Dear $$firstname$$,

As Thanksgiving approaches, we editors at Reminisce magazine give thanks for all of the reminiscing writers who are willing to touch our lives and the lives of fellow readers with fascinating and funny stories from their past.

For those of you who haven’t checked out the bonus material on our Web site, you can go on-line to www.reminisce.com. From there, you’ll also be able to get gift subscriptions for the nostalgic or history-oriented people on your Christmas list, or you can sign up to get Reminisce EXTRA for the months in-between the times Reminisce arrives at your door.

Whatever you may do, we are thankful for your loyal readership and our mutual enjoyment of the most fascinating decades from the 20th century—the 1930s through the 1960s.

—The Folks at Reminisce

In this issue:

• Thanksgiving Was Filled With Family
• Baby Butler Bliss
• Memories from a Child of War
• The Gift of Music
• Poem: Thanksgiving Verse
• Over the Back Fence
• Time Capsule Trivia
• A Thought to Remember

Thanksgiving Was Filled With Family

By Marilyn Fitzpatrick
Chickamauga, Georgia

“Shotgun,” Rick shouts out as we load into our car.

“He got front last time! It’s my turn,” Carolyn yells.

“Someone’s always complainin’ about something in this family,” Mom sighs.

Our station wagon is crammed full of containers, coats, scarves, gloves and all six family members. It seems to take forever to get to Grandpa and Grandma’s place for Thanksgiving, even though the trip takes only 2 hours.

Summer is over. All the fields look barren, empty. As we travel, I recognize all the familiar landmarks. Over on the right is the old outdoor theatre. We’re almost there! Just another mile or two—watch for the old barn coming up. That’s where we turn right.

The old station wagon bumps along and stirs up a cloud of dust as we pull off the blacktop onto the dirt road. We drive down the lane, between the pastures. The cotton’s been picked, but the stalks are still holding on—enough to make it look like a field of dirty snow.

Some cornstalks are left standing with nothing but a few dry husks, all wind-blown in the same direction. Some of this year’s crop is in the freezer; the rest is stored down in the corncrib to feed the cows and chickens. The chicken houses are full of baby chicks. The curtains are covering the windows to keep the cold out.

There seems to be more cows down in the pasture. Some look a lot like “Hector.” Here he comes. We knew he’d come running to welcome us. Brahma bulls at the rodeo look just like him, but they’re mean. He’s just a big baby wanting to be petted.

“Do you think Grandpa will let us play with Hector down in the pasture?” Linda asks.

Finally, the house comes into view. Cars and trucks with out-of-state tags are parked at the barn, the chicken house and the smokehouse. We have families visiting from Montana, Florida, Missouri, Illinois, New Jersey, Texas, Georgia and Alabama. There’s hardly space for another.

We all pile out of the car and walk toward the front porch. There’s hardly enough room for another person up there. Uncles and cousins are everywhere, whittling and talking, each probably telling a bigger story than the other.

“Can I ask Uncle W.C. if he would whittle a wooden knife for me?” Darryl asks.

We open the front door and call out to Grandmother, “We’re here!” The next thing we know, we’re being passed from person to person for hugs and kisses.

Our hands are full with the containers from the car. It seems almost impossible to get through the front room to the dining room table, where there’s not much room left for another dish. The sideboard is full of pies and cakes—pumpkin, chocolate, pecan, apple, coconut, German chocolate and my favorite—Grandmother’s stacked coconut cake.

The kitchen is crowded with females of all ages wearing aprons that Grandmother made. Aunt Judy and Aunt Vida don’t look like sisters—one’s tall and the other short. Aunt Ester and Aunt Dot are in-laws, but they look more like Grandmother than her sisters.

Aunt Judy and Aunt Dot are over at the flour cabinet rolling the dough out to drop in the broth for the dumplings.

“Make sure you roll the flour on the dough board real thin and cut it into strips, for the best dumplings,” says Aunt Ester. “That’s how Uncle Edwards likes them. Watch out! The okra needs turning. Smell it burning?”

Aunt Claire’s on the back porch checking the ham. It will be ready to put on the table next. “This pressure cooker needs to be turned down. We’ll let it cook another 10 minutes. The beans’ll be good with that chunk of ham added,” Aunt Claire says with a smile. “The creamed corn’s ready for the table. A big pat of butter on top—mmm...extra creamy!”

Grandmother invites everyone to take a bite of dressing. “Do ya think there’s enough sage?” she asks. “Remember, Grandpa likes it strong with the spices.”

Aunt Judy warns that the gravy needs to be finished. “We need to get everything on the table!” she says.

