New Year's Eve

Ten p.m., December 31, 2009, time to recall other New Year's Eves. Get togethers at Rich &

Nancy's, Aunt Rita's turn of the century big bash, even older ones at parties when I was brave (or naive) enough to go out among the revelers.

I think the very first New Year's Eve I can remember occurred at one of the wild and crazy

parties Aunt Katie and Uncle Ernie used to give in their basement. (The night was considered

a success if Mayor Cervantes showed up.)

It was a very cold night, and my Dad took me out to the front porch to welcome the new year.

He looked a little sad and I asked him what was wrong. He answered he was sorry to see

19-- end. And I said, "Don't feel to bad, it will be back another time." Talk about being hit

over the head with reality. My Father explained to me that each year lasts 365 days and then

it is over forever, and another one takes its place I was completely shattered. After

he told me, I started crying and sobbing, "I want 19-- to come back." That's all I remember.

I guess we went back down to the basement and life went on.

Happy 2010 to my legions of devoted readers.

Snowy, Snowy Days

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day found us engulfed in snow. Jim, Diane and I had a quiet

Christmas Eve at home and feasted on kosher food intended to feed six or eight people. This

morning, we realized the blizzard actually only amounted to six inches instead of 12 to 15 inches

as predicted. It was enough to keep us from going to Sally's to watch kids open presents and

later, to prepare a turkey dinner.

Around four p.m. we were quite surprised that the young Whitakers managed to make it from

Grain Valley to Blue Springs. Our wait was well-rewarded because the boys had such a great

time opening presents. Ezra has always been exceptional at responding to gifts. The Razor

Scooter and Dragon Webkinz hit the jackpot and even induced a little fainting spell. I was

surprised since only hours before he had been totally surprised when he found a Wii behind

the tree.

Levi received a bunch of Yo Gabba Gabba stuff, mainly from Baboo and Ed. He opened the

coloring book at once, and looked like he'd been doing it forever, on his tummy with his legs

up behind him, and using an orange crayon all over the entire page.

Tonight, I will freeze Mr. Fresh Turkey and we will probably have him on New Year's Day.

Tomorrow, we start the clean up, but it was a remarkable Christmas Day.

Merry Christmas

Hundreds of memories to write about, but too busy making new memories to write about

the old ones. We are down to one more day to shop for a few more things, finish cleaning and

then start the baking. Diane and I will probably make the caramel graham crackers that

Betty used to make every year, along with pecan crescents and maybe toll house, if there

is time. Christmas Eve will be spent wrapping presents, last minute details and then a get together with Nanett and her family. Christmas Day, we plan to go to Sally's to watch kids open presents and then off to 10 a.m. Mass. Later, we will go back to Sally and John's to make

turkey dinner because I didn't get to make on Thanksgiving.

I think I will wait until next week to relate some stories of Christmases long, long, ago.

New York Deli

For about the last 80 years, my husband's family, and now our family, has celebrated Christmas

Eve with kosher food from the Kansas City New York Deli and Bakery. Sadly, this year we will

not be able to continue in this tradition. Earlier this year, the bakery closed its doors after being in business since 1909.

When Jim was a toddler, he and his grandfather, Cecil, would make the trip from Oakley Avenue to Troost every Christmas Eve to purchase the wide array of Jewish delicacies including corned beef, pepper beef, knot rolls, bagels and salt sticks. When Jim's mother took over the task of buying the food, she would start out early in the morning so she could be sure of the availability of the items they craved. After the deli, she would head to Andres to purchase pastries for Christmas morning. It may have occurred to Betty to place an advanced order for all the necessities, but that would have taken the thrill of the hunt. There was

always that possibility that the one thing you really wanted would be sold out. When I took

over the task, I always pre-ordered. I get my thrills from making sure what I need is

available. My daughters accompanied Betty and I on the bakery run when they were babies.

When the Christmas Eve feast fell into my responsibility, the girls and I added a quick lunch,

which usually involved sharing bagels and lox before leaving the deli. At the turn of the

Century (I love saying that), Sally's husband John, and then their son, also came along on the

kosher run. I did not follow the tradition of going to Andre's but we did purchase almond

rolls at the deli for the next morning.

Sadly, it appears that Christmas 2008 marked the end of this long Puckett tradition. During

the Spring of 2009, New York bakery closed its doors for the final time. Many things

were compounded to cause this decision to close. It seems true pumpernickel flour was no

longer being made. The man who was the owner's right hand man had a stroke and was no

longer available to do the bulk of the work. And it seems that the bakery would have to

make thousands of dollars worth of repairs to come up to "modern" standards. At that

point the owner decided he would rather close than cope with all the changes that would

produce less-than-perfect results.

A world that no longer contains salt sticks is gray indeed.

The SS Admiral

Back in the 50's, no summer was complete without a trip on the Admiral. Affectionally called

"The Boat" you could take the two and a half hour "voyage" without even looking at the

Mighty Mo. As a young kid, there was nothing better than to head for the bathrooms and look

at the Muddy Mo in the toilets. It was so gross. But entertaining. For reasons I don't even

want to know as an adult, the toilets had river water in the tank and God only knows where

it wound up.

As I got older, the bathrooms continued to be a source of enjoyment. I asked my Mom, why do

the ladies rooms all have weird names like Deanna and Sonja? She explained they were the names of Hollywood stars from the 30's.

The best bathrooms were located right off the dance floor, which I remember as gigantic.

I wonder if now it would seem a lot smaller, like old houses and streets. There was a live

band that played swing music and at times ventured into the new realm of rock. We loved it.

At least once a trip, the band would play "The Hokie Pokie" and we would shake it all

around.

One summer, my Aunt Barb and Uncle Jerry were courting. They sat together the whole

trip, on a upholstered bench that was situated on the perimeter of the dance floor. They

read a book, each asking the other at the end of the page, "You ready to turn?"

To enter the dance floor, you would push giant glass doors that were etched with art deco

designs. Within the doors was the only air conditioned part of the Admiral. If you actually

wanted to enjoy the 90 degree air and the 88 % humidity, the place to go was the very top

of the boat, aptly named the Sun Deck. Any one brave enough to do that was entertained

by a real calliope with the steam siphoned off from the Admiral's own output.

When I was even older, in high school, no summer was complete without a "Moon Light

Cruise." Even the Sun Deck was better at night with a guy. You could stand close and

watch the river that took on a mysterious nature after dark.

One night, my sisters friends went on a Moon Light Cruise, and due to some illogical logic

ended up in East St. Louis. I think the young driver thought he had to cross a bridge in

order to get home from the boat because after you went down the river for about an hour,

they would turn it around and go back. I don't think he realized the last half of the trip

took you back from where you started. Maybe Diane will comment about this.

The last time Jim and I went on the Admiral, we spent most of the time taking in the

logistics of the trip. It was amazing to watch the workers untying ropes as big as their legs

and working in unison to get the thing going down the river and then tying up at the end of

the return trip. At that time, the old-fashioned arcade on the bottom level was still in

operation and it was fun to have your fortune told by a mechanical seer.

Any one else, please add your memories about the Admiral, before it became a Casino, please.

Old Homes

While in St. Louis for Thanksgiving, we took the Hohlfeld Home Tour of Winona and Tholozan.

