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Whatever Happened to ...
All the recent talk about drive-in theatres has me thinking about what other vestiges of my past have vanished. Yesterday, while my internet was down, I spent over twenty minutes talking to an automated operator at the cable company. Finally I was able to reach a real live human voice, and I felt an immediate sense of relief.
Whatever happened to telephone operators? There is a huge building on Oak Street in Plattsburgh, and up on the second or third floor there was a large room with large machines and thousands of cables and cords. And the room used to be full of real live human beings, mostly female, who were known as telephone operators. My Aunt Gen Laundrie was one of them.
"Number, please," they would say, and then they would move a cord from one place on the switchboard in front of them to another place. I fully understand that technology reached the point where a machine could perform the same transfer quickly and cheaper. And that meant that people like my Aunt Gen were out of a job. But it says nothing about the reassurance one feels when they hear the voice of a real live human being.
And I guess technology has done in the good old encyclopedia salesman who used to come knocking on your door. These salesmen had a way of finding out what families had young kids who would need to be doing some research for their school projects. And, according to them, there was no better investment in your child's future than buying a set of big bulky, where-do-we-put them? encyclopedias.
But I recall sitting through more than a few sales pitches as my parents pondered which encyclopedia would best help their sons and daughter become President of the United States or Pope. I think my parents eventually chose World Book Encyclopedia. No matter. Those books, purchased from my Dad's hard-earned money, eventually collected dust and still sit in a bedroom at my Mom's house on Johnson Avenue, unopened since 1973.
Another salesman you could count on way back when was the vacuum cleaner salesman. There wasn't a housewife in Plattsburgh who never went to the front door to find a 40-year-old guy standing there with a vacuum cleaner the size of a jeep propped by his side. He always promised that he would "take only five minutes of your time, ma'am."
It seemed like vacuum cleaner salesmen never showed up when my Dad was home. They must have had a way of finding out all the dads' work schedules, because my Dad would have said, "No, not interested, thanks" and shut the door. But salesmen knew that Moms were pushovers and my Mom would always let the guy into our living room for a demonstration.
Within minutes the guy was throwing a pile of dirt on our living room carpet. I mean, a whole pile of dirt. More dirt than I'd accumulate in my shoes in a whole summer of playing baseball in Elizabeth Street school yard. And, vroom, vroom, that brand new vacuum cleaner would suck all that dirt up in seconds.
The vacuum cleaner salesman would continue his sales pitch for another thirty minutes, showing all the extra parts that came with his piece of machinery. He'd give all the reasons why this monster was meant for this house. Another thirty minutes would pass as he gathered all the parts strewn all around the living room and left without a sale.
Dinner would be an hour late that night, Dad wouldn't be happy, and Mom would still be without that award-winning vacuum cleaner which comes with a seal of approval from Good Housekeeping.
And whatever happened to the milkman? My bedroom was on the street, and, in the summertime with my bedroom window open, I would hear the squeek of the brakes of Mr. Art Panton's Rosebud Creamery truck. I knew that it was somewhere between 5 am and 6 am. I'd hear the rattle of the milk bottles in his little metal crate. I'd hear him humming as he placed the bottles in our milk box by the front door.
Some mornings I'd actually pop out of bed just to watch him do his job. He'd always have a little stub of a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth. I'm not sure why we ever lost the morning milkman. Seems like even today we could use a milkman. Especially us seniors who could save ourselves a trip to the grocery store.
Telephone operators, encyclopedia salesmen, vacuum cleaner salesmen, milkmen. All parts of my past that I'll never see again. Gosh, the world sure is changing. I bet someday doctors will even stop making house calls.
Comments
YOUR LAST NAME SOUNDS FAMILIAR, BUT I DON'T RECOGNIZE THE NAME "FOXY". I DON'T KNOW IF YOU REMEMBER MY SISTER, TERRI AVERY, SHE GRADUATED FROM PHS IN '1962', AND I "SHARI AVERY", GRADUATED IN IN "1964". NOW YOU MIGHT REMEMBER "PAUL MARSHALL", HE LIVED ON SHERMAN AVE, OFF OF ELIZABETH ST. MR. AND MRS. DESOURDY WERE HIS GRANDPARENTS., WHOM HE LIVED WITH.
