Gee, our old La Salle ran great!
Or: The Permanent Family Record
THE GRAM WITH A THOUSAND RULES: “Subject: Oh, Those Wonderful Country Drives.
“We took a lot of them on Sunday afternoons.
“You could bet on it. If it was a beautiful Sunday and none of Daddy’s pals had been invited to dinner and all of his saws were sharpened, Daddy would say: ‘Come on, everybody. Hop in the car. We are going for a ride!’
“Those Sunday drives were an adventure. Mother always seemed to look forward to it. She liked to get out of the city and smell the nice country air. My siblings’ enthusiasm decreased as their ages increased, so I really don’t have too many memories of my oldest siblings along for these day trips. This old photo, taken in about 1934, captures the enthusiasm generated by that particular trip.
“We got off to a good start if Dad could get the sunzabitchin crank to turn the engine over by the third or fourth attempt. Then it was clear motoring until we ran out of paved road. These Sunday drives always started out so promising: We would all be singing along, having a jolly good time, but before we knew it the paved roads had turned to washboard dirt roads . . . and then the fun began.
“Those country roads could jar the fillings right out of your teeth, and you had to crank the windows back up so the dust didn’t clog your throat. Dad never wanted to eat anyone else’s dust, so there were a lot of Damn-it-all-to-Hells until he slammed his foot on the gas pedal and charged around and got in front of ‘the no-good bastard holding up the parade.’
“Sometimes we actually drove far enough to smell a fresh hay field before we got the first flat tire. It always sounded as though a cannon had gone off under our feet when an inner tube would blow, followed by the flap, flap, flap of the flat tire as we skidded to a stop. We knew the drill: everybody out of the vehicle while Dad fetched the jack, the tire iron and the air pump and went to work. Poor Daddy cursed and barked his knuckles wrestling that tire off the rim. Then he had to pull the inner tube out and see where to patch it. Sometimes he put patches over patches. After the patching was done, he wrestled the blankety-blank tube back into the tire and then used the air pump to blow the tube back up before putting the tire back onto the rim. There might be a more technical way to describe this operation, but that is the way I remember it — sans sound effects. (Sometimes it seemed as though each tire wanted to get in on the action, so this exercise had to be repeated two or three times.) We kids would play by the side of road, and Mother would encourage us to find some wildflowers to pick while we waited for the cursing to abate so we could get back onboard and continue with our afternoon journey. If the flowers were wilting in our hands, Mother would say: ‘Let’s all count to 100, and maybe Daddy will have it fixed by then.’ Followed by: ‘Why don’t we see if we can say the alphabet backwards.’ She was always utterly patient. I guess she really did enjoy the country air even if we were stranded by the side of the road.
“I remember once when something really noisy happened on our return trip. This wasn’t the sound of a blown tire. It sounded more like the Titanic crashing against an iceberg. Something was seriously wrong with the guts of our car. There was going to be no quick repair job by the side of the road this time. We kids were all pretty grubby from exploring the areas near our previous breakdowns, so it was fortuitous that this major malfunction occurred near a streetcar line. There was only one thing to do. Mother took out her handkerchief, spat on it and washed our faces before we boarded the streetcar for our trip back home.”
In memoriam (Baseball Division) (responsorial)
And: Oopps!
RAMBLIN’ ROSE writes: “Subject: The Amazing Mr. Ford.
“The accolades to Whitey Ford from Gregory of the North were right on target. He was an incredible pitcher.
“What I didn’t see mentioned by either Gregory or Bulletin Board was the most exciting thing: that Whitey was apparently ambidextrous. I wasn’t aware of this, either, but what a great thing to have on your pitching staff. Imagine, a pitcher who could switch gloves as needed to face either a right- or left-handed batter, or pitch as a lefty one day and come back as a righty the next. How did the Yankees keep this under wraps? How could the sportswriters fail to report on this? Wait — not true, you say? Here’s the proof, from the NBC Nightly News report on his life and career:
“That was quickly followed by these photos:
“Wow! Amazing!
“This is a time, though, when seeing is not believing. Whitey was truly (and only) left-handed. So the real question is: How could NBC fail to notice this mirror-image photo in its reporting? I’ll bet the network heard from more than one Yankees fan, as they are not known to shy away from expressing an opinion. I would not have wanted to be the lowly NBC staffer who had to field those phone calls.”