Previously, I wrote of the huge Winona hill. Actually, it is not all that big and the street is not

nearly as long. At the top of the hill, where Mike Shannon used the kick foot balls down the

street and kids would run and take them back to him, the Shannon house is not nearly as big

and imposing as I remembered. I cannot remember his sisters name, but we used to see them

at the bus stop on Lindenwood. Sharon, I think was only a few years older than I was. I

wonder what she is doing now?

The long and steep driveway that I remember was either not all that steep and long, or later

residents regraded it. It appeared that the current driveway is made of some substance other

than the white cement one we had.

The street is much more narrow than I remember. And the houses are much closer than

I thought. In truth, it is just a normal city street, a little longer than some, a little more

on an incline, but still not as spectacular as remembered 50 years ago.

The houses on Tholozan also seem to be much closer than I remembered, and the street

more narrow. Instead of stained glass on the upper portion of the front window, there is

now clear glass with criss-crossed lead pane dividers. The little, rounded-on-top window

in the front door has regular glass in it. Even when we lived there, the "6552" stained

glass window had to be replaced with just regular stained glass. Dad had to look around

a lot until he found a company that would replace it at all, forget the "6552." He finally

found "St. Louis Ornamental Iron and Window" to do the job.

I couldn''t remember which of the two houses up the street belonged to the Garagiola's

but one of them had a "for sale" sign on the front lawn. The house of the lady who worked

at Scruggs-Vandervort and Barney, still has the white-washed brick effect, and the multiple

white pane dividers. The Scheller house and the Candy house look the same, but so close, as

did the house to the west. The family was named Noonan. Originally, it was just Mr. &

Mrs. Noonan who lived there and when they both passed away, one of nephews and his wife

moved in.About once a week, Mrs. Noonan would go downtown by bus. She always wore sensible high-heeled shoes and a pair of gloves, usually white.

We didn't have time to look at Lafayette or Shaw Place, Spring or Detony Streets, maybe

next trip.

Over the River

Tomorrow we leave for our return trip to Blue Springs. The last four days have gone by so fast!

Got to see almost all our relatives here, but unfortunately didn't get to see Kathy or Pam. Thank

you so much ladies, for being so patient with me. Some day, I'm making the trip to St.L. and

seeing only friends, no family.

This trip we discovered that Ezra wants to call my sister Aunt Diane instead of Bahboo. She

told him he can call her "Boo" which is what Bahboo's boys call her now. He's still making

that decision. Also, Levi impressed Boo, Aunt Rita and Gigi with his talking and dancing skills.

Aunt Rita brought over several pictures of the Simeones and Mussolinos. It was interesting to

see Aunt Lee and Aunt Katie and Grandpa Joe's friends who were apparently doing some

sort of dance with their arms in the air and their hats in their hands.

We ate turkey and fixings three days in a row. If we eat it tomorrow, we may start to gobble,

but it was sure delicious. Sally and John brought a gooey butter cake from Gooey Louie's.

It was great. Actually, better than Grau's Pastry Shop used to be.

Ed made the turkey to perfection. Diane's pumpkin souffle was a hit as usual. Also, Uncle

Costco brought the huge pumpkin pie.

Thanksgiving

Looking forward to this Thanksgiving and recalling past years. Grandma Hilda

always made the turkey when we lived on Tholozan. It seemed as if she got up at 6:00 am

and worked steadily until 2:00 pm. When I started making the turkey, after Betty died, it

only took about an hour's worth of preparing the bird and then very little to do until gravy-

making time. Probably because I did a lot of the work the night before. I think Hilda even waited to bake the pies until the very day of Thanksgiving.

Grandma Hilda usually made a pumpkin pie and a chocolate pie, mainly for Brian. For some

reason I do the same thing. In the last few years I've branched out and now make chocolate

mini tarts. We put whipped cream on at the last minute. The first year I made them I happened to glance at the tray. A good number of them were half-eaten. The filling and cream had been sucked out with only the shell remaining. Of course, my immediate instinct was to look for Ezra. There he was, caught chocolate-handed with only the shell as evidence against him.

This year, for the second time, we will be in St. Louis, at Diane and Ed's house. Can't wait

to see them all and have them see Ezra and Levi.

Grandma Betty

Jim's mom, Betty, was a tremendous baker and cook. She had numerous recipes in her

collection. Some were written on index cards, but there were almost an equal number of them

scrawled out on small pieces of scrap paper. She also had a great many old cookbooks. The

oldest one, under the fried chicken recipe began: "After killing the chicken, soak it in warm

water until the feathers are able to be grasped easily." Betty would take delight in telling how

her grandmother wouldn't let her in the kitchen until she (Betty) was able to wring the chicken's neck and get all the feathers off, including the pin feathers. Betty said her grandmother didn't think any one should be allowed to cook in her kitchen unless they had learned the business from the ground up.

Betty's cousin, Carol, enjoyed Betty's apricot fried pies so much that when she visited her in

California she either brought a dozen with her to or was not allowed to leave until she made

them in Carol's kitchen. I remember with fondness Betty's white coconut cake with seven-

minute frosting. The remarkable thing was, I didn't think I even liked coconut until I tasted

that cake.

Jim looks forward to her graham-cracker butterscotch bars, but will only request them at

Christmas time. One year, Betty decided to follow a semi-sweet version that called for the

dark chocolate morsels to be shaken over the crackers while they were still hot, and then

spread evenly as they melted. At first Jim despised the idea of changing the original bars,

but after about 5 years, he was able to enjoy both versions.

Betty made elaborate birthday cakes for Diane and Sally every year, no matter how

outlandish the request. One year, Diane wanted a "birthday-wedding cake" with at least

four layers. Betty made it.

Veiled Prophet

The Veiled Prophet Ball was St. Louis' version of the Southern practice of introducing

debutants at a lavish "coming out party." I'm not sure how the ball was carried out, but

I do remember the Veiled Prophet Parades, also patterned after a Southern tradition of

Mardi Gras and the various "Krewes" that sponsor the various floats.

I'm not sure all the routes the parade took. I do remember we saw one parade on Hampton

Avenue, near St. Joan of Arc. We with with the Nagles at the time. Linda Nagle was Diane's

friend when we lived on Winona. It was a raw, cold evening, in the fall, and most of us had

lost interest in the parade. But Mr. Nagle promised he would take us to see the "maids'

the next day if we could tough it out for the rest of the parade.

On the day after the parade, Saturday, the Veiled Prophet and his court appeared at the

Missouri Botanical Garden (Shaw's Garden, to us). They gathered outside the Shaw

residence so that the less fortunate people could see them close up in their debutant's

gowns.

The next Saturday, I believe, was the actual ball, where the queen and her maids were

introduced to the mysterious Veiled Prophet. He was veiled, but I don't know about the

prophet part. Unless, perhaps, he prophesied who would be the queen and maids.

My father pointed out that all the maids and every queen since it began had been WASPs.

I respected his observation even though I didn't understand it at the time. So, even though

we were white, Italian-German, Catholics, we made an annual appearance along the parade

route and once even visited Shaw's Gardens to see the debs in person.

