Busy Medford Square

In the 1950's, walking through Medford Square was an invigorating experience for a child. The entire Square was full of people and traffic.  It was the era before shopping malls and only the beginning of big box store shopping, like at Wallmart and Zayre's. So if you were doing small errands or food shopping, Medford Square was generally the best place to go.

At that time, Medford Square was so busy that a Medford police officer was always in the central shopping area of the Square, at the corner of Riverside Ave and River Street, waiting to stop the traffic and cross pedestrians. Traffic moved in both directions on all streets in the Square at the time, and all streets were busy with cars and buses. The sidewalks were crowded with shoppers of all sizes and shapes, moving shoulder to shoulder, going in and out of stores or food shops. In addition, the square was full of travelers, walking to a particular bus stop or standing along the storefronts waiting for the next large MTA bus to take them to some other part of Medford or to Charlestown to make a subway connection. People were everywhere, and many of these people you knew from your school, your neighborhood, or were even your relatives! The Square was teeming with life. It's just how it was pre-mall, crowded and busy.

The Square was also full of stores with a variety of merchandise, just like the busy malls of today. Food was found at the A & P or First National. For everyday items, there was Grant's 5 & 10 or Woolworth's. For clothing, people shopped at Gilchrist's, Lerner's, Ruth's Dress Shop, O'Brien's, or Lad and Lassie. Shoes could be found at Morse Shoe, toys at Tuck's Toy Store, and china, silver and collectables at Ward's Gift Shop to name only a few. For more expensive purchases, as many wanted at Christmas time, a ten minute bus ride to Charlestown stopped at the elevated station for trains to Boston where upscale stores lined street after street.

At Christmas time, Medford Square was even busier than usual, the atmosphere energized by holiday decorations found everywhere -- along the streets, in windows displays, and within every store,  where Christmas music played all day, starting right after Thanksgiving. Today whenever I hear the lyrics to the Livingston and Evans song "Silver Bells," I'm immediately transported back to the Medford Square of my childhood, where the holiday world was a beehive of friendly anticipation.

"City sidewalk, busy sidewalks
Dressed in holiday style.
In the air there's
A feeling of Christmas.

Children laughing, people passing,
Meeting smile after smile,
And on every street corner you'll hear:

Silver bells, silver bells,
It's Christmas time in the city.
Ring-a-ling, hear them ring,
Soon it will be Christmas day.
City street lights,
Even stop lights,
Blink a bright red and green,
As the shoppers rush home
With their treasures..."

Picture 1 from1950s Christmas shopping, old educational poster: Pinterest
(c) copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter

Burning Autumn Leaves

Walking home from the Wait School during the late autumn months was pure

heaven for me, especially on Wednesdays when the close of school bell sounded at 3:35 pm. Once my sister Pam and I were dismissed at the playground door, we were free and headed home at a variety of speeds. 

First, we ran across the playground and headed up the dirt road across the way, charging over the rocky road shaped surface at a quickly cautious speed. At the top, we landed at Summit Road, and, as its name implies, it was like arriving at the top of a great, high mountain, only with sidewalks. We quickly bore left, shifting into second gear as we trotted down the steep walkway. At the first level spot, we turned right onto Cedar Road and marched with increasing speed down the remaining stretch of hill, gaining momentum as we went. Once at the bottom, we screeched to a halt, carefully crossed Governor's Ave and made our way down the narrow dirt path that landed us at the 'other end' of Cedar Road. Now we had only four houses to pass, and we would be home. 

Coming home on Wednesdays was particularly exciting, because it was one of Dad's days off, and in November he'd often be working on his annual "Raking of

the Leaves." And this meant there would be big piles of golden and red leaves to jump into and swim through -- not one of our most appreciated activities, that's for sure. Maple, oak, elm, and horse chestnut leaves, enough of them for piles upon piles of crispy fun. Only an occasional 'ouch' sounded out, if one of us landed with too much energy on the spiney skin of a fallen chestnut seed pod.

In the 1950's the leaves were cleared from the yards and streets by burning them, right there in your yard. So Dad raked a small pile of leaves to the edge of the road in front of our house and lit it with a match. Gradually he added more and more leaves, always keeping the pile small enough to manage. The smoke spiraled up into the air, filling it with a familiar earthy burning smell, while the heat from the fire warmed just the half of your body facing it.  Pile after pile of leaves was raked, moved, and burned until one day the yard was finally cleared of leaves, and our leaf pile jumping days were done for another year.

