Brenda Says Goodbye

Last month a columnist for the state newspaper posted a piece with this title referring to growing up in the 1950s. During the following days, several letters were written to the editor from people who questioned his view, saying their memory of the era had not been so pleasant. I should note here that most of the contributors grew up in urban areas in larger states. Like the writer, I grew up in Small Town America and look back fondly on the decade. The following are random memories in no special order that I continue to cherish—how life was like in my town and how I often wish I could go back to that time.

During late spring, summer and early fall, families sat on their front porches after supper, often joined by other neighbors, sipping on glasses of iced tea, talking, and watching the occasional car pass by. We kids were in the yard, chasing fireflies (we called them lightening bugs) to collect in Mason jars. On special nights we might have watermelon or ice cream frozen in a wooden bucket housing the container and paddle.Young boys would take turns cranking the machine—usually bragging “I ain’t even tired yet!” when another begged, “My turn!”

During summer afternoons, I could hear Mr. Crowder’s radio playing from his open front door. He would be sitting in his favorite chair listening to a St. Louis Cardinal’s baseball game and the voice of Mr. Buck describing the play. The drone of the announcer’s voice simply spoke “summer” to me as I listened from across the way.

We had a well house/wash house out back for the new wringer washing machine Daddy bought when he added appliances to his general store. This made us feel “up town,” since it did away with the big black wash pot in the chicken yard. It was too heavy to move so Mama later filled it with rich dirt and chicken droppings and planted petunias in it.

During summer Mama canned peas, pole beans, squash, and other vegetables from our garden and made jelly and preserves from our fruit trees. She did most of the hot work down in the basement where it was cooler. This is also where she stored the jars and where Suzanne and I went to play when it was raining.

Sunday was the only day Daddy closed the store. Mama put a beef roast in the oven before we left for church and added mashed potatoes and other “sides” after we got home. When we had fried chicken we had to wait until almost 2 p.m. to eat. We had a dessert after every meal and something sweet on the table at breakfast. It was common to throw a tablecloth over the remainders of the big Sunday dinner to be finished at supper. I don’t remember anyone getting sick from its lack of refrigeration.

We were the first people in town to get a television set in 1954. KATV had recently started broadcasting from Pine Bluff before later moving to Little Rock. Daddy added televisions to his appliance line and sent my brother (who was the “son” in Starks & Son) to “television school” to learn all about how to install them and work on the tubes and things. He hooked up our set on May 8, 1954. Almost the entire town showed up on our front lawn, coming in a few at a time to get their first peek at the miracle in our living room. There was so much “snow” on the screen they had to move way to the back and I thought the clearest view was from the porch! According to my diary, the show we first watched that Saturday night was “The Jackie Gleason Show” –something about a men’s hair cream that would help bald heads grow hair. Television programming did not begin until 5p.m.—during the day the screen only showed a picture of an Indian chief.

I was a sophomore in college before we got air conditioning and it came from a big clumsy window unit in the living room and could not be felt throughout the rest of the house. Yet I never minded summer nights when I lay next to my open window and was lulled to sleep by the night sounds and the soft hum of the ceiling fan in the hallway.

Our small town life centered around three things: school, church and work. The fathers farmed or worked for the lumber company or the saw mill. Most mothers stayed home doing housework, cooking and taking care of the children. No one was rich and I don’t remember ever being jealous of playmates. The “town” kids made friends with the “bus” kids though we missed playing together after school. There were very few turnovers in the school population and I still have three friends from first grade. School shootings? Not even thought of back then. We knew our teachers well and wanted to please them with our work. We were shamed when scolded or when we didn’t complete our lessons. Also we were afraid of our parents’ reactions to a bad report. Best buddies would sometimes have a “falling out” but they were back playing together in a few days. Although alcohol and smoking were common, I never heard of “drugs” until adulthood and then associated it with the “flower children” and Volkswagen vans covered in bright decals.

Don’t get me wrong; the 50’s wasn’t an idyllic existence. There were left over fears from “the war” and families still watched how much sugar and gas were used. We had air raid practice at school and two of my playmates weren’t allowed in my school or church because of their color.

But what I remember most was leaving the house after breakfast in summer, coming back for dinner, and then leaving again until it was time for supper. Just me and my blue bicycle riding off to play with friends. Boys explored the woods or shot baskets in the gymnasium which was never locked. Neither were our houses though Daddy hid his cash sack from the store in the bathroom linen closet overnight. We watched the trains that still stopped at the depot and wondered about the people riding them. Later our young lives were consumed with “courting,” swimming, sock hops and rock ‘n roll, basketball games, and bunking parties. We were free. We were safe. We were loved.

I began writing “Miles of Memories” as (mainly) a nostalgic column 17 years ago. I think it only fitting that I end this journey in like manner. I will miss you who have read my little words—especially you who have become great friends though I’ve never seen your face. I have recently moved (I don’t recommend this for an almost 80-year-old woman) but I remain in Hot Springs Village and though my phone number has changed my e-mail address remains the same. Brenstar61@ gmail.com. May God bless and keep you…or should I sign off with “Happy trails to you until we meet again…”