Maybe some of the thousands of readers who are addicted to "old news" can offer observations

about their own memories of the Veiled Prophet.

School Boxes

When I was a kid, we didn't have school boxes or backpacks. Your books went in your arms and

you writing instruments in your pocket or purse. This was also the era of the leaking ball

point pens. If you were lucky, you would have a book bag that looked like a miniature brief

case. Later, I had a book bag and a pencil case. They were both functional but unattractive.

Some kids had cigar boxes that once held actual cigars. We were lucky enough to have a father

in that category.

When Diane and Sally came along the pencil cases were more glitzy, but still flat. When they

were in primary school each had a book bag. One year they had matching corduroy book

bags, one purple, one magenta. By the time Sally was in third grade the back pack had become

a bare necessity. About this same time, school boxes came on the market. They were cigar boxes, but with phony labels. Soon after that, there were cigar boxes, but instead

of cigar labels they were decorated with Scooby Do, Hello Kitty, and of course, Disney

characters.

Eventually, these cardboard boxes gave way to plastic boxes with click-lids. The original

ones were in a variety of colors and now the boxes are clear with a bright-colored tops. I

believe they cost under $1.00 which is quite a bit cheaper that the original cigar boxes.

Now that's what I call progress.

Raggedy Ann

On Diane's first Halloween she dressed as Raggedy Ann. Grandma Betty made her a dress and

apron. She also dyed a mop red to wear as a wig! We were scheduled to go to the Van Cleave's

to show her off and I remembered I forgot to buy special treats for Mary VanCleave's kids.

At that time there was an A&P store in White Oak Plaza, so we stopped there for treats.

The checkers and stockers thought Diane was adorable. (Who wouldn't?) They gave her

Halloween candy and toys.

For weeks after Halloween, Diane continued to dress up in her Halloween costume.

Little did I know that "dressing up" as various characters would become a recurring

occasion for Diane. There have been so many characters I can name about five without

giving it a second thought: waitress, several rock stars, Frank-n-Furter, cats, dogs, and

vampires

I'm just as hooked on costumes as she is. In the past I've made most of Diane's Halloween

costumes. She has gone as Dorothy Gale, Cindy Lauper, a Mardi Gras princess, a Japanese

lady in a kimono, a vampire and ghoulish bride.

Long live fantasy!

Little Devil

I'm not sure if we dressed Sally up for her first Halloween. She was only seven months old.

Now kids wear costumes even if they are only a few months old. But things were more

primitive in the 80's. The next year, Grandma Betty made a devil outfit for Sally. She was red from head to toe with a cute little helmet and thorns. Her tail was a work of art. It curled and moved with her. Another costume Betty made for Sally was a cute little mouse, also with a

head cover, this one with little ears.

One year, I was brave enough to start sewing costumes. Betty had some material that was dark blue with big white polka dots and deep red with big white polka dots. I used a right and a

left side with different colors, front and back. Also, the pointed had was divided into blue

and red sections.

Grandma Betty was such a great seamstress that she not only made Halloween coustumes

she also kept both Diane and Sally in adorable, big-sister, little-sister dresses. And what

she didn't sew, she bought. For Christmas and Easter she out-did herself. A few I can

remember are red velvet, light blue velvet, and especially the Dior dresses that didn't

match but were of the same style and color, a beautiful pink with white sheer collars. Later

that year, in July, Diane and Sally were in Lynne and Neil's wedding and wore the Dior

dresses. It was so exciting because the dresses seemed as if they were made especially to

match the other dresses in the wedding. Fond memories.

Soap

Diane dressed up as an orange net body pouf for a Halloween Party. It made me think how much things have changed, even in our bath procedures. The first soap I remember using was a bar of Ivory and, of course, every kid's hair was washed with Johnson and Johnson's "No Tears"

shampoo.

At Grandma Santa's, they used Life Buoy soap and Prell shampoo. Grandpa Joe also had a

bar of Lava soap in the kitchen and one in the bathroom. When we lived on Winona, we didn't have a shower so it was a triple thrill to bathe at Grandma's. We got to use orange soap, green shampoo and stand under the shower. I think Life Buoy was the first deodorant soap and it was

a long time before we were glad we used Dial soap and wished everybody did. "Zestfully clean"

came much later on the scrubbing time line.

My Aunt Barbara engaged in exotic cleansing. She never used soap on her face. She slathered

Noxzema on her face before she went to school and before bed. She rinsed the goop off with

cold water. Every time I saw her do it, I was mesmerized.

To keep me from trying to see every move she made, Barb taught me how to make Kleenex

carnations by folding one in pleats, accordion style, putting a bobbie pin down the middle,

tearing off each side, and separating each layer into a pouf. Ah, so, we have come full circle,

again, from net pouf to Kleenex pouf.

Halloween

Sally and I were talking about the cost of Halloween costumes. She asked how much they

cost when I was a kid. I had to think for a minute and the I realized I don't think I ever had a

"store bought" costume.

The earliest Halloween I remember was when we lived in an upstairs flat on Lafayette. I was a

gypsy and Rita and Mom had me stand on the toilet seat so they could do my make-up. I got to

wear bright red lipstick, eyebrow pencil and mascara. At that time, mascara came in a little

red box and had a tiny brush packed inside the box. You had to moisten the slab of mascara

and rub the brush bristles in the damp slab. I was quite impressed with the idea of wearing all

the make-up, but equally impressed with the fact that a neighborhood tavern was also named

Mascara's.

After the make up came the jewelry: golden hoop earrings, golden necklaces and colorful

rings. My skirt was a long, swishy thing. I did not have "gypsy shoes" so I had to make do

with my black patent leather Mary Janes.

When we moved to Winona, Diane joined the gypsy wagon. When Neil came along we had to

make a stretch. I think Neil went as a hobo on his first trick-or-treat endeavor and remained a hobo for the rest of his Halloween career. His tramp clothes would change from time to time,

but burnt cork was an annual mainstay. When Brian joined the force, he was inspired to be a hobo, too. Once you hit on a great plan, no need to change it. So there were the Hohlfeld kids. Never a "store bought" costume.

I remember on year as the Nagles and Hohlfelds and Neithes traipsed up and down the

lower half of Winona and it started to snow. At one point we had to make a decision. How bad did we really want those popcorn balls the lady who lived across Wabash made? The kids all voted "yes" the mothers "no," so they walked the kids to the end of the street and we made a dash for it.

One of neighbor's, Jimmy Rhiver, had a line he used every year, even as a teenager. "Hi.

I live next door. The name's Rhiver. Take the "h" out and it's River. Drop in some time."

Intoxication

When we four were growing up Mom kept her extra money in an "Intoxication" powder box in the closet in her room. "Intoxication" was the perfume she wore at that time. Before there had been Elizabeth Arden's"Blue Grass" and "Flattery," by a now-forgotten maker.

There was very little extra money in the powder box. If you asked Mom for money, she would

say, "See what's in the powder box." Sometimes you would get lucky and on other occasions

you'd come empty.

Dad put all the cash in various envelopes: Groceries, Utilities, Church, etc. The money in the Entertainment envelope was to cover cigarettes, Dad's lunches, and chewing gum. Of course,

cigarettes only cost 25 cents pack.

