Good Old Days 2 The Vernon Avenue Days

We moved into our own post-war house in the suburbs (St. Louis Park) in the spring of 1949. I remember the numerous trips back and forth to watch the progress of our house being built. Going south on Highway 100, there was a hill on the east side with what seemed like hundreds of little pine trees, newly planted. I go by that same area occasionally today and see fully mature trees along there--just another reminder of the passing years.





On one of those trips I was playing in the lot next door which had a foundation covered with tarpaper and a family living in what we termed a "basement house." It became a complete house by the next year and I spent a lot of time in it playing with the little girl living there. Janie and I spent a lot of time together, but she moved away a few years later and I have lost track of her. Not so the other little girl that I met that Spring. Mary Anne came down to see who had moved into our house one day in late spring. After discovering that we shared the same birthday and other similarities, we became fast friends. She is still my BFF--Some sixty years later!





Shortly after we moved in, sidewalks were built on our block. First the trenches were dug to fill with cement and they were roped off to keep the kids out. One hot, sultry summer day, the ominous but always exciting dark clouds gathered, signaling a storm. It poured, filling the trenches with warm, muddy water. All the kids donned their bathing suits and went out to "swim" up and down the street.





Oh, that neighborhood had fun! All of us kids--The Divine brothers, the Johnson sisters, Susan Martinson, Mary Anne, the "boys" (brothers of us girls and a few others), roamed freely in the summer from early morning until a dash for lunch and back out to play until exhaustion or dinnertime--whichever came first. Mostly Mary Anne and I played with our dolls. We both used our mothers' names as our own and had a "family" of dolls that we wheeled in their buggies up and down those now-finished sidewalks. We "rode bikes"-sometimes across the overpass bridge to "Monkey Island" on the other side of Hwy 100--our brown lunch bags in our baskets or dangling ffrom the handlebars. I don't even remember what we did all day; only that it was fun and we were free. Nobody's mother ever worried that we would get abducted.



On Saturdays my Mom had a car. My Dad belonged to a carpool that gave my mother the car(we just had one) one day a week. She used that day to do all sorts of errands but not grocery shopping; Saturday was the day for that because the stores had specials on Saturday. The women were mostly at home in the '50's and so Saturday was an odd day for shopping--things have changed! Anyway, to the Piggly Wiggly we went. I always went along if I could--I loved grocery shopping (still do). Saturday was also a special day for food. We almost always had hamburgers for supper and everyone got a bottle of pop. Saturday was the only day were allowed to have pop. Mom's hamburgers were delicious; she formed thick patties of ground beef mixed with a little worcestershire sauce and sprinkled a layer of salt on her cast-iron skillet. When the skillet was hot, she put the patties in, along with very thinly sliced onions. As the hamburger gave off its fat, the onions cooked in the fat and juice and finished about the same time as the medium-rare meat (a no-no today.) The buns were then buttered and fried quickly on the cut side; a little butter rubbed on the tops made them toasty and buttery, then the fried onions were piled on the buns, hamburger patty and a round dill pickle slice. Catsup, mustard, lettuce, cheese, relish, horse radish--all were side options. Delicious!! We hadn't even heard of McDonald's yet.

That house on Vernon Avenue was a three bedroom colonial. Because it had two full stories unlike the many small ramblers and story-and-a-half houses on the block, we thought we lived in a mansion. Other amenities that we had that made it special were a screened porch, a formal dining room, a breakfast nook off the kitchen, two fireplaces (one in the basement--unfinished at first, but later made into a recreation room by my dad), and a one-car attached garage. But even though it was small, the kitchen was still the heart of the house.

In winter, after school, I would put on my skates and rubber skate guards, head for "Sunshine Park's" skating rink where Mary Anne would already be skating (she went to Holy Family Catholic school and got home sooner than I) and stay until the rink lights went on when it was time to go home for supper. The warmth of the kitchen with its delicious smells of cooking welcomed me home. I would take off my skates and go into the dining room where I would pull off my socks and put my frozen, pale feet over the floor grate. I would rub them until they turned pink again and started to hurt like the dickens. This painful ritual never kept me from going back to the rink--after supper if I could!

Was there anyone that didn't have to be home at 6:00 for supper? I didn't know anyone. We didn't have all kinds of activites that our parents had to drive us to at the dinner hour. Everyone was home eating. We usually ate at our dining room table where, after saying grace, we commenced to learn mealtime manners. My father was a very kind and mild-mannered man, but one who insisted on manners at the table. Let my brother and I begin to giggle incessently or, God forbid, raise a fork loaded with a morsel of mashed potatoes and use it as a launch toward the other and we would be in for it. He might have warned us once, I don't remember, but when he'd had enough, he'd raise his arm up threateningly and say, very loudly, "That'll do!" And that was that. I don't remember ever being struck (maybe one spanking on the backside) in my childhood, but I remember distinctly believing he might actually do it. At any rate, there was no more nonsense that night.

My mother was very proper about our eating habits. For one thing, she insisted that we "eat in a circle," as she put it. That meant that you ate one bite of meat, followed by one of potatoes, followed by one of vegetables, salad, bread, etc. according to what lay next to what on your plate. It was a circular progression, even if you had a salad or bread and butter plate to the left of your dinner plate (and we often did) you went in a clockwise rotation. To this day I'm not sure what the purpose of this was--but I know that I am unreasonably annoyed by people who eat all of one thing before going on to the next. I suppose it was so that we wouldn't fill up on our favorite food and not want to eat our vegetables.

Speaking of not eating unfavorite foods, it amazes me to watch many of today's youngsters demanding certain foods and refusing others. At our house we had a rule that we could "hate" one food. One. When it was on the family dinner menu, we were exempted. Not only did we not have to eat it, but a special substitute was made for us. Mine was beans. I really hated all beans and peas and any other food with a skin on the outside and a mushy inside. There were a number of other foods that I didn't really care for when I was very young as well--but I only got to avoid one. When the family was having chili--a favorite--I was given chili with rice instead of beans.

Mom was a primary school teacher at one time and a master psychologist of young children. If we were having peas, or rutabagas or squash or one of the other disliked foods of my youth, I would be served the tiniest amount (maybe three peas). When I would question why I had to eat those peas her stock answer was, "As you get more grown-up, you will like everything; therefore we always have to have a little bite to see if you're that grown up yet." As adults, my brother and I like everything--or keep it to ourselves if we don't!

Mom's Chili with and without Beans

1 pound lean ground beef
1/2 yellow onion, chopped fine
2 large ribs celery, diced
1 large can (28-oz) tomatoes, with juice, cut up (or use diced)
2 cups tomato juice
2 cans red kidney beans, with juice
Salt and pepper
Chili powder to taste

Brown beef and onions and celery; drain. Add tomatoes, juice, salt and pepper and chili powder. Cook for one hour. Meanwhile prepare rice according to a standard recipe. After one hour of simmering, remove to another saucepan the amount of chili you wish to serve with no beans. Add cooked rice to that saucean and the kidney beans to the original pan. Simmer for five minutes. Serve and pass additional chili powder around.