Uncle Charlie drives up in his ol’ pickup, and I wonder how many fried-apple pies Aunt Ada made for us this year? It takes Aunt Ada awhile to get in the house—through the crowd to the table with that platter full of fried pies. Rick is right on her heels.

“Can I have a fried pie before dinner?” Rick asks.

“No!” shout all the females in the kitchen.

Rick has a big grin on his face as Aunt Ada stuffs one in his hand, behind her back—their little secret.

The table is full, the kitchen is full, the chairs are full and the house is full.

“Grandpa, time for the blessin’,” says Grandmother.

We all close our eyes—even Rick and me.

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A nephew to author Connie MacDonald, Scott Fountain celebrating his first birthday in the Baby Butler six-in-one chair, which was passed on to him 6 years after Connie’s son was born.

Baby Butler Bliss

By Connie MacDonald
Weymouth, Massachusetts

In 1956, after 6 months of marriage, my husband and I found out we were expecting our first child. We were excited to start making arrangements for the arrival.

A friend of ours had recently decided to make a career of selling Baby Butler products. The particular item we had our eyes on featured six different configurations with just a few adjustments.

It was basically a square table with adjustable-height legs. There were two tops that would fit into the table—one had an opening; the other did not.

Using the top with the opening and the seating apparatus inserted, the table became either a high chair (legs extended to full height and chair facing inward), a chair in which the child could sit at an adult table (chair facing outward), or a baby-feeding or play station (legs at their lowest height and mother sitting on folding chair that came with the set).

Once the child grew older, the insert without the opening could be inserted. This gave the child a little table of his or her own, using the same folding chair mother used earlier. With two legs low in front and two a little higher in back, an easel was formed. Another wonderful feature was that the removable child’s seat could be inserted into an aluminum stroller frame, also part of the package.

We decided that we could not afford to be without this wonderful product and signed the package deal.

At this point, our friend proceeded to introduce us to another double-function item sold by Baby Butler—the baby buggy, crib and youth bed combo. The crib came with two different-sized mattresses. As the child grew, the two mattresses could be combined and, with the crib sides taken off, the crib became a youth bed!

The smaller mattress fit the baby buggy, which could also be made into a stroller by taking off the hood and collapsing the end.

This second item cost $50, which was way over our budget, but we wanted it something awful. Our salesman friend noticed we had an old 1950 Studebaker sitting in the yard. He mentioned that he had a nephew who was looking for an old used car and told us he would be willing to make an even swap—our old car for this miraculous crib/baby buggy. Since we had paid only $50 for the car, we accepted his offer and became the proud owners of everything we needed for the arrival of our baby.

Nothing was too good for our son, born the following March. He was a Baby Butler baby all the way!

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Memories from a Child of War

By Jane Trafton
Port Ludlow, Washington

I was 11 years old, and there was a war on in England. My older brother and sister were serving our country in the Royal Air Force.

Drastic changes occurred in children’s lives at that time, especially around London, things that would influence us for the rest of our days.

Our food was rationed. We had a ration card that allowed us one egg a week, one pound of meat and one pint of milk. Food was very scarce, and Mother was the one who usually went without. She used to give us her share saying, “I’m all done growing.”

My father had died in an accident when I was just 6 years old, and my mother worked to make ends meet. She had a job in a munitions factory, making camouflage nets. I remember a green streak at the front of her graying hair. This upset her and she said it was from the green paint used to make the camouflage.

Paint was also used on our mailboxes. The tops were a mustard color that would turn black in the presence of nerve gas. It was a sign for us to immediately don our gas masks. We always carried them with us in a shoulder bag wherever we went. We never knew when the Nazis would attack.

I recall walking to the store one day in my new coat to get some rations. I looked up and saw a plane with “eggs” coming out of its tail. I heard a lady scream “Bombs!” She ducked into a nearby house. We had been taught to lie down in the gutter if this ever happened, but I was not going to get my new coat filthy. So, I took to my heels and ran as fast as I could to the store.

I reached the store just as the bombs landed two blocks away, demolishing two beautiful homes. I remember walking by the craters left from that attack for years afterward.

The windows in our homes were to be covered with thick, black curtains. Each house wore this drab garb as though it was in mourning. No chunk of light could show; we didn’t want the Germans to know where we were.

When the sirens sounded, we were to go straight to the bomb shelter with the other neighbors on our street. Only one person at a time could enter the small door to a shelter. It was terrifying to stand outside with sirens blaring, waiting to be destroyed by bombs while filing into these shelters.

Once we were all inside, a wet blanket would be lowered over the door. I once asked someone there why that was done, and they told us that nerve gas could not penetrate a wet blanket. I’m glad we never had to prove the efficiency of such a filtering system!