Today leaf burning is banned throughout Massachusetts, and I do the clearing of the leaves myself. But I will always remember my anticipation of the annual ritual and of my desire to get home and see Dad at work. I'll always remember the smokey smell of burning leaves, the crisp cool air on my cheeks, the rhythmic sounds of the raking, and having Dad working nearby while we played. It was a great way to spend Wednesday afternoons after school until it was dark and time to go in for supper.




(c)2016 copyright Malvena Baxter
Pictures: Free Clipart

Thanksgiving as a Child

Thanksgiving in Medford as a child meant... 

1. St. Joseph's church for morning Mass.
2. the Medford/Malden football game-61st year when I was a senior at Medford High, 1964.
3. the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on TV.
4. singing "Over the River and through the Woods" written in Medford in 1844. 
5. everyone dressed in Sunday best.
6. full dining room regalia ready for dinner -- the best china, silver, cloth napkins, and glassware set out on a newly pressed cut work tablecloth, seating around the table, touching edge to edge waiting.
7. each oven and each stove burner occupied, steam slipping from beneath covers, smells filling each room.
8. every extra table or shelf covered with dishes of home baked cookies and freshly baked pies--pumpkin, apple, and minced meat.
9. cooks busy in the kitchen, apronned neck to knee.
10. company.
11. the dining room filled to capacity.
12. grace recited while stomachs growled and food waited.
13. antipasto, Italian chicken soup with escarole and mini-meatballs.
    
14. Dad sitting, poised with a huge carving knife, waiting for the first cut into the golden brown turkey.
15. sliced turkey, dressing, and gravy; bowls of vegetables, sweet potatoes and mashed, squash, turnip, stuffed mushrooms and artichokes.
16. a walk and a rest after dinner but before dessert.
17. a day to be grateful, a day to remember.

The 1950's Door-to-Door Salesman: The Invisible Workers

     A recent Andover Townsman news article about a new compost pickup company caught my attention. This company supplies homes with the bags and a container for food scraps and then picks the bags up once a week to be brought to local farms to compost.

     What does this have to do with Medford, you ask? Well, it brought to mind

that when I was a child, growing up in Medford, a "compost" pickup man came to our house once a week, but, at the time, he was called the garbage man. I can still see the spot where the pail, with its step-on-to-open lid, was buried in the ground.

     That thought, in turn, reminded me of all the workmen who walked or drove through our neighborhoods on a regular basis, providing foods and services to homemakers without their having to leave the house. Some would park and walk door-to-door while others walked passed your door or slowly drove down the street, only stopping when signaled by someone standing at the front door.

     Do you remember any of these hard working, underappreciated workers?

Some of them are still stomping through our neighborhoods today, but many of them have been replaced due to innovations and changes in our daily way of living.  And, of course, there are some today who were not around at all in those days, but for now, these are the door-to-door salespeople in our neighborhoods in the 1950's that I remember. Can you recall any others?

The Avon Lady

The Bread Man

The Coal Man

The Egg Man

The Electric Man

The Fruit and Vegetable Man

The Fuller Brush Man

The Garbage Man

The Ice Cream Man

The Ice Man

The Knife Sharpening Man

The Laundry Man

The Mailman

The Milk Man

The Oil Man

The Trash Man

God bless them, every one.

(c) Copyright 20016 Malvena Baxter. All Rights Reserved.
Free Google Images: mailman, ice cream man clip art

Halloween 1950's

    At our house for Halloween in the late 1950's, my sisters and I wore homemade costumes. The most common were the hobo, the ghost, and the gypsy. These were easy to put together out of old clothes or, if a ghost, from an old clean sheet, cut to size. The hobo and gypsy relied on oversized clothes and accessories like a folded red printed bandana tied to a stick for the hobo to carry over her shoulder and lots of costume jewelry for the gypsy. Black crayon, or some form of charcoal, made the ghost look spookier and the hobo a bit more ragged, while Mom's makeup made the gypsy both mysterious and glamorous.

     We each carried a plain paper grocery bag as we walked from house to house in our neighborhood. We went no further, especially after the news story of razor blades being found in apples on some vague Halloween night.

     We never went trick-or-treating alone either.  Our father always went with us. We were shy kids and only hesitantly repeated, "Trick or treat," holding out our bags. In those days, it really was a treat to have a piece of candy dropped into our bags, and we sure were hoping we didn't get any fruit or a dollar bill. They just weren't the same treat as a piece of candy.

