JANUARY • 2009 • NEWSLETTER

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Dear ##firstname[Friend]##,

Whether you’re refreshed or just plain worn out from the holiday season, we hope you can settle back in a comfortable seat to enjoy our January edition of the monthly Reminisce newsletter.

Our latest stories include memories of small neighborhood shops and a loving grandma, boys who will be boys and an old house filled with the richness of family. Not enough nostalgia for you? Get another blast from the past on our Web site: www.reminisce.com. If you don’t already subscribe to Reminisce magazine or the Reminisce EXTRA magazine, you can do so at our Web site.

Also, if this newsletter was forwarded to you and you’d like a monthly copy of your own, just use this link to sign up yourself. Thanks for your readership throughout 2008, and we wish all of you a happy new year in 2009.

—John Burlingham at Reminisce

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In this issue:

• Nana and the First-Name Stores
• “Harsh” Tempers in Cold Weather
• New Year Greetings of Old
• This Old House Was Rich With Family
• My Favorite Old-Time Poem: Gossip
• Over the Back Fence
• Time Capsule Trivia
• A Thought to Remember

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Nana and the First-Name Stores

By Pam Dubois
Encino, California

I grew up at a time when the New York City stores along Queens Boulevard were not known by the merchandise they sold but by the owners’ first names. The pharmacy was Carl’s, the market was Dan’s and the local toy store was Mac and Murray’s.

Each Friday night, in the 1960s, my grandmother Alice Oppenheimer would hold my hand tightly as we took our weekly walk to Dan’s to buy a packet of Junket Rennet Custard. We’d discuss and debate the merits of each flavor until she allowed me to believe that my choice was, by far, the most brilliant ever made.

We’d move on to Carl’s to look at the Soaky Bubble Bath characters, buying a different one and a purple Tootsie Pop from the colorful tin bucket on the countertop.

Saturdays were usually reserved for a visit to Mac and Murray’s to check out the latest playthings. Nana spent her weekends sitting on the floor with me, playing board games, creating things from Colorforms or making octopuses out of yarn or puppets from hankies and gloves.

Sundays were the most special, as we’d laugh and sing silly songs that Nana had learned in kindergarten, in the 1890s.

It was also a ritual to have a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream at Eli’s, referred to the younger generations as “the old-old candy store.” I always drank from the little pink baby cup that Nana had gotten for me on the day I was born, when she learned that her only grandchild was a girl.

With time, Junket and Soaky Bubble Bath products disappeared, as did many of the first-name stores, although it was not uncommon, in the 1970s, to find Nana and I in the same back booth at Eli’s, drinking hot chocolate and reminiscing. I loved her so much that I couldn’t fathom a life without her.

My grandmother worked until she was over 90, but when she reached 94, the brutal winters convinced her to move to Florida. I saw her just three or four times a year, but she continued to thrive, completing every Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle.

When Nana celebrated her 101st birthday, I gave her 101 lottery tickets. Although her winnings didn’t amount to much, she used the money to get herself a dress in sky blue (her favorite color).

It was during the visit after that one that I saw a change in Nana, who was looking more like a delicate little bird than my precious, vibrant grandmother. For the first time in 35 years, I said, “Good-bye, Nana,” instead of “See you later.”

Nana died 2 months later, and she was buried in her new blue dress. Alongside her, I placed my little pink baby cup, just in case there’s an Eli’s in Heaven.

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“Harsh” Tempers in Cold Weather

By Douglas C. Harsh II
Powell, Wyoming

I remember the winter wind sounding like a lone wolf calling to the deaf ears of a companion who would never come. The wind, passing through the missing boards of the hay barn on our Wisconsin farm, was a constant companion as we did our chores.

Winter also brought some inhospitable companions—sleet, snow and arctic cold. It seemed that winter warmed up only to bring snow.

That was the case when our oldest brother, Larry, came for a visit over the break from school. We younger brothers were as excited as squirrels in a nut house. We had time off and relatives to see.

A steady wet snowfall of 4 to 5 inches was perfect for making snow forts and snowballs. By late afternoon, my brothers Les and Joe and my nephew Colin and I had played ourselves into exhaustion. We retreated to the house to watch TV and con Mom out of a snack, which we normally wouldn’t get unless we had company.

Then Dad asked us if we had done the chores. We hoped he had forgotten. Being the oldest boy at home, I delegated the chores, and Joe and Colin were sent to the hayloft to throw bales of hay down into the outdoor feeder for the cattle.

When Les and I approached the barn after doing our chores, we found no hay at the back of the barn. We hollered up to the loft, but there were no signs of life. That’s when the trouble began.

As I started to climb the backside of the barn to get to the hayloft, snowballs began to rain down on me. Les, who was leaning against the cattle feeder, received a shower of snowballs as well. With a flurry of threats, Les made it clear that he wanted the hay thrown down immediately.

“You want the hay?” Joe challenged. “Come and get it.” By this time, I’d retreated to where Les was now standing, out of firing range, about 25 yards away. Les had seen and heard enough, saying, “He wants to throw snowballs? Try this one.”

Les reached down and picked up an almost perfect sphere of frozen cow manure about the size of a baseball. The maneuvering cattle had kicked the frozen snow and fresh droppings together, and I grabbed a couple of projectiles as well.

I launched my grenades at the opening of the hayloft, but they exploded harmlessly off the back of the barn. Meanwhile, the “enemy” in the hayloft decided to return fire. With cat-like quickness, Les hurled a frozen slug toward the loft.

Joe, who had peeked out of one of the holes in the barn wall, was caught square in the forehead by the frozen vessel of animal waste. He fell back and landed with a thud.