I LOVE YOUR COLUMN, BRINGS BACK SO MANY MANY MEMORIIES. IN MY MIND I ALWAYS SEEM TO BE GOING BACK TO MY CHILDHOOD DAYS, AND SCHOOL DAYS. WE PLAYED A LOT OF BASEBALL ON THE MONTY SCHOOL PLAYGROUND, OH, WHAT FUN. REMEMBER THE MONTY STREET WOODS, WE WOULD ALWAYS PLAY IN THERE AND BUILD FORTS. ALSO , I'M SURE YOU REMEMBER THE ORANGE JULIP, AND THE CRYSTAL , OUR TWO FAVORITE HANGOUTS. YOU KNOW, I COULD GO ON AND ON, OH, WHAT I WANTED TO ASK YOU, I WAS BACK IN PLATTSBURGH FOR 4 YRS. NOW I'M BACK IN WASHINGTON STATE. I SAW THE OLD ELIZABETH STREET SCHOOL HAS BEEN TURNED INTO APARTMENTS. I WENT THERE IN 7 GRADE, AND MR. BLIVEN WAS MY TEACHER. I WOULD LOVE TO KNOW THE HISTORY OF THAT BUILDING. THERE WERE QUITE A FEW SECRET PASSAGES IN THAT SCHOOL., ALSO A DUNGEON IN THE BASEMENT., AND YOU KNOW I COULDN'T EVEN CUT THROUGH THE SCHOOL YARD TO ELIZABETH ST WHEN I WAS BACK THERE., HAD TO GO THE LONG WAY AROUND. OH WELL, THATS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE PROGRESS. SAD!!!!!!!!!!!! CAN'T FORGET THE AIR FORCE BASE BEACH..
THERE'S SO MUCH MORE, BUT CAN'T GO ON NOW. MAYBE YOU AND YOUR READERS WILL REMEMBER . MY E-MAIL IS - AVERYDAISEY@YAHOO.COM , IF ANYONE IS WANTING TO REACH ME. FOXY, IF YOU KNOW ABOUT ELIZABETH ST. SCHOOL PLEASE LET ME KNOW.
KEEP ON WRITING, I ENJOY READING.
GOD BLESS YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!
SHARI
Posted by: shari avery marshall | June 28, 2008 3:58 AM
Carver, the last marble I saw was in John Michelucci's hand - as he grabbed my entire marble collection out of the pot after smearing me and Johnny Shep. Foxy, Georgianna is Harry Shields' daughter. That location was the Rowlson farm - the red brick farmhouse that Dr. Palmer lives in was built by my Great-Great Grandfather. I have a picture of my Grandfather in front of that house w/his horse 'Dick' circa 1918 when he returned from WWI. In between the vegetable stand and the road are 2 hitching posts for hitching your horse - 1 has my Great Grandfather's initials, FR - Fred Rowlson. Also you'll see a carriage stone sunk into the ground - if you could push the grass down far enough in the front you'll see 'Rowlson' on it. It used to be on the other side of the road & people stepped down out of their carriage onto it as they came to call. Harry told my Dad we could have it - 1 day I'd like to move it up the road to the East Beekmantown Cemetery outside the iron fence in front of the Rowlson plot so people could sit. Great Grandfather Fred was Clerk of the Works @ Dannemora Prison. For years and years my Grandfather grabbed a couple of other doctors and went up to give every inmate a yearly physical exam. No one wanted to return the next year because each doctor had their life threatened by several inmates - 'I'm going to come kill you & your family when I get out'.
(Foxy's note: Miney comes up big with these interesting comments. Way to go!)
Posted by: Miney Rowlson | June 25, 2008 7:12 AM
Boys, let's not forget the Dom Perignon of the north country. Strawberry Hill wine.
Posted by: Fred Forkey | June 24, 2008 12:42 PM
Back in 1969 Chantal Renaud recorded a song called Plattsburgh Drive-In Blues which was a big hit in Quebec and as I understand from Gordie Little got lots of airplay in Plattsburgh. If you google the song you can get a video of it on the internet. It's in French, but Michigan Red Hots are in the lyrics.