Now & Then
TRIPLE-THE-FUN of Lakeville: “Five people from our extended family took a trip a few days ago. It was a trip back in time, to the 1930s. My uncle wanted to go back and see his childhood home again, so my sister, brother-in-law and I took him and my aunt on a road trip to northwestern Wisconsin.
“The house they lived in, more accurately a log cabin, was built in 1861. My grandfather bought the house and farm in 1930 after the stock market crashed and he could no longer find carpentry work in Minneapolis. It was miles from the nearest town, and the few neighbors at the time were not nearby. To say it was isolated would be an understatement. They lived there until the early 1950s, when it was sold and they moved back to the Twin Cities area. The house has been vacant for many decades. The surrounding area used to be fields, but it has now completely grown up with trees, so that you’d never know the land was ever farmed.
“Unfortunately, but not unexpectedly, the nearly 160-year-old house is suffering a great deal of decline. But it’s still standing, and still has many stories to tell. My uncle served as tour guide extraordinaire for the day. He told so many stories about his youth. Some I had heard before, but many were new to me, and even familiar stories had new details I didn’t recall hearing before. He talked about daily life, like the front door they had ordered from Montgomery Ward, snakes in the cellar, trapping gophers, and the chimney fire that almost burned the place down. We found out where the interior walls had been (they are all missing now), where the wood-burning cook stove sat, and where the old upright piano stood. This was all so very interesting to me because this was also where my mother grew up. My mother and uncle are brother and sister. (She passed away a few years ago).
“Here is a picture of the house. The windows and doors are at least partially covered with plywood.
“We made some other stops in the area. We found an old cemetery that’s no longer in use (although some kind person keeps it mowed). We found the site of my mom’s and uncle’s one-room schoolhouse, although the building has been gone for years. We came across another old schoolhouse in the area, and this one has been well preserved. Note the old-fashioned (and no doubt dangerous!) merry-go-round.
“We also stopped to see the old Grantsburg Town Hall that my grandfather helped build. It was a WPA project. My grandfather was the only person assigned to that project with carpentry experience, so he was made the foreman. He also helped design the building.
“It was a glorious day all around. The weather was perfect, and each story was better than the last one. I’m so glad we had the chance to take a brief visit back in time.”
Gee, our old La Salle ran great!
JOHN IN HIGHLAND writes: “Having grown up a few blocks off of Grand Avenue in St. Paul, I have great memories of what a busy and vital street it was, and still is today.
“In the ’50s and ’60s, there were barbershops, banks, and bakeries. In the four-block stretch from Lexington to Victoria, there were liquor stores, a dry-cleaning shop, the Uptown movie theater, and drug stores with soda fountains. Down the street, there were new-car dealers where I and my friends would go in the fall to see the new models.
“The Bungalow Bakery (now Wuollet) was a favorite stop. Kids who were with their parents would always get a free cookie.
“There was an automotive service station on every block. There was a Standard station at Lexington, Vince Strauss’s Pure station at Oxford, Howard Lloyd’s Texaco station at Chatsworth (Still in business, but across the street), and Ernie Hebert’s Cities Service station at Milton. There also were a Clark and an M&H station between Oxford and Lexington, but they were ‘gas only,’ no car repairs.
“On the edge of the M&H parking lot stood a small hamburger shop called ‘The Alamo.’ It looked like a tiny White Castle.
“A friend of mine worked for Vince Strauss. Vince was adamant that Pure gasoline was better than the competition’s. He told us that he had proved it by using Pure gas on a trip back to his hometown of Valley City, N.D., and a different brand on his way back home. Of course he said he got better mileage with Pure gas. Vince had a sign that read ‘Volkswagen Repairs.’ He liked repairing VWs because the customers ‘always pay in cash!’
“At some point, while riding my bicycle with my friends from baseball practice, I got a flat tire. We were on Grand Avenue, right by Ernie Hebert’s station. I asked if he could fix it. He got right on it, patched the tire and re-inflated it. I was concerned because I had no money in my pockets. I asked him how much I owed him. He laughed and said: ‘Tell your old man to buy some gas!’
“Years later, when I was working in a local hospital, Ernie came in as a patient. He was sick and dying. It was my privilege to help take care of such a hard-working, humble man.”
The Permanent Family Record
Leading to: Could be verse!
