buses in Bronx to get to high school every day. The train ride was quick—only six stations for me—but the long walk to Evander Childs High School made me opt for buses.

Years later, I returned to Evander as a student teacher to find the same crowd of noisy students moving around the halls. My mentor teacher was a sweet, white-haired lady who sent forth the fragrance of lavender as she stood before the class reading poetry to yawning kids. I sat among them and fondly remembered the boy next to me who whispered, “You look like Jane Russell.” Those were glory days!

Quite often, I rode the slow, rickety trolleys that gave me the opportunity to read a book or finish my homework, but New York’s subway trains were the fastest way to get around the busy streets. It was a banner day when I was quick enough to dive for an empty subway seat.

The Hunter College girls, in 1944: (front, from left) Jane, unknown woman, Bernice, (back, from left) Charlotte, Esther, unknown woman and Phyllis. Click for larger image

On the rare opportunity to ride in a car, I remember the wonderful experience of a rumble seat, giggling and feeling like a princess behind some prancing horses.

Only two members of my family owned cars. They were the ones who let us pile in for a glorious trip out to Coney Island. Hundreds of people lay on blankets so close together that we could reach the water without blistering our feet on the sand. Everything smelled of food, especially hot dogs from the famous Nathan’s on the busy boardwalk.

Today, I inhale deeply whenever we take a ride out to the nearest beach, this time along the Pacific Ocean, not the wild Atlantic. For me to feel at ease, I want the air to smell of salt and, if I’m lucky, hot dogs. Going home from Coney Island, squished into our seats in my uncle’s car in our sandy bathing suits, was not as much fun as our earlier arrival. Yet in memory, I can remember singing popular songs all the way home, and feeling as happy as a 10-year-old could imagine.

Those were good old days because we felt free, well-fed and had the pleasure of leaving the driving to others. No wonder I didn’t get my license until I was 40.

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The Army Goes to College

By James Poulos
Stillwater, Oklahoma

The Army Specialized Training Program (ASTP) during World War II was so short-lived that it is doubtful many Americans knew of its existence.

In December of 1943, the Army initiated the largest and most ambitious college education program in the nation’s history. More than 200,000 soldiers, with AGCT scores of 120 or greater, and 227 colleges participated in accelerated programs of engineering, medicine, dentistry, psychology and foreign languages.

Very few men had the opportunity to remain for more than one or two 3-month terms before they were moved into active duty. The life span of the ASTP program was barely more than 1 year.

Col. Herman Beukema, professor of history and government for the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, was in charge and set the rules that governed all participants. ASTP’ers, under strict military discipline at all times, were to wear regulation uniforms, were subject to morning inspections and “lights out” at 10:30 p.m., and were to march to classes and meals.

The only one with an overcoat got to play the senior officer—that was the author. Click for larger image

The standard work week was 59 hours of supervised activity, including 24 hours of classroom and lab work, 24 hours of required study, 5 hours of military instruction and 6 hours of physical instruction. Col. Beukema reportedly told a congressional investigating committee in January 1944 that ASTP studies were more rigorous than those at West Point and the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis.

Well known personalities who were ASTP trainees included Henry Kissinger, Eduard Koch, Herman Kahn, Roger Mudd, Haywood Hale Broun, Gore Vidal, Mel Brooks and four-star Gen. James H. Harlinger, retired NORAD commander-in-chief.

From Allentown, Pennsylvania, I traveled by train and then by bus to a moderately inaccessible spot in the mountains of central Pennsylvania called Sate College. There were very few distractions in the then sparsely inhabited town, just a few houses and local businesses. The surrounding mountains were beautiful and provided healthy hiking on Saturday afternoons.

I lived in Barracks 8, the Alpha Tau Omega house located several blocks from the main campus. I remember singing ballads as we marched to school in the morning, and we didn’t sound too bad.

On Saturdays, we had military lessons and drill, after which we were free until Sunday dinner to hike, relax or travel to neighboring towns, usually by hitchhiking. We were lucky to have always made it back in time on Sunday, despite being stuck out in the middle of nowhere from time to time. Passing motorists were very kind to give lifts in those days.

