I Can Barely Remember
When you get old, two things start to go away. One is your memory and I can’t remember the other one. Nothing brings a smile to an old, wrinkled face quicker than memories of days gone by. What makes it worse is the fact we finally realize that those days will never come back.
Close your eyes and see if these bygone memories are the same for you. I can barely remember these:
Digging in a Cracker Jack box for the prize, secretly hoping it’s a washable tattoo. Or the thrill of hitting the jackpot after removing the cork under a Coke bottle cap. Of course, every soft drink was called Coke back then. I have dug the cork away with a knife, a twenty-penny nail or even some fingernail clippers. Mr. Fanning, owner of Fanning’s General Store, seemed to enjoy trading out a bottlecap for another Coke.
Getting a wall phone in the hall with a cord long enough to reach every bedroom in the house. Some had party lines meaning 8 different houses were on the same line. Your particular line might be 2 longs and a short. Your neighbor might be a short then long then short. Naturally, we all had to be extra careful when on the phone knowing that Mrs. Watson was listening in on the conversation. Often, someone would pick up and have to say: “Mrs. Watson, can you get off the line so that I can call the doctor’s office?” She would remove her rag covering the mouthpiece and quietly hang up.
Long-distance calls were special AND costly. I can remember Mother getting a long-distance call from my Grandmother and speaking to her quickly while being reminded that “We are on with Nanny long distance and it’s expensive. Talk fast.” Growing up in a “dry” county meant getting your adult beverages from the local bootlegger. Famous names included Ma Bogue, Tunk’s, Preuitt’s, Dawson’s, Lonnie’s and Archie’s. Fifty cents per beer (only Schlitz and Bud). Vodka and brown likker was $5 a pint. To be “legal” meant traveling to Huntsville or the Tennessee State Line for your purchases. Every time that the wet-dry issue came to a vote, the preachers, bootleggers and Tennessee liquor store owners joined together to shame anyone thinking about voting “wet.” Today. Like it or not, the taxes from legal sales have changed the entire Shoals area growth.
School lunches were a quarter which included Streit milk. An extra milk was a nickel. There was a different colored plastic lunch token each day. Tiny Rose Johnson, the school lead cook, served “guess-a-meat” with hominy, beets and corn with rolls the size of VW hubcaps. Her specialty was beef stew which was usually served on Fridays.
I can barely remember the mid sixties in downtown Leighton on Saturdays. I do remember every parking spot was taken. There was a line waiting to eat one of Leon’s hamburgers or go to a movie at the Keith Theater. Grocery shoppers had to decide between Felton’s, Whitlock’s, DeLoney’s, Carpenter’s, Howard’s and Fanning’s. There were as many as 5 gas stations nearby. Sadly, there are ZERO today.
If the date was October, all three gins, Hughes, Uhlman and Fennel’s, were ginning cotton every day but Sunday. Back then, everything closed on Sunday AND at lunch on Wednesday when the siren on top of the water tower sounded. Every dog in town howled for hours. Since NOTHING was open on Sunday, it was imperative to have gas, groceries, spending money and medicine on hand or you were out of luck until Monday.
On Sunday, the three main churches, Methodist, Baptist and Church of Christ were full. If you missed church or Heaven forbid the football game on Friday night, neighbors would call to make sure you were still alive. Secretly, if you were a season ticket holder at CCHS, they wanted to see if your family would sell you your seats to Indian football games since you wouldn’t need them anymore.
I can barely remember the Underwood’s Tractor Supply before it became TriGreen on New Sockwell Lane. Or the high school before the 7th grade section was added on to the east end of the school. The cherry tree near the field house where the smokers gathered and puffed away during recess.
How about gathering in the auditorium and watching the World Series on a black and white TV? Back then, the World Series was played during the day between the best National League team and the best American League team. There were only 16 teams, no divisions or playoffs or that “everybody gets a trophy” change called the designated hitter. Pitchers batted like the game was designed to be played. National League umpires wore their chest protectors under their shirts while the American League umpires wore the balloon type protectors. All players used Louisville Sluggers.
The Braves were in Milwaukee and the nearest team to us were the St. Louis Cardinals. I would go to bed at night, listening to the Cards and Harry Cary on KMOX with a transistor radio under my pillow. Gibson, Brock, Boyer, Javier, Maxvill, McCarver and Flood bring back memories. Later, Curt Flood changed baseball when he sued the league and free agency was instituted. Most of us followed one of three teams: Cardinals, Dodgers or Yankees.
I never thought I would see the day when those days we couldn’t wait to get away from are now the ones we cling to in our memory banks.
That All-American couple Archie and Edith Bunker sang it best:
“Those were the days.”