The grocery envelope was the most magical. Somehow, Mom fed six people, two of them

teenage boys, on $25.00 a week. Mom used to refer to the boys as "eating machines" and

once made the statement, "I buy soda every week and all you ever do is drink it."

Even though it was some what of a gamble to get spending money from the powder box,

I wish I had one now, of course, with cost of living adjustments.

Green Stamps

Back in the 50's and 60's, there were S & H Green Saving Stamps. When you shopped at

"participating stores" they would give you a certain number of green stamps. I'm don't

remember the exchange rate, but it was probably like one stamp for every dollar that you

spent. Also, at these stores, you could pick up booklets in which to paste your stamps.

So, you'd stash the stamps away and every-so-often you'd lick the stamps and glue them in

your saving's book.

You could redeem your stamp books for merchandise at designated stores. It may be difficult

now to envision a retail store existing for the sole purpose of redeeming little green stamps.

There was such a store on Watson, near Arsenal. Upon entering the store, you would see

rows of shelves, about eye level, where there was on display a variety of small appliances,

and home decor items. I remember helping my Mother lick and paste the stamps. Some

were in rows of ten or fifteen but there were also many individual stamps. This was a very

time consuming endeavor.

I wondered, even then, about the sense of printing pages of perforated green stamps that

had moisture-sensitive glue applied to them and little personal check-sized books in which to keep this endless supply of green stamps. Then you also have to question the fact that after

a person filled book after book of these stamps, the books would be collected at a store and

then forwarded to a central location. Then picture this same procedure happening across

the city, the state and the nation. Who counted these?

I remember we "purchased" several items from the green stamp store: a toaster, a percolator,

ash trays, photo frames, candy dishes, juice glasses, sauce pans, to name several. In the

beginning, all you had to do was turn in the required number of books, but later, a cash

accompaniment was necessary. A toaster may have gone for four books but as time went on,

it cost four books and three dollars.

It was a surprise when we found out the green stamp store was closing. We dug out all the

green stamps, which now came in a variety of shades of green, pasted them up and calculated

what we could get before the doors closed for good. Stores still carried the stamps, but now

you had to redeem them by mail using a catalog.

Rice and Socks

Once Aunt Gert moved back to St. Louis and Grandma Hilda lived with her on Jamieson, we

got to see them more often. Once in a while they would come to our house for Sunday dinner.

You never knew what Aunt Gert was going to say. She had some fairly off-center ideas about

things.

Once my Mom served rice with the dinner and Aunt Gert said, in amazement, "how did you

get this spaghetti in to such small pieces?" We were at a loss as to how to tell her what it

really was. But Grandma Hilda, who never gave Gert a pass, said "You dummkopf, that's rice,

not spaghetti."

Around the same time, my mother had a cat she named Socks because she was mix of black, white and gray. Each of her four legs had enough grayish white to make it look as if she was

wearing socks, hence the name.

One time, when Gert and Hilda were visiting, we were sitting in the living room and Aunt

Gert asked my mom, "How do you get those little mittens on all her paws." Again, we were

speechless, but Hilda said, in a voice born of resignation, "Those aren't mittens. That's her

feet."

Grandma Hilda was not above doing strange things, herself. While she was living with us,

she helped with the washing and drying. One day my Mom came home from work and noticed

there was something different about her chenille bedspread. Then it dawned on her: the fringe around the bottom and the little balls were no longer there. Mom asked grandma

Hilda what happened and she said she cut the fringe and balls off because it kept getting

tangled.

I think grandma also sent several pieces of clothing to the Good Will when actually they were

on a chair to be taken to the cleaners. When the Schmidt Sisters were around there was

seldom a dull minute.

First Night

Brian's kids, Hunter and Graham, are grown now, each just on either side of twenty. On a

New Year's Eve, long ago, the girls and I baby sat for them while their parents went to a

first night celebration. Brian warned me that "sitting" with Graham was an euphemism.

The warning seemed ominous. How could this sweet baby do anything so awful?

I had our own little party planned. At this time, Hunter was just past being a toddler and

Graham was still in pajama's with attached feet. Hunter and Graham had been playing

with Diane and Sally. Suddenly, Hunter began crying, real tears, and she said she thought

Graham had hit her. Sally, Diane and Marsha hovered over her, soothing and caressing.

She began to scream and cry even more. "Does it hurt that bad, honey." As she answered

she pointed toward the kitchen, "No it doesn't hurt any more, but Graham's climbing in

the freezer." My back was toward the kitchen, but Hunter had a direct view of the

refrigerator.

In the instant it took me to turn around, I thought how can Graham be in the freezer.

But there he was. He had dragged a kitchen chair over to the refrigerator, opened the

door of the freezer and some how climbed right into it. By the time I got to him, his

whole body was in the freezer. I looked at him sitting there, in his little blue jammies

with a big, endearing smile on his face. He was so pleased with his accomplishment.

I was not so much pleased as impressed that he could pull off such a maneuver. However, all good fun must come to an end, so I reached in a pulled him out. Then he started crying and screaming, not wanting to be a mere mortal walking on a linoleum floor but freezer man in his blue hero suit saving the world from freezer burn.

The Bomb

Bomb shelters? Yes, we really did have them. Ours was a make-shift one in out basement on Tholozan. We had a huge basement which had two separate rooms within it. One was a root cellar, which was about as big as a small bathroom. Inside, the stone wall was as it was when it

was built, in the 30's. The other separate room had been installed probably in the 50's

because it had wood paneling on the out side and inside, a more modern door, but no

electrical outlets. So this was our bomb shelter. Sometimes there were blankets down there,

but I don't remember if we even went so far as stocking it with canned goods, flashlights,

or water. Remember, we had to put kitchen sink water into some kind of sealed pitcher,

not easily available in the 50's, when Tupperware was yet to be invented.

The best bomb shelter I ever saw was Joe and Alberta's. Their son, Bruce, was about the

same age as me. It was his effort that made it into a luxury bomb shelter. Their house on

Newport had a sub-basement. Now that's underground.

He had equipped it with old chairs and a sofa. Also, he had cans, dishes, tableware and even

water in glass pitchers with foil on top. I don't know if it would have much good in case of

a nuclear attack, but it was fun to go down there and hang out.

At school, they told us that if we saw a bright light, we should get under our desk and cover

our heads. Every time I saw the reflection of a passing car I was tempted to duck and cover,

at home or school. It now amazes me that we were so naive we believed that would keep us

from being vaporized, especially when kids were killed ducking and covering in the school

halls during tornados.

Sister Hilda had a thick German accent and had convinced the third graders that if the

Russians came over they would kill us for believing in God. You will have to become a

martyr just because you believe in Jesus, she would warn. I thought to myself, Jesus?

Jesus who?

Between bombs and being a martyr I lost a lot of sleep when I was in third grade. I don't

think the Ruskies are as keen on killing us as they were back then and thank God bombs

are a thing of the past.

September Morn

Today, September 24, 2009, is our daughter Diane's 33 rd birthday. When she was born, on

her chart was written: "cry: Lusty." About 12 hours later, a nurse brought Diane to me in

the middle of the night. It seems she was interrupting the other little new borns with her

"lusty cry."