As I said the huge number of drive-in theatres in your area was in response to them being outlawed in Quebec at the time. The Catholic Church, very influential in those days, viewed drive-ins as immoral passion pits.
(Foxy's note: At youtube.com I searched for Plattsburgh Drive-In Blues and watched the video. I think all the Blogoteers would get a kick out of seeing it.)
Posted by: Norm | June 24, 2008 10:27 AM
Foxy, as always, you're flashing us back to the simpler things in life... I remember all the things you've mentioned.. and a few more,
whatever happened to "chum gum" 2 sticks wrapped together for a penny, usually purchased (on the south end of town) at Carmen's, on the corner of Sherman and West Elizabeth and (north end) at Murray's or Fountains on Montcalm.
or when someone asked your phone # , and you said "Jordan3-2617.."
RC cola...tall bottles..worth 3 cents as returns...
the costly endeavor of clothespinning Mickey Mantle or Hank Arron rookie cards to the spokes of your bike...
when's the last time you saw a marble??
riding the bus to the city beach and kicking sand on the Canadian girls who had their bathsuits untied!...
and in the later years, that God awful Colt 45 malt liquor and Boone's farm apple wine..
(Foxy's note: Good ones, the Carver!)
Posted by: The Carver | June 24, 2008 8:40 AM
Well now these are memory shakers if I ever heard them! Drive-in theaters - when we were kids we went to the drive-in in Malone in our pj's and couldn't imagine anything being more fun. In my early teen years I was in the trunk while visiting my cousin in Albany - that was so funny and then in later years, well we'll skip those years - but even later years we would bring our children to enjoy the experience and even later years...(GOOD LORD HOW OLD AM I????) anyway, we were camping near Massena and went to a drive-in for our anniversary. While we were gone our "friends" at the campsite sabatoged our camper - what an experience that was! Anyway, lots of good memories.
I also remember when we were kids, there was a company that sold you a freezer and then delivered frozen food to keep it filled. ICE CREAM on demand - it was great, but that didn't last very long. I don't remember the name of the company.
Well, I think I may have to bring my granddaughter to the drive-in this summer and keep the cycle moving.
Always, miss d
Posted by: miss d | June 23, 2008 9:27 PM
WOW Art Panton...Now there is a name I haven't heard in a long long time. I used to hang out with Craig when we were in grade school. Art was quite the character. I heard we just lost another Johnson Avenue great one. Willie Williams. Lots of great memories hanging out at the Williams' back in the day.
By the way..Had any Root Beer Lately???
Posted by: vonrader | June 23, 2008 9:06 PM
Foxy: I remember buying French Fries from a truck and getting a large cupful of fries for 10 cents top with lots of salt and vinegar!
Also the man with a older model little pickup truck with a large scale selling veggies up and down the street.
Large cups of sealtest and guy's ice cream for a nickel. Double stick popsicles for a nickel. Cokes for a nickel. Great memories and best of times . Lenny
Posted by: Lenny Smallacombe | June 23, 2008 4:53 PM
Thanks Foxy for the fun memories....I especially remember the canadian breadman driving up our driveway and how I would beg my mom for something sweet. Then the ice cream truck that one of my good friends worked on in the summer. Ah...the soft serve swirl! Today we have an ice cream truck but it only serves prewrapped ice cream bars for $3.00! Doesn't seem right. With 9 kids we were regular customers at Shields Vegetable Stand (they were our neighbors too). We had to get at least 3 dozen of corn on cob as my brothers would compete on who could make the highest pyramid with their cleaned off corn cobs. Oh I spent many summer days weeding the Dyers/Shields veggie fields and got a yummy homemade kool-aide popsicle as a payment or a fresh cucumber sandwich (awesome).
Great things to think about.....
(Foxy's note: Lynne, thanks for sharing. I worked at school with Georgianna Dyer, a wonderful lady, who I would see during the summers at Shields Vegetable Stand, even years after she retiring as our school nurse. And cucumber sandwiches! I had totally forgotten about that -- lots of salt and pepper and mayo!)