Our nephew, who had also been participating in the attack on us, looked on in horror at his motionless uncle and screamed, “You killed him!”

“Good!” Les retorted. When Colin said, “I’m serious; he’s not moving,” Les replied, “Kick him a couple of times. He’s faking it.”

By the time Les and I reached the hayloft, a dazed Joe was just coming around. Les reached down, grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it into Joe’s face. Joe instantly came to life, and he yelled all the way to the house, his new mission being to tattle on Les.

However, after hearing the story, Dad seemed to sympathize with Les and me, and Joe couldn’t really remember what had all happened anyway.

Joe ended up with a lump the size of a goose egg in the middle of his forehead, and Colin left the farm with one more story to carry back to Colorado.

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New Year Greetings of Old

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Shirley Zuelsdorff of Merrill, Wisconsin shares these early-1900s postcards that belonged to her husband’s oldest sister, Elsie. Working as a housekeeper in various cities, Elsie would file these greetings in a postcard album whenever she received them from family and friends.

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This Old House Was Rich With Family

By Rose Dotson
Wyandotte, Michigan

The house, in Wyandotte, Michigan, was not a fancy one. It didn’t have wall-to-wall carpeting or even a garage. What it did have was plenty of love and good times.

Before my grandparents Alphonsine and Stanislaus Loyer bought the house, around 1940, there was a family living on the main floor. The family was to move out so my grandparents, their seven children, a son-in-law and two grandchildren could move in.

When it came time for my grandparents to move in, the other family was still in the house. Not having any choice, Grandpa moved his wife, his son-in-law and his tribe of kids to the second floor of the house. This upper floor had three rooms and a kitchen, with the bathroom on the first floor to be shared.

Weeks went by, and the first-floor family remained. One day, Grandpa came home with roller skates, and he had the kids take turns skating on their second-floor living quarters all day long. At night, when they were too tired to skate, they rolled the skates back and forth across the floor to each other. It didn’t take long after that for the other family to move.

This story has been told and laughed about ever since I can remember, and it turned out to be just the beginning of good times in that old house.

When I was 2, my mother, being a widow, moved us back to Wyandotte to live with Grandma and Grandpa. Every Fourth of July, Grandpa planned a big family cookout with barbecue spareribs.

Our big yard would be filled with people, and Grandpa would gather all of the grandkids and divide them into two teams for a baseball game. Actually, I remember those games being more comedy performances than baseball competitions.

We’d end the evening on the roof of the house for a birds-eye view of the town fireworks. One year, Grandpa bought a parachute and put it up like a party tent in the backyard. Strangers would drive down the alley and park just to take a look at it.

Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter were also big events in that old house. Grandma insisted on doing all the cooking and baking and would be at it for days. I can almost taste her homemade doughnuts and meat pie.

There’d be so many of us that Grandpa would set up long tables in a horseshoe shape in three large rooms, and we’d still have to eat in shifts. I remember one holiday when I ate my dinner sitting on a pile of coats in a bedroom.

Every adult pitched in on the cleanup. Oh, the singing and laughing that went on in the kitchen...even doing dishes sounded like a good time!

When I entered high school, Grandma decided to sell the house, since Grandpa was gone and the house was too big to maintain. For many years, as I’d drive past the old house, it would make me smile with memories.

The old house is gone now. It wasn’t a fancy house, but it was rich with special grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and good times.

My Favorite Old-Time Poem

Ora Clark of Puyallup, Washington found this poem, published in the Hamilton (Indiana) News in the 1940s or ’50s, among his mother’s things after she passed away.

“When I read this, I suddenly gained a new insight into my mother’s character,” says Ora. “How often I remember that she’d start to talk of someone, then suddenly stop and change the subject. Now I realize that she was about to repeat a tale she had heard and suddenly realized it was gossip.”

Gossip

How many times do we say words
We wish we had not said?
How many times? I dare not count;
Indeed, my face turns red.

So many times—yes, e’en today—
I’ve hurt someone with words.
To spread such gossip all around;
Then learn my children heard.

We try to teach them of God’s love
With prayers and things to do.
But what they may have heard me say
Is not the way that’s true.

Lord, give me truth within my heart,
More Christian love to spread,
That what my children overhear
Is what Thou wouldst have said.

—Cricket Kelley

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Over the Back Fence

This fellow got his drill out and began drilling a hole in the ice…then started fishing. A booming voice exclaimed, “There’s no fish down there!”

So the fisherman picked up his gear and walked a few feet, drilled another hole and resumed fishing. Once more came the booming voice: “I said, there’s no fish down there!”

The fisherman looked up and asked, “God, is that you?”

The booming voice replied, “No, I’m the manager of the ice-skating rink!”

—Norman B. Smith
Tampa, Florida

Time Capsule Trivia

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

1. The United States unemployment rate reaches 9 percent and is still rising.

2. A headline screams, “Garbo Speaks!”, with the release of Greta Garbo’s first “talkie,” Anna Christie. Other movies premiering include All Quiet on the Western Front, with Lew Ayres; Animal Crackers, with the Marx Brothers; and The Blue Angel, with Marlene Dietrich.

3. When baseball star Babe Ruth, who hits 49 homers, is told his $80,000 salary is more than President Herbert Hoover’s, the Bambino quips, “Well, I had a better year.”

4. Astronomer Clyde Tombaugh discovers Pluto, the ninth planet from the sun.

5. Grant Wood paints American Gothic, using his daughter and his dentist as models.

For the answer to Time Capsule Trivia, click here.

A Thought to Remember

Laughter is an instant vacation. —Milton Berle

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