That same night, I had a dream that I went somewhere and then forgot to bring Diane home

with me. Thank goodness that never happened, well, except once, maybe on purpose.

Happy Birthday my sweet little girl. I love you.

The Land of Nod

When I was quite young, there were streetcars, and I loved riding on them with Grandma

Hilda. One morning, after I had stayed overnight at her flat, we took a street car to do some

shopping downtown. While we were waiting for the street car, Grandma told me we would

be passing some beautiful houses in a very fancy neighborhood and see the house of the

man who wrote Winken, Blynken and Nod used to live. We did our shopping at Famous-Barr and Scruggs-Vandervort and Barney, which Grandma Hilda always called "The Grand Leader." We hadn't passed any fancy neighborhoods, so I figured we would pass them on the way home.

When we got off the street car on Cherokee Street, I asked why we didn't pass the beautiful

house where the Blynken man lived. She started to laugh the way she did when she was

particularly tickled. She said she had forgotten she told me that, and really the house was

in a very ugly part of town and a fairly dangerous neighborhood. I didn't quite get it, but

I was glad I made her laugh.

Today, the Eugene Field House has been restored and even though the neighborhood is

still somewhat questionable, people pay to take a tour.

Candy Land

Our next door neighbors on the east had the last name Candy. There was Mr. Candy, his

mother, Mrs. Candy, and his daughter Judy Candy. Judy Candy was a teen ager when we moved

in and she went with a guy called Jim.

For some reason, during the summer, Diane and I slept in her room with our beds pushed

together. There was a huge window fan in her room that sucked in air from the dormer window in my room at the front of the second story. We would lay in bed and read.

It was the summer I discovered Daphne du Maurier, Olivia de Havilland, Peter O'Toole and

T.E. Lawrence. The movies I watched that summer had to be followed by reading the books

to really understand what was going on. It amazed me that Olivia de Havilland could play

the beautiful and mysterious lead in "My Cousin Rachel" and the homely, shy spinster in "The Heiress."

We would read well into the night and wake up around ten a.m. and start reading again.

Just about every night Judy Candy and her boyfriend would stroll from her back porch to

the garage and make out in the shadows. From a certain angle, the lamp post in the alley

provided excellent lighting conditions for us to watch them and giggle. Since most of

the window was taken up by the large fan, it was difficult for us to get at that precise angle.

We were able to do it often enough to giggle and snort at their shenanigans. We would have

the bedroom light off and the window fan off and sometimes we thought they may have

heard us. If that happened we would duck down below the fan and wait until we thought it

was safe again.

Eventually, Judy Candy married her boyfriend Jim. Even before they were married, Jim

was a well-known figure in the neighborhood. He did a lot of walking from Tholozan to

Watson, Ivanhoe, and beyond. He was good looking and friendly, always waving hi, but he wasn't much on conversation. After they were married, Judy and Jim remained in her house and her dad moved in with his "lady friend."

Whenever Jim encountered my dad doing his yard work, he would break the ice by saying,

"cutting the grass, huh?" Or, "barbecuing, huh?" If dad encountered him in the front yard,

Jim would say, "washing the car, huh?" These comments had a seasonal component, too.

"Raking the leaves, huh?" Or, "painting the windows, huh"

Those were the good old days, huh?

Neil Hohlfeld

Our brother, Neil, was honored yesterday in a Houston Astro's pre-game ceremony.

He was awarded a place on the Houston Baseball Media's Wall of Honor. His wife, Lynne, and

their children received the plaque. If you have access to Facebook, you can look at

Lynne Hohlfeld's Photo Album. To read more about the award and the wonderful tributes

written last year, Google his name and also Houston Baseball Wall of Honor.

We were so privileged to have Neil with us even though it was for such a short time.

Our love for him has only grown since his departure.

Sky Blue Pink

Have you ever seen a sky blue pink convertible? Friend Kathy invented it and even though I've

never seen the convertible, I have seen sky blue pink. You can catch a glimpse of sky blue pink

on late afternoons in winter. Every time I see sky blue pink, I think what a wonderful world.

Charlie's

Shortly after we moved into the house on Tholozan, maybe even the first day, my mom sent

Diane to buy something at Charlie's, a small neighborhood grocery store. Mom told her to go through the alley for a shortcut.

As she was walking in the alley, she ran into my dad who was on his way home from taking the

bus home from work. He asked her how she was doing. They both kept walking but then,

Diane stopped and asked, "Where in the heck is Charlie's."

Well, we all found out Charlie's location. At the corner of the block of Tholozan and Watson,

there was a barber shop, a hardware store, Charlie's, a card shop and a drug store. One day, my mom went into buy some hot dogs because there was going to be an extra at dinner. When she

asked Charlie for two hot dogs, he asked her if she was trying to impress someone. Charlie

would ask my brother, Brian, to do his impression of the Japanese wrestler, Kihngsheshahbuba.

At the time, he was about 4 years old. He would take an aggressive stance and put his arms

out and made chopping motions. He took this imitation quite seriously. Charlie's was

the place where I saw my first jar of capers on the same shelf as the sweet relish.

I asked mom what they were and she said she didn't know. I asked Charlie and he said

you put them in salads. Charlie was a tall, broad-shouldered guy and his wife Audrey was

just the opposite. Charlie's apron was tied loosely and always full of meat stains and Audrey's was just the opposite. Her's was tied snugly around her waist and always crisp and clean.

She always wore the coolest shoes. sensible height but with a touch of whimsy. One pair

was black for the most part, but the area in front was a parrot made out of different

colored leather. Mom said she used to be a ball room dancer and fancy shoes probably made her current life, stocking and ringing up the cash register, a bit more tolerable. Both Charlie and Audrey seemed to like each other as well as love each other which is probably a good

idea if you were going to work together.

We all grew up visiting Charlie's on a regular basis. My sister even went to his son's prom.

She really didn't want to go, but my mom told her how much it would mean to both

Charlie and his son if she went with him if he asked her.

Dad was often found at the hardware store. I remember him buying about 5 nails at a time.

All the stuff was in different little bins and you just put what you wanted in little brown bag.

Both my dad and brothers went to the corner barbershop. Evidently there was an unspoken

agreement that children went to the barbershop during the week so the " working men" could

go on Saturday.

The drug store, Duker's, was on the corner. The pharmacist, Jim, knew all our illnesses.

He was also in two Olympics as a speed skater. His wife owned the card shop next door.

They also had a son, and he made it to the Olympics, too.

Across the street from Duker's was Pietro's Restaurant. Rocco was the maitre d' and always

made you think he was giving you the best table in the house. You could go in the front door

or the side door. I don't think I ever went in the front door. On Friday's we would sometimes

meet after work or school. Once we started dating, Pietro's was an inexpensive place to go.

I remember taking Brian's kids there one time when they were in town the same time we were.

Pietro's had a large parking lot and then on the next corner was a fast food place of the

old persuasion. No drive through. It was called "What-a-Burger," no relation to the chain

of the same name. Even when we lived on Winona, Dad would bring back burgers and

malts from "What-a-Burger." We thought we invented brain freezes and chest freezes.