THE HAPPY MEDIUM: “Growing up in rural Wisconsin, we six siblings were always busy with something: milking cows, picking beans, shoveling snow, driving horses during haying season, and yes, even ‘helping’ with canning pickles, peaches, corn and the like.
“With all the activity around the farm and house, things got misplaced from time to time and the house got a little messy, to say the least. That was when my sister and I were given the task of cleaning the house each Saturday. To make it an easier task, we listened to the radio program ‘Let’s Pretend.’
“At all times, Mom was concerned that someone would just drop in for a visit unannounced. If we noticed a car advancing up the driveway, we would scurry about the house picking up this and that to make the house a little more presentable in case the visitor decided to enter the house. Therefore, we always kept a look-out in the event that someone was coming.
“I remember the day Mom and I came home from a Homemakers’ meeting when she said: ‘I wish my house could be as clean as her house.’ I responded: ‘Mom, she knew we were coming.’
“Yes, when we knew someone was coming to visit, the house would be spotless. Hence, my poem ‘Someone’s Coming.’ I was prepared for an important visitor. I straightened the house just as my sister and I did those many years ago. Only this time I didn’t listen to the radio program ‘Let’s Pretend.’
“Someone’s Coming
“I know
“someone’s coming today,
“And the house is such a mess.
“Try as I will, I’m
“not at my best
“at keeping this place clean.
“So now
“I must make the bed,
“hang up the clothes,
“put my shoes in the closet,
“so no one knows
“my house was in disarray.
“Next I’ll
“toss all advertisements
“in the circular bin
“and file others where
“they should have been
“in the first place.
“Then I’ll
“hide the curling iron,
“the hair dryer too,
“fold some bath towels,
“and toss a few
“in the clothes hamper.
“Last, I’ll
“remove the newspapers,
“put the ironing board away,
“straighten the books,
“and consider the day
“a huge success.
“So who is
“this welcomed guest, you ask?
“Who has caused this cleaning frenzy?
“Why, she’s the cleaning lady,
“the one my friends all envy.”
Where we live
Dark Humor Division (cont.)
JIMBO of Inver Grove Heights wrote, in a recent Bulletin Board: “I am going to try to get a group of investors together. I will need to get a total of $8,714.00, and then I will put in a bid to buy the Twins, Vikings, Timberwolves and the Wild!”
We have heard, once again, from JIMBO: “Subject: Backing out.
“After watching the Vikings play Atlanta, I am withdrawing my offer to buy the four Minnesota teams for $8,714.00. Besides that, I had no firm offers to be a partner with me. I had three people from my association talk about it, but when push came to shove, there was no money forthcoming!”
The Permanent Family Record
Pandemic Division
GRANNY of White Bear Lake: “Subject: The Not-So-Virtual Classroom.
“During this COVID-19 pandemic, my family has found a way to stay in touch and have fun. Every Monday evening, we have a Zoom meeting and we play Bingo. It has given us the opportunity to hear how each family is surviving and coping.
“Our youngest daughter has two sons, ages 12 and 15. Because the younger has been sick with a bad cold (no COVID, no ear infection, and no strep), they both have been forced to stay home and do virtual classes.
“Late this afternoon, my daughter, working from home, received a message from her 12-year-old’s teacher saying she had to suspend him from class and mute his responses because a shout-out of ‘Penis! Penis! Penis!’ came through loud and clear to the class as a response.
“As you might imagine, she was very upset about it and immediately went to investigate why he would ever think of doing such a thing. His response was: ‘I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it,’ and said he was in the bathroom when it happened.
“Turns out he didn’t do it, but his older brother did! Now she has to explain to his teacher how he (the 12-year-old) would never do such a thing, and then also, embarrassing as it is, admit that her older son (he’s quite the instigator) would.
“Really, she’s a great mom.
“Over our Bingo hour today, we couldn’t help but laugh at the telling of the latest escapade of her teenager. My advice to her was to take the 15-year-old with her to apologize to the teacher, but due to the virtual classes, he just has to e-mail his apology. Hope he has learned a lesson here — he did tell his mom he was sorry for getting his brother in trouble, but I’m sure it won’t be the last time. Gotta love him!”
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Sunday Bulletin Board: Remember those idyllic drives in the country? ‘It always sounded as though a cannon had gone off under our feet when an inner tube would blow. . .’ - TwinCities.com-Pioneer Press
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