September • 2009 • NEWSLETTER

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Grandma's Kitchen
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Dear ##firstname[Friend]##,

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Last month, I had the pleasure of accompanying a number of our Reminisce subscribers (and many that were first introduced to the magazine) on a trip through the Rocky Mountains aboard vintage steam and diesel trains.

Besides the novelty of riding such trains and the jaw-dropping scenery of Colorado’s mountain ranges and river valleys, I enjoyed my fellow travelers immensely. The friendly, down-to-earth people who frequent our World Wide Country Tours always make me feel like I’m traveling with family.

I've included a few photos from the trip to give you an idea of what it was like. And check out some of the great WWCT excursions at countrytours.com.

As always, feel free to forward our newsletter on to a friend or family member. 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. Hope you're having a sensational September.

—John Burlingham at Reminisce

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In this issue:

• Clean Sweep Brought Havoc on Our Home
• The Pitcher Known as "Eddie the Cop"
• The Grapes of Wrath in 1962
• Poem: Poor Tommy
• Time Capsule Trivia
• A Thought to Remember

Clean Sweep Brought Havoc on Our Home

By Sylvia Melvin
Milton, Florida

There was a time in this country when one particular ritual was every bit as sacred as Christmas, Thanksgiving or any other national holiday. In fact, it was so important that practicing it twice a year was not uncommon.

But now, spring and fall housecleaning is fading from our society faster than a freshly washed pair of designer jeans. I'm not talking about surface cleaning on Saturday morning or pulling the refrigerator out from the wall for the annual spider hunt. I mean the real thing.

With the rise of the first crocus or the droop of the last rose of summer, I begin to have guilt feelings as I survey each room in my home. Memories of Mother's cleaning madness suddenly nag my every thought.

My father maintained that Mother got the urge to clean right after the first frost. I contended that as soon as the maple leaves turned to crimson, the scent of Pine Sol would soon linger in the air. We agreed that when we saw her bring down the drapes, chaos would soon follow.

For three days, our house looked like it had hit seven on the Richter scale. Beds were located in the hallway, chairs took root on tabletops and lampshades sprouted like giant mushrooms from the moss-colored carpet.

It was anyone's guess where we'd find Mother. She could be under a bed, hanging from the chandelier or crouched in front of the stove, her head coming out of the oven only for gasps of fresh air before the fumes from the cleaner asphyxiated her.

If there's any truth to the old adage that suffering builds character, then Mother did her best to strengthen ours during this time of cleansing. All odds and ends had to be eaten before the freshly papered shelves in the cupboard could be restocked. It was the closest I have ever come to an actual fast.

Every time Mother told me not to stand too close to the windows for fear I'd smudge them with my breath, I got the feeling I was only a guest in my own home. The day she placed a sign up at the front door stating, "Please remove shoes before entering," I thought she was going a little too far.

Family members were under constant surveillance. Mother could identify fingerprints on a coffee table faster than the FBI. Even the simple act of eating crackers took a great deal of courage, especially if it was in the living room. The lady of the house considered crumbs on the carpet to be a major offense.

Somehow, Father and I always managed to survive these semiannual ordeals, and Mother's cause of our emotional suffering certainly was unintentional.

In fact, some of Mother's obsession may have rubbed off on her daughter. As soon as the squirrels start gathering acorns, I have this uncontrollable urge to get out my mops and rags. I start cleaning windows and doors, and heaven help the first person to step on my freshly waxed floor.

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The Pitcher Known as "Eddie the Cop"

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By Edward F. Wertman
Belle Vernon, Pennsylvania

My father, Ed Wertman, is the pitcher sitting on the far left in the front row of this picture, dated 1917, showing the F.H. Denglers of Pittsburgh sandlot baseball team. His brother-in-law Herman Mier played center field-then called middle field-and is standing directly behind my father.

As you can see from the mixed uniforms, these men also played for other teams. At that time, politically active men known as ward bosses sponsored a lot of the local baseball teams.

According to a relative of mine from the period, Mr. Dengler was a ward boss on Pittsburgh's South Side and "The Hill" above that area where my father and Uncle Herman lived on Okley Alley.

My father was a great ballplayer and hunter, and I've been told that he was loved by all who knew him. He was a Pittsburgh police officer stationed at the corner of Smithfield and Diamond Streets downtown and was well known as "Eddie the Cop."

Uncle Herman, a World War I veteran, worked his entire life as an auto mechanic and front-end man at Ahlman Caddilac in East Liberty. He worked on cars for the Mellons and other weather Pittsburghers of that era.

They once played a 19-inning game in Bradenville, a small town about 40 miles east of Pittsburgh. The opposing pitchers, including my dad, went 18 innings.

For nine straight innings-from the seventh to the 15th-my father did not allow a hit. He threw no-hit ball in 13 of the innings overall. The game was won in the 19th when Bradenville's center fielder dropped a fly ball hit by Uncle Herman with a man on second.