     Once home we carefully picked over our candy, dividing into favorites and trade-ables and were able to have a piece a day each day following Halloween. My favorites were always the Hershey Krackel and Three Muskateers bars. But one day the bags of candy would be gone, and that was that until the next Halloween. It's just how it was.


(c) Copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter

   

The First Day of Kindergarten

September 1952

     Autumn smells like the start of school. The air changes, the daylight hours are shorter, the sun is lower in the sky. The days are getting cooler. Since I always loved school and the new school year began in September, the Fall and school are as natural together as chocolate cookies and milk.

     For me, starting school was one of the most exciting things to happen in my five years of life. It was right up there with having the crust cut off my peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich and then having the sandwich cut into triangles instead of squares. It was a wiggle, giggle, and body moving kind of happiness.

     For the first ever day of school, my Nanny Mac made me a new dress, and my father took me for a new pair of shoes. I don’t remember a thing about the dress except it was pretty, but I do remember my red Mary Janes with the small flower design punched into the leather on top and the shiny silver buckles at the sides. Every day my father would buckle my shoes and fold over the tops of my white ankle socks.

“There you go,” he would say, tapping the top of the shoe last fastened, and I would walk away, so proud of my new shoes, dreaming that they were Buster Browns, just like the ones advertised on the “Tarzan” show on Saturday morning TV. 

“One two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, shut the door…”  away I would hop happy as could be.


(c) Copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter

Walking to School

     Because I was only in kindergarten, I always walked to school with someone older which was no problem. I had older cousins, a grade or two ahead of me, who lived in two neighboring duplexes. Georgie, Frankie, and Loretta had the job of getting us little kids to school safe and sound. As we headed up Fifth Street, it seemed like the group walking to school gradually got larger and larger as we passed house after house.  But we kept on walking, collecting kids like you’d collect baseball cards. It was only one block to the school, so there was no problem.

     To me, the Osgood School was awe inspiring. It was a mammoth looking building, and its playground equally as large with all sizes of kids running every which way. But the possible overwhelmingness of it wasn’t ever a problem because everyone was involved with a game, endless bantering, or the quietness of a nervous stomach. Once the school bell finally rang, all the students lined up to file in, the scary big kids at one door, the primary kids at the second. When everyone was quiet, a teacher led the lines into the school and to each classroom. And though it was all large in scope, and I was little, there was nooo problem. 

(c) Copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter

Inside Miss Parks' Kindergarten Classroom

     Miss Parks was my kindergarten teacher, small and pretty like my mother. She sat us on the floor around her, saying aloud our names and handing us each a paper crown with our name printed in big large black letters on the front. We wore these every day and stored them in our cubbies when we went home. We drew pictures on rough yellow paper with new crayons, painted with thick, bright, primary colored tempera while standing at little wooden easels, and sang songs while Miss Parks played the piano. Kindergarten was full of fun things to do. It was going to be nooooo problem.

     On our first day around mid-morning, we stopped and had a snack with a small carton of milk. Miss Parks then opened a door to the adjoining room. It was a big room with no tables. We could play games and dance in this room without bumping into anything. What would we be doing now?

    And then Miss Parks began to pull up the top window shade and pull down the bottom one. One after another on each of the four eight foot high divided windows, dimming the sunlight and quieting the children.

     “All right everyone,” she said softly.  “We’ve done so much this morning, it’s time to get your blanket from the cubbie and find a place to spread it out and lie down. It’s naptime.”  

     “Who needs help?” she asked.

     I froze in place. Naptime?

     What!        Now?

     Right in the middle of this great day? Lie down and nap? Are you kidding?

     I don’t need help. I’m not tired.

     Oh, no. Everyone is fixing a blanket.

     “Is there a problem?” the teacher asked.

     I looked around. She was looking at me.

     I hesitated, but I was the only one who did.

     “No,” I finally thought. “There’s no problem,” and I quietly walked over to get my own blanket from behind the cubbie door and then carefully stretched it out on the hard wood floor while I could still find a space near someone I knew.

     It didn’t take long to learn that nap time signaled the ending of the day. Once all the blankets were neatly stored back in the cupboard quiet storybook time began, and then it was time to go home --just in time for lunch.

     Half day kindergarten was really too short a day for me, but, with the exception of the unexpected nap time, there was no question that I was going to love school.

     It was really all going to be nooo problem. 


(c) Copyright 2016 Malvena Baxter