Medford: Winter Lunch Period at the Wait School

In the late 1950’s when I was in elementary school, the winter months meant a change in our school day schedule. From September until the end of December, the day ran from 8:35 am until 3:35 pm with an hour lunch break. We walked home to eat and returned to school again to line up for the one o’clock bell.  Once Christmas vacation was over, we returned to school with a day that began at 8:00 am and ran until 2:00 pm. Our lunch period at that time of year was 30 minutes.

The change in the school hours meant going to the back hall closet at home and unearthing my metal lunch box with its perfectly fitting thermos bottle. I can still see the picture on the outside of it--Roy Rogers with his handsome smile, arm raised in a huge wave of hello, his cowboy hat sitting snugly on his head while he perched on his golden palomino pony, Trigger.

My lunches, on the other hand, were not as memorable. Some days it was bologna with mustard or peanut butter and marshmallow, while on Fridays, tuna fish was a regular.

Each type of sandwich was easy for my parents to make for five  kids, and I found mine predictable and delicious. Every once in a while, an odd sandwich filling would greet me as I unwrapped the waxed paper. The most unfortunate surprise was DEVILED HAM!   Ugh!!!   Smooth, spicy, grit-your-teeth yucky. I was a second grader when that one appeared one winter day in my lunchbox. I can tell you I didn’t eat more than a bite and certainly wasn’t hungry enough to swallow that stuff. I asked Mom about it when I got home because I didn’t even know at the time what it was called, but I don’t remember ever finding it in my lunch box again.

The thermos was always filled with hot chocolate milk which cooled to a drinkable temperature by lunch time after sitting on the classroom window sill all morning long. Unfortunately, in those days, the thermos had a glass lining, so if I happened to drop my lunchbox while being jostled by the forty kids funneling into the same small aisle leading to the back windowsill, I held my breath as I bent to pick it up, dreading the telltale sound of tinkling glass, as the broken pieces inside hit each other as they were shaken in the hot chocolate. If that unfortunate accident happened on the same day as an undesirable lunch, I was out of luck as far as food and a drink was concerned until I got home after school. There were no cafeterias in Medford elementary schools in those days, and no grilled cheese sandwich magically appeared to fill the void. Hunger followed me the rest of the day, but luckily that was a rare occurrence. My parents wanted us to have a decent lunch and made every attempt to make lunch appealing while being frugal and health conscious.

It is amazing to think of an elementary school with no designated lunchroom or cafeteria. We ate in our classrooms, at our desks, with the teacher eating her lunch along with us. Depending upon the teacher, we may be allowed to talk quietly with our neighbors. Once everyone was finished eating, we might spend ten minutes playing a quick game like “Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button” or listening to the teacher read aloud a few pages in a book like The Last of the Mohican’s or Little Women. But no matter what, lunch period was quiet and well controlled.

After April vacation, our school schedule changed back to the 8:35 am start, and I walked home for lunch once again. As far as I was concerned that really was the best arrangement because home was a place of people, appealing food smells, and lots of comfortable family rituals. Mom and my younger sisters were always there. Dad was there most days, too, choosing to walk home from work each lunch time after his last morning patient had been seen. Lunch at home varied from day to day and was colorful and tasty. It might be grilled cheese and tomato, piping hot left over spaghetti, or any variety of seasonal sandwich. We drank cold milk and didn’t have to worry about broken glass. With the family sitting around the kitchen table, the room came alive with chatter and noise, but, once we kids had finished eating, we were excused from the table. At that point we might get the mail from the thin black mailbox outside the back door, check how the garden was growing, or watch a few minutes of the "Big Brother, Bob Emery" tv show, before heading back to school.

To me, single sessions could wait until I was in junior high because, unlike at the Wait School, there would be a cafeteria with food to purchase in an emergency, a table to sit at where I could eat and talk with friends without hunger or consequence, and, oh, yes, there would be lots of happy, comfortable noise.




Pictures: Etsy & Google images
All rights reserved  (c) 2017 malvena baxter

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