Posted by: Lynne Scholfield | June 23, 2008 4:03 PM
I sure do miss the Bayview milkman. I remember those deilvery trucks the dairies used - how cool were they? The A&P was on Margaret Street as was the Grand Union, if you ran out & needed a quart right now. My Great Grandfather Marshall had a car dealership where the Grand Union used to be on Margaret @ Court St. Remember the big ramp out back that went to the 2nd story? Back then the dealer painted the top coat on the cars - the garage was on the 2nd floor there. My Grandmother got her 1st car, a Ford, when she was 14 - from 'Poppa'. She offered her teachers rides home - can you believe it? She never took a driver's license test - they finally mailed her a drivers license. Remember the old phones - before dial phones? "Number please"? Ours was 1588 & my Grandparent's was 18.
(Foxy's note: How do you remember all this stuff, Miney?)
Posted by: Miney Rowlson | June 23, 2008 7:53 AM
Wow Skip! A dollar a dozen for corn. You obviously are a "youngster"! I remember back 55 years ago in Chateaugay, NY going with my father to local farmers to pick his own ears of corn. My father would ask ".29 a dozen? When did you raise your prices?" ... to wit, the farmer would smile and toss in 3 or 4 more ears.
Here, today in Reno, we consider it a bargain to find 3 ears for a dollar. Fifty cents an ear is the norm. With the environmentalist pundits touting ethanol, where will it all end. $2.00 an ear and $10.00 a gallon for environmentally friendly fuel???
Otherwise, how is everything back east? Two weeks to go before we land in Albany and visit my family and friends in the north country!
Lynda
Posted by: Lynda Bevins | June 22, 2008 2:42 PM
I too grew up in an era of a milkman, and a breadman who would deliver fresh rye breads, bagels and onion rolls to the Jewish neighbourhoods in Montreal where I grew up. And oh yes those Sunday drives to Plattsburgh Beach and St. Armands Beach. Long before homeland security, no ID was required at the border, and if it was real busy customs would just wave you through. It's nice to look back, but it's even nicer to look forward and thank God for every living minute.
Posted by: norm | June 22, 2008 1:14 PM
Hey Fox
After exasperating minutes (which seems like hours) going through menus on computer controlled phone lines, you may finally get a real person talking to you in some Asian tongue which you can't understand. Hang up, get a drink, scratch your head and try to think of alternatives.
In the old days in Brooklyn I clearly remember all types of street vendors (ala a scene from the musical "Oliver") to wit: pushcart vegetable vendors who had an array of veggies, a knife sharpener who pushed his grindstone on wheels who honed knives by a set of pedals, a ragman whose horse drawn wagon would buy old clothes and cloth from the moms in the area.
The iceman delivered blocks of ice to the tenements that didn't have the convenience of those new electric refrigerators. Kids would gather around the truck to catch those chips created by the iceman as he chipped the blocks of proper size to deliver by a pair huge ice tongs.
In the summer, ice cream sellers had an ice box in front of tricycle, a distinctive bell sounded and the kids would flock to buy ice cream bars. Pretzel sellers used to push their fitted wheel barrows and sell big soft pretzels.
Insurance men would come by monthly to collect insurance payments from the families.
Politicians (councilors) would know every family by name and occupation and status and visit regularly and ask if there was any problem that he could help with.
Looking back at those days of yore I realize how important (face to face) encounters could mean. Today's technology allows us to communicate world-wide (buying, selling, learning). Pehaps our world in those days was quite a bit smaller.
I somehow miss placing a face, a personality in everyday dealing, but perhaps I am an anachronistic dinosaur in a modern world.
(Foxy's note: No, you're not alone, Skip, in feeling this way. Your many thoughts here reminded me, too, of the farmer, curly hair and baggy farmer jeans, who would drive down Johnson Avenue twice a week, knocking on doors, selling corn, green beans, yellow beans, radishes, tomatoes, carrots. How much was corn? A dollar a dozen?)
Posted by: skip zatonski | June 22, 2008 9:53 AM
Someday gas will reach 1.00 a gallon. Someday you will have to press one for english. Someday milk trucks will pour bread batter into a pan, therefore no more holes in bread and bread will be like eating the raw dough. Someday every household will have an picture machine and sex will become popular and someday if you live long enough you get old.
(Foxy's note: Will have to start calling you "Doc the Philosopher" -- thanks, Doc!)
Posted by: Doc | June 22, 2008 7:44 AM