One night my sister and I and her two boyfriends, who were best friends, were walking home

from the burger place. One of her boyfriends was laid back and preppie (it didn't have a name

back then), the other was flamboyant, had a smart mouth and the horror of every mother's

dream. That night, as we walked back to our house, the flamboyant fellow decided he was

going to climb a gigantic metal light post and undo the light. We watched as he climbed and

he was almost half way up when a squad car pulled into the parking lot. The police man asked us what we were up to and we told him we were walking home. Motioning to the light pole, he asked if that kid was with us and what did he think he was doing. The preppie boyfriend told the policeman that the kid had left something on the light post last week and was just going up

to get it and then coming right back down. The policeman said, "Well, after he gets it, go on

home, it's getting late."

Uncle George

Grandma Hilda's brother-in-law, George Mischoff, was married to Aunt Gert. As I mentioned,

they lived on a small farm across from, what is now, O'Hare Airport. I don't know if he was

strange when he was young, but by the time we knew him, he was. For instance, they lived in

a smallish house but they had large storage areas: garages, barns, sheds. That wasn't very

strange, but what he kept in them was another story.

Uncle George never bought one of anything, small or large. He bought two lawn mowers,

two washers, two dryers, two refrigerators, two tractors and two electric ranges. Grandma

Hilda said it came from having gone through the depression. That seems to be a reasonable

explanation. It was hard enough for us to pay for even one item of a kind. I think Grandma

Hilda said he had owned picture shows in St. Louis and then, after they were married for awhile, they moved to Chicago. But, if he made enough to "buy the farm" in 40's, the depression hadn't been too hard on him.

When we were visiting them one summer. I had an asmtha attack and we had forgotten to bring my medicine. The medicine, Tedrel, must have had a touch of adrenaline in it because it was the only thing that would work, and it worked really fast. My mom was able to locate a pharmacy who called a local doctor. My mother spoke with the doctor and he gave the prescription to the pharmacist. (Try to do that today!)

I took it on the spot and by the time we got back to Aunt Gert's I was doing fairly well.

Uncle George thought I was still having trouble breathing and showed me what he thought

was a jar of Vick's he kept on a TV tray next to he chair. He said, "Here, this will help you."

He demonstrated by putting his finger in the jar. He took out a huge amount of the stuff and put it in his mouth. Gert tried to explain to him that I was doing okay, because I had my medicine. I had heard of putting Vick's on your tongue; however, the jar in Uncle George's

hand was a jar of Vaseline.

Sunday in the Park

Today reminds me of days we spent at Reservoir Park on Grand Avenue near our flat on

Lafayette. Most of the memories are with the aided recall of photographs. Some of the

pictures seem to have been taken after church because we are dressed as if we had just come

from there. Mom is dressed in her classy brown suit that she had from 1947 until some time

in the 60's. Dad is dressed in a suit and tie. I have a snazzy coat that might be pink because in the black and white pictures it is light colored and, being a girl, that would be normal.

It is a matching outfit with a bonnet that covered my ears and tied in front, under my chin. Also, Barbara is in a few pictures and she is wearing the "little red jumper" that she had, as the saying goes, from ages 12 through 18. I'm not sure those dates are correct, but family lore indicates they are valid.

Reservoir Park covers a large square block, as I recall, and actually had a tower which, I assumed, held water. You were allowed to walk up the tower and my Dad and I did at least once. Some of the pictures were taken after my sister, Diane, was born. In those, I am wearing

a coat of some kind and Diane is wearing the light-colored toddler coat with the cute little

hat. My mother is still in the same light brown suit and Barbara is in the "little red jumper."

I don't remember there being a playground or anything else to do, except walking and

picture-taking. I supposed it was just a peaceful, green, stopping place on an early Sunday

afternoon.

September

I plan to take a few weeks off to organize the stories yet to tell. Don't worry, I'll be back.

There are at least 30 more subjects to cover.

August

Today it gives me tremendous pleasure to relate this story that Grandpa Joe used to tell in
a variety of ways.

There was a shoe repairman named August and his shop had only a few customers so he

didn't have money to pay the rent. The landlord told him he had to come up with his rent or he would have to close his shop in September. The shoemaker had a few repairs, but he still

couldn't pay his rent.

So the shoemaker put this sign in the window of his shop:
The first of September will be the last of August.

I think it's great and story and I plan to tell it until the last of Marsha.

Block Party

In the mid-50's, Block Parties were in their heyday. Two summers in a row, at least, there were

Block Parities on Winona. The block was so long that only from the hill down to Wabash was

included in the festivities. There were about 15 houses involved and almost every house had

kids. Of course, the Meyer family made up for any childless couples because they had about

eight kids in that one house. It was a strange house that didn't look like any other of the houses

on the block, not even the Neithe house. It was made of dark shingles with dirt instead of a lawn in front and back. There were odd items in the yards and dirty toys of all kind. During the block parties, none of the kids were allowed to go, and the parents chose not to go either.

There were games and food and music. I don't know how they kept the food in the safety zone,

you don't have to worry about that when you are only 10 years old. For entertainment, Joann,

Linda, Diane and Marsha provided music accompanied by a kiddy phonograph and 45 rpm

records. We were somewhat good at lip-synching to "Doggie in the Window," "Lollipop,"

and "Mr. Sandman." We even made Neil take part in the singing, cause he was the only male

lip-syncher available.

After the entertainment, Mr. Nagle hooked up his radio to a speaker of some sort and the

parents did some dancing in the street. We went into Linda's basement and played Super

Market with all the cans her mom had stored there. Sometimes, we'd pretend some of us

were girls and some were boys, and the "boys" would ask the "girls" to dance.

About 10 or 11 p.m., people would start to wander back to their own houses, calling for their

kids to follow them home. Sometimes, we had so much fun at the June Block Party, we'd

have another one in August.

Secret Fan

My brother, Brian, started his musical career while he was still in high school. In fact, he and

a friend, for all practical purposes,single-handedly staged a production of "Little Me" when they were at SLUH. Brian also performed around town with his guitar. He did not want any of his family members to be in the audience. He could sing to perfect strangers, but not to his own family.

There was a time when he was the main (and only) performer at Dohacks, a restaurant. It was

during a time when Dohacks had an out-door seating area. Brian and his guitar would sit in

the out-door area and entertain South County diners.

When my sister found out about this situation, she took matters in hand and made it her cause to, so to speak, catch him in the act. One Saturday night, she parked in the farthest point in the

Dohacks parking lot. Then she slipped around to the back of the patio area. A privacy fence allowed her to sit right behind where Brian would be singing. She waited there until he began

and stayed for his entire set. She gave him an affirmative review, but permission to see him perform solo was still not allowed.

The first time I heard him sing professionally was in the movie "Follow That Bird." I've heard him sing live with others at my wedding and at my sister's wedding, and with his kids. But as of yet, I still haven't heard a live, solo, performance.

Family Songs

Over the course of years, there have been songs that bring us closer as we remember them.

One of the first I remember hearing is to the tune "Try a Little Tenderness." It goes like this:

She may get weary, women do get weary,

Wearing the same shabby dress.

When she gets weary,

Buy another shabby dress.

I'm sure that ditty was from a old stand-up comic, but there were some that were originals.