There was dating for the brave at heart, and a good advantage for us, as there was a critical shortage of men on campus. I was fortunate to have known a young lady from high school who was attending Penn State.

The fellows on our floor were a congenial lot and a pleasure to know. Of course, there were the usual pranks, such as locking some poor fellow in a closet as he made ready to leave on a date, and the occasional fire extinguisher battle against invaders from another floor.

Soldiers gathered near Barracks 8 for a fun photo during the 1944 fall session at State College. Click for larger image

Regular brands of cigarettes were not easily obtainable. If you were one to indulge in smoking now and then, you were forced to roll your own using a mixture of pipe tobacco and Kool cigarettes. The resulting product was, in itself, a strong deterrent to smoking.

Professors were serious but helpful. They gave us plenty of homework, usually due at the next day’s session. We had a saying: “Drop a pencil during a lecture and miss two weeks of information.”

The students I knew were in the basic engineering program. Exams were given every 2 weeks, which served to weed out the less serious students.

In December, I was 18 and sent to Florida’s Camp Blanding. The transition from the cloistered sanctuary of snow-laden mountains in Pennsylvania to the blistering hot afternoons in northern Florida was unpleasant. But this was reality; and there was a war to win.

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You Decide! Help Select Future Tours

Reminisce and World Wide Country Tours are teaming up to provide a series of unique tours designed for nostalgia-minded folks, and we'd like to find out which destinations and activities are preferred by Reminisce readers like you.

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We Didn’t Think We Were Poor

By Roy H. Conley
Lorain, Ohio

I was raised in a house, beside a creek
With no modern conveniences to ease our chore.
Just an old run-down shack, with an outhouse in back,
But we did not know we were poor.

We owned a couple acres we called our farm.
We plowed and hoed till our arms were sore.
We made our crops from the seeds we would sow,
So whoever said we were poor?

We had chickens, some hogs and also a cow.
We also had ducks, I think about four,
A nice warm house and nice shuck beds,
So who would say we were poor?

The winters were cold and the snow blew in.
We were warmed by the fire that was near the door.
We seldom ever had to go to the store.
No one could say we were poor.

Our beans were cooked in an old iron kettle,
While Mom would sweep and mop the floor.
Our bread she baked in the open fireplace.
Now who said we were poor?

We enjoyed the spring the best of all.
The sun would shine bright and our feet, they got sore.
We gathered wild berries and plums from the hills
And no one thought we were poor.

The one-room schoolhouse, I’ll never forget,
With shutters on the windows and writing on the door.
A potbelly stove sat in the middle of the floor,
But no one said we were poor.

How fast the years have swiftly gone by,
Since the time we lived in the days of yore.
How nice it is to remember those days,
And we never once thought we were poor.

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Over the Back Fence

Elise Brennen of Santa Barbara, California says she sent in the following list “just for the pun of it.”
  Watch repairman—Tic doc.
  Scarecrow—Crop cop.
  Tact—Tongue in check.
  Miners—Down to earth people.
  Diet—Mind over platter.
  Fire insurance—Singe benefits.
  Dinosaur—Colossal fossil.
  Florists—Petal pushers.
  Rabbit farmer—Hare raiser.

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Time Capsule Trivia

Enter our own personal time machine as we look back on the happenings from a particular year. See if you can guess what year it is. The answer is given below, but no peeking!

1. Willie Mays catches the attention of a New York Giants scout, who convinces the team to take a chance on the rookie. Mays goes on to lead the Giants to the National League pennant.
2. President Harry Truman relieves Gen. Douglas MacArthur of his command in Korea following heavy American war casualties.
3. Among the television programs premiering are I Love Lucy and The Red Skelton Show.
4. A woman named Dorothy Stevens makes headlines when she’s found nearly frozen stiff in a Chicago alley but survives after being thawed out from a record-low body temperature of 64 degrees.
5. Movie openings include The African Queen and Show Boat.

Did we throw you off with our 1940s focus? The correct answer is 1951.

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A Thought to Remember:

Nostalgia is the sandpaper that removes the rough edges from the good old days.

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