My strongest memories of my father include walking down to the streetcar stop two blocks from our house to meet him and carry his Pittsburgh Press newspaper home. I remember he'd polish his shoes, leather leggings and badge almost every evening.

Dad worked in his very large vegetable garden that fed many of our out-of-work relatives during the Great Depression. He even made a piped irrigation system fed by a cistern connected to all of the house roof drains.

During Pittsburgh's flood of 1936, Dad worked long hours, contracted pneumonia and died later that year at the age of 47. I was 8 years old at the time, and we were living in a large house at 112 Wynoka St., in the former borough of Carrick.

My father was a wonderful husband and father, and I only wish I could have had more of my early life with him. If any readers recognize any of the ballplayers in the picture, I would appreciate hearing from them by mail at 1240 Willowbrook Rd., Bell Vernon, PA 15012.

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The Grapes of Wrath in 1962

By Chris Rosati
Allentown, Pennsylvania

When I was about 10 years old, my family lived on an older road in Hellertown, Pennsylvania. Behind our home was a dead-end alley, and beyond that was a farmhouse with a large field.

Our group of neighborhood kids-nine girls and three boys-must have looked like urchins to the old man living alone in the big farmhouse. We were constantly playing in the dirt and temporarily lose our shoes, to our parents' chagrin.

While we "hung out and stuff" in the quiet alley, we'd watch the man's large rows of grapevines mature into fountains of desirable fruit.

On one particularly hot summer day, watching wasn't good enough. We threw our collective conscience to the wind and snuck over to the grapevines, where we hurriedly broke some branches off … but not quickly enough.

A booming, deep voice came at us from out of the clear, blue sky, "Hey, what are you kids doing there in the grapevines? Get out of there right now!"

We headed for hiding as fast as our feet could carry us, the girls huddling together to watch the sky for the face belonging to the giant voice.

One of the girls finally said, "That was God! He knows we stole the grapes, and now we're all going straight to hell!" In only a moment, we also realized that our parents most likely heard God's loud voice, too, and hell took a backseat to our new fears.

Finally, one of the boys, after scoping out the area and becoming annoyed with the "sissy girls," said, "Nah! Look up at the back window of the farmhouse." He pointed out a loudspeaker mounted on the windowsill and explained that the man who lived there was a signalman for the railroad that ran right past his house.

We all breathed a sigh of relief, until we thought of our parents again. But apparently, our parents hadn't heard the booming voice after all.

The next day, the man from the farmhouse came to the alley with a paper bag and called out to us, "Hey, you kids, come over here!" We were all shivering a bit now, but we approached the man as a group.

"Here's some grapes for each of you," the old man said. "Next time, ask me for grapes; don't steal them."

He went on to explain that we could easily and permanently damage the vines. We voiced many repentances and thank-yous before the man returned home, leaving us to those wonderful gifts of nectar.

We never helped ourselves to grapes again, nor did we ever muster the nerve to ask for more grapes. But every once in a while, the old man would call us over and hand us a bag full of the fruit, plenty for us all … and then some. It's one of the fondest memories from my childhood summers.

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Poor Tommy

Olive Stone of Belpre, Ohio is a true dog lover, so she enjoyed this poem and shared it with us. "Even 87-year-old girls like me with little sight like to have a dog for company," says Olive. "She is from the pound-a mixed terrier I call Muttsey."

Tommy's porch is spick-and-span
With matting white and green,
The knocker's always polished bright,
The steps are always clean.

My dog and I don't venture there
For we might leave a track;
When we want Tommy I just shout
And he comes out the back.

Tommy has the grandest toys
But no live dog or cat;
His people think they carry germs:
Do you believe that?

I wouldn't trade my good old Rex
For any kind of toy; I'd rather have a germ or two
Than be a dogless boy.

—Laura E. Thompson

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Time Capsule Trivia

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

1. Two days before declaring a four-day national bank holiday that helps determine which institutions are solvent, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt tells his fellow Americans, "The only thing to fear is fear itself." His first "fireside chat" to explain his New Deal programs over the radio soon follows.

2. The 18th Amendment of the Constitution, which prohibits the manufacture, sale and transportation of liquor, is repealed.

3. Adolf Hitler becomes chancellor of Germany. After blaming Communists for a fire that destroys part of the Reichstag parliament building, he suspends freedoms of speech and assembly.

4. Smash hit King Kong helps small filmmaker RKO Studios reverse its fortunes after losing $10 million the previous year.

5. A World's Fair in Chicago, titled "A Century of Progress," marks the city's 100th anniversary and has technological innovation as its theme.

Click here for the answer to Time Capsule Trivia.

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A Thought to Remember

There is no indigestion worse than trying to eat your own words.

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