I do believe that Mary Fran came up with this:

I cantaloupe with you tonight

Though we're a peach of a pear.

I'm plum nuts about you

Go bananas when I kiss you,

But I cantaloupe with you.

My Aunt Rita also wrote a romantic song -- about a fly that was driving her crazy while she

tried to feed one of her kids:

He's gone again,

He flies away every time we meet.

But he'll come back again

And I'll knock him off his feet.

This next song, is really just a title, originated by, I think, Tennessee Ernie Ford:

If I Had a Nose Full of Nickels, I'd sneeze them all at you.

My favorite and most enduring family song was written by either my father or the father of Pogo, Walt Kelly. It is a Christmas Carol.

Do not tarry at the Wassail Bowl too long, Father Dear

Do not tarry at the Wassail Bowl too long.

Do not leave your home and fireside

For a blond that's strictly peroxide.

Do not tarry at the Wassail Bowl too long.

I am happy to say the activity of celebrating events with music has been passed to a new

generation, born in this century. Ezra and Sally sang this to our elderly cat before she made

her transition.

So long Snuggles,

You've had a long run.

So long Snuggles,

We've had lots of fun.

I hope your family has also been able to partake in musical memories as we have.

Since I wrote the original posting, I thought of a few others we liked to hear and repeat.

This one could be from The Dick Van Dyke show:

Be kind to your web-footed friends,

For that duck may be somebody's mother.

And here, a few from Graucho:

Lydia, oh Lydia, oh have you met Lydia,

Lydia the tattooed lady.

Hooray for Captain Spaulding,

The African explorer.

Did some one call me schnorer?

Hooray, Hooray, Hooray!

Hello. I must be going. . .

I will add more as I remember them.

The Bungalow

One of the other flats Grandma Hilda lived in was with her sister and brother-in-law.

Aunt Elsie and Uncle Lou, who were actually my dad's aunt and uncle. Elsie, Gert, and Hilda

were the only Schmidt's alive at that time.

I think Elsie was the oldest and even after she died, Grandma stayed with Lou who was

very sick at the time. After he died, Grandma went on to live with a friend, Vera. After many

years, Vera also passed away and that is when she moved to the outskirts of Chicago on

Manheim Road, to live withher sister Gert. Uncle George and Aunt Gert lived on a tiny farm across from what is now O'Hare Air Port. Most people sold off their little farms in that area and were compensated very well. Uncle George Mischoff would not sell. Two things happened: things like motels and restaurants grew up around them and if you tried to talk it had to be in between takeoffs and landings.

After Uncle George died, Gert and Hilda moved back to St. Louis. They bought what Hilda called "a little bungalow" on Jamieson near Chippewa. They lived together for several years, and when Aunt Gert passed away, Grandma Hilda finally had a home of her own. She was the

last of the Schmidts and lived to be about 93 years old. One time, when she was at least

in her late 80's, we were talking about her family, and I was taking notes. As she told me

about each of them I could tell it was bothering her. I told her we didn't have to do anymore

that day, but she went on for me. At one point, I said, "It doesn't get any easier, even after

all these years, does it?" She shook her head no and dried her eyes with a handkerchief.

The Parade Passes By

Grandma Hilda lived in several flats before she and her sister, Gert, moved into their house on

Jamieson. When I would stay all night with her, we slept in a tiny room that was just big enough for a double bed and a fan, and a few inches of walking space.

There was a big window that we could look out even if we were still in bed. One morning, I

woke up to band music and children having a good time just below us on the street. I wondered

what it was, because I was too young to know what grade school parades were. Grandma said

it was a surprise, and that's why I stayed all night. After the parade, the kids had a picnic at

Forest Park Highlands. Grandma Hilda and I took a bus to the amusement park. To me,

grandma seemed rather old at the time, but she took me on the Whip, my favorite from that

day on, the Merry-Go-Round, and the Ferris Wheel.

We stayed several hours and then took a bus back to her house. I spent the night again, but

unfortunately, there was no parade the next morning.

Anniversary

Today is John and Sally's Wedding Anniversary. They were married in 2007, on the roof of the Western Auto building in down town Kansas City. John's friend, Mark, had an apartment in the

building and graciously took over the pre-get-together and the reception afterwards.

The weather was beautiful for any month, but especially August. Sally and John planned the

whole ceremony in less than a week! She found a beautiful sundress with a white background

any tiny rosebuds and light green leaves. John and Ezra had similar trousers and shirts.

Sally had been looking at wedding bouquets but thought they were too blase and too high

priced. She decided to make her own from spider mums purchased at the Village Garden and tied them together with a golden ribbon to match her gold shoes,

Her bridesmaid was her close friend, Stephanie, and Tim was John's best man. Another friend,

Enrique, played his guitar and sang a romantic version of "Up On the Roof." Ezra received a

medallion from the minister to signify a new union. At the end of the ceremony, Ezra, who had been practicing how he would say it, pronounced "You may now kiss the bride."

After the ceremony, we went down to the apartment and had cake and coffee. Sally got the

cake from The Pastry Goddess. And Mark served cold-brewed coffee, which I had never

even heard of before. Aspen, a friend of Sally's took pictures as did Diane, so we have many

beautiful pictures to remind us of the beautiful day.

Their wedding couldn't have been better if they had planned it for a year and spent thousands of dollars. Since then, they have been blessed with another little boy, Levi. Both boys were

baptized last summer and Sally was confirmed this summer. John Floyd was very busy and

this spring he was baptized, made his first communion and was confirmed all during one

Mass.

Beautiful day, beautiful wedding, beautiful memories

Don't Wake the Pope

When ever I would stay over night at Grandma Santa's house, I would sleep with her. Grandpa Joe's room was right next to hers. He would rise early, about 5 a.m., and get read for work. Sometimes, I woke up while he was getting ready and sat up in bed to see him. Before he went downstairs, he would peek around the corner of the door and see me, about ready to talk to him. At that point, he would always put his index finger up to his lips and whisper, "Shh, the Pope's sleeping." No matter how many times he did it, I would giggle and go back to sleep. I wondered then, and still do, if he was talking about the Pope in Rome or the "Pope" sleeping next to me.

Teen Town

Epiphany parish had a youth group, called CYC, Catholic Youth Council. In conjunction with
CYC, there was a Sunday night get-together called Teen Town. Epiphany's Teen Town was known all over the parishes in the city. I think there was only one other one, St. Mary Magdalen, that could be considered in the same league as Epiphany.

Teen Town was held in the gym and provided a chance for young people to get together and hold each other closely on the pretense of dancing and listening to music. Teen Town was held just about every Sunday, except Easter Sunday, or couse. There were so many kids there that older young men volunteered to keep the school grounds, especially in front of the gym, free from delinquent behavior. Inside, fathers and mothers of CYC members acted as chaperones. The fathers would tap a young fellow discretely on the shoulder if he was holding his partner a little too close. Mother's were concerned about tight and or short clothing for the teenage girls.

One vice that was permitted in the gym was smoking, as long as you disposed of them properly.
This did not serve me well the Sunday evening I went to Mary Magdalen's Teen Town. I was
standing away from the dance floor and waiting for my escort to return from getting us Cokes.
I casually lit a cigarette and before I could exhaled for the first time, two young men in ties and sports coats approached me and told me there was no smoking in the building. They walked me to the door so I could dispose of the cigarette by throwing it out the front door.