When the “all clear” sounded, we all returned to our homes.

Mother informed us after that first night underground that we would not be doing that again. “If we are going to die,” she said, “we will die in our home together, not shuffled in the night into a dark, cold shelter!” I don’t think she put much stock in the “wet blanket” protection theory they handed us.

And so, we stayed in our home during the raids from then on. We learned to pray, and prayed often. When we said the part of the prayer, “If I should die before I wake,” we meant it. You could never know for sure what the next day would bring.

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The Gift of Music

By Earl Close
Tucson, Arizona

Back in the 1960s, our family lived in Derby, New York. In 1966, our son, “Tad,” was attending fourth grade at Highland Elementary School.

One day, our son got on the bus carrying his clarinet for band practice. The bus driver, an elderly gentleman, noticed Tad’s clarinet and asked him if he liked music. “I sure do, and I play in the school band,” Tad answered.

The next day, when Tad got on the bus, the driver handed him a package and said, “Here is a gift of music for you to keep and enjoy. When I was much younger, I used to play the piano and sing these songs. Music is a blessing, so you keep your interest going!”

Tad thanked him for the package, and that night, while the family gathered around the kitchen table, we opened the package. It contained about 50 sheet-music folders dating from 1905 up into the ’20s.

We were all thrilled with this generous gift. There were many patriotic World War I songs and romantic ballads, too—songs done by Irving Berlin, Al Jolson and many other well-known performers of that period. Tad couldn’t wait to thank the bus driver the next day.

Tad and his family have kept this sheet music for more than 40 years, and his love of music is as strong as ever.

Today, Tad is an Air Force chaplain, stationed with his family in Germany. Hundreds of music CDs fill a large wall cabinet in their dining room. The kindness of that bus driver, through his gift of music, is still there today.

 

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Poem: Thanksgiving Verse

Kathryn McGaughey of Thorton, Colorado says her mother used to recite this poem to her three sisters and her, but she does not know who authored the humorous verse.

Listen to me children and you shall know
Something that happened a long time ago,
When I was a child not as large as you,
The elder of the family, too.

We were all in the kitchen, cheery and bright,
Enjoying our supper by candlelight.
A fire burned bright in the ol’ brick hearth,
And its burning light gave zest to our mirth.
My younger sister, addressing me,
“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, you know,” said she.
“So light the lantern and come with me.”

The huge ol’ lantern made of tin,
Punched full of holes and a candle within,
Put in appearance in a shorter time
Than it takes to make this jingly rhyme.

I started off and the way I led
To the crate of chickens under the shed.
A pile of roots filled the open space,
This making a splendid roosting place.

My sister, unused to sights of blood,
Pale, with excitement, trembling stood.
But with summoning courage, she laid her plans
And seized the ol’ rooster with both of her hands.

She rung and twisted then rung again,
Rung and twisted and rung again.
Sure that the spark of life had fled
She threw him down on the ground for dead.

But the ol’ rooster was not content to die
And be made into chicken pie,
But started off with a cackling bound
Almost before he had touched the ground.

My sister thus came to a sudden stand
And looked at what she had in her hand.
She soon saw why the rooster was not dead.
She’d rung off his tail instead of his head.

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Over the Back Fence

A lady was entertaining her friend’s small son, and she asked, “Are you quite sure you can cut your own meat, Tommy?”

“Yes, thank you,” Tommy replied without looking up. “We often have it as tough as this at home.”

—Nina “Carol” McLean
Upper Golden Grove, New Brunswick

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Time Capsule Trivia

Try to guess what year these historic events took place from the decades spanning the 1920s to the 1960s. The answer is given below, but no peeking!

1. U.S. President John F. Kennedy orders a naval blockade of Cuba after spy-plane photos reveal the presence of Soviet missile installations under construction on Fidel Castro’s Communist island nation.
2. Space astronaut John Glenn becomes the first American to orbit Earth, and the launch of the first Telstar satellite allows TV signals to be transmitted around the world.
3. Deaths of famous people this year include film star and sex symbol Marilyn Monroe and former First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt.
4. Gregory Peck stars in the movie To Kill a Mockingbird and Burt Lancaster portrays a unique inmate in Birdman of Alcatraz.
5. Philadelphia’s 7-foot-1 center, Wilt Chamberlain, scores 100 points in a National Basketball Association game as his Warriors outrun the New York Knicks, 169-147.

The year of Telstar, the blockade of Cuba and the 100-point game by “Wilt the Stilt” was 1962.

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A Thought to Remember

Many people have lost their health seeking wealth, then their wealth seeking health.

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