I was humilated and steaming not only from the summer humidity outdoors but also because I felt like killing my date. When I met up with him back inside I expressed my disappontment;
his weak excuse was, "I thought you knew."

After that, I frequented only Epiphany's Teen Town, not because I was such a smoking fiend,
but because I knew the territory and really didn't like Mary Magdalen that much. It was too
sterile, what with bright lights and teen age guys in ties and sports coats. It was okay for
the Adult Advisors at my own parish to remind me of my uncouth behavior, but I didn't want someone my own age doing it.

Fyler Bridge

In the 60's, Fyler Bridge and, alas, the Terminal Cafe were taken out of commission when I-44

was going to cut right through the city. Many neighborhoods were severed, including The Hill,

Epiphany Parish and the Lafayette neighborhood. More about that later.

When Jim Puckett worked for the Associated Press, his apartment was in Maplewood. If anyone ever anyone mentioned the Fyler Bridge, he would not believe it even existed. True, the viaduct was still there, but I-44 replaced every remnant of the old bridge.

It also took over where Kathy Belgeri lived on Smiley. One side of the street was paved over

but the houses on the other side were still standing. On Lafayette, my Grandma's house was

demolished but the houses on the other side of the street are still standing.

I cannot even begin to explore this subject in one night, but I will give every aspect its full

description in the future.

Maplewood

The last few years on Winona, I was in 6th and 7th grade. Just about every Friday after school,

after we came home on the school bus, my next door friend, Carolyn and I, would walk down

the long street and catch the Lindenwood bus on the corner of Winona and Lindenwood. We

took the bus to Fyler Bridge and then either walk across the viaduct that led to Maplewood, or waited for the bus to take us across the bridge that went over a train yard. Sometimes I would make the trip to Maplewood with Kathy and Marybeth.

Our main goal in going to Maplewood was to purchase a new release of a 45 rpm single, either

at Katz Drug Store or Goldie's Department Store. At first, it was enough to just buy the

record, but as we became more sophisticated, we bought the record and rushed back to see if

they would play the same recording on American Bandstand, which came on every afternoon

at 4 p.m. Before AB, we had to be content to watch 15-minute programs starring Patti Page,

Kate Smith, and Howdy Doody. I think Charlie Ruggles also had a 15-minute program in there,

too. During the summer, when there wasn't any school, I remember watching "Queen For A

Day." They would focus on these women who were desperate to have a washer, dryer or

kitchen table. The sorriest woman of the day would be voted "Queen For A Day" and Bess

Myerson would swoop in, take off the mink she was wearing and put it on the "Queen." Then

the host, Jack Bailey, would crown her with a tiara. They might as well have taken the mink back after the show, along with the diamond tiara, because what was she going to do, wear them while she did the laundry?

Back to Maplewood. When we had made our purchases, we either walked across the viaduct

or took the bus back to Fyler. The we had to wait for the Lindenwood bus and it was kind of

creepy because by this time, several men were leaving the rail yards to go home. Of course,

we only had to ride with a few of them because most of them made a stop at the diner across

the street, The Fyler Bridge Terminal Cafe."

Cookie Day

At St. Elizabeth's there were teaching nuns and service-oriented nuns. I don't know what their

official designation was, but at SEA the service nuns mainly worked in the kitchen. The sisters were excellent cooks and even better bakers. Thursday was cookie day and for about a quarter you could purchase 3 chocolate chip cookies during lunch period. This transaction was a lot safer than going to the bakery up the street for cookies for about the same price. However, you could not kick back and have a cigarette in the school cafeteria.

Thursday being designated cookie day must have been a religious-order thing because when

my brother Neil went to McBride High School, the cafeteria brothers made cookies every Thursday . My brother Brian went to St. Louis University High School and I don't know if
SLUH even had a designated cookie day let alone specifically Thursday. Probably not because Jesuits make it their business to never copy any group, religious or secular.

The Hohlfelds on Tholozan also had a designated activity on Thursdays. It was trash day. When they were growing up, my brothers were not burdened with many chores. How they turned out to be such wonderful husbands is a mystery to me. Neil had at least one household duty. He was in charge of getting the trash ready and putting it out in the alley on Wednesday night. I think my brother Brian had a chore relating to our dog, Fang, because theoretically Fang was his dog.

Anyway, every Wednesday night my mom and Neil would engage in a conversation that

started with my mom asking, "Do you know what tomorrow is?" And Neil would answer,

"Cookie Day." A variation of this exchange went on almost every Wednesday night until Neil graduated from high school.

First Day

Yesterday was my first grandson's first day of first grade. I don't remember my first day of

school. I do, however, remember my sister's first day of school. At the time, though,

it's apparent that I didn't give a thought. I left her standing on the long flight of concrete

steps leading up to the old red brick school.

The trip to school was awful. My mother told me to stay with Diane on the bus and make sure

she got to the right room. That seemed easy enough. When we got on the bus, the driver,

Jaz, told us to sit in designated seats. I said, "I've got to sit with my sister." Jaz replied, with a cigar in his mouth, "You don't gotta do nuttin'." His real name was Mr. Jazzorka and he ran a car repair shop near the school. Needless to say, his attire left something to be desired. But

he kept the bus in good repair and volunteered to drive the bus. No body messed with Jaz. So in tears, I went to my assigned seat and Diane went to hers. At least I was able to get off the bus with Diane and take her to her classroom.

By 3 p.m, I had completely forgot about the Jaz incident and evidently my sister, too. After

the 20-minute ride, the bus stopped in front of 7071 Winona. My mother was smiling at

the foot of the long driveway that ran uphill and leveled off at the beginning of our front steps.

As I crossed the street, smiling right back at her, I saw her smile turn to disbelief and then to

a sort of worried horror. "Where's your sister?" she demanded. I remembered then, for the first time since 9 a.m., that I had a sister. "I think I forgot her," was my weak reply. "You were supposed to get her on the bus this afternoon." Then the words of the eloquent Jaz, came to mind. Apparently, one of my "gotta do's" didn't get done.

My mother grabbed my hand and ran into the house to use the phone. She called the school,

talked to the principal and told her we were on the way. She grabbed her purse, and without

letting go of my hand, raced down the steps and the driveway and up the hill and down a

hill and across a street, and stopped only when she came to the bus stop sign. At that point,

the Hohlfeld's did not have a car so public transportation was her only recourse.

We had to wait only about 10 minutes, but then we faced another 20-minute bus ride. The

bus stopped at the corner of Ivanhoe and Smiley and we wasted no time walking about 30 yards

to the aforementioned steps. Sitting on the steps was my sister and Miss Lewis, a teacher I

had last year in second grade. Diane actually looked like she was enjoying herself while I, on

the other hand, was miserable. I had had visions of her lifeless on the long flight of

stairs with vultures circling her tiny little body. But there she was, talking and laughing with

Miss Lewis, the young and beautiful Miss Lewis. Last year, all I got from Miss Lewis was

a few smiles, here and there. And this year I had the fearsome Sister Hilda.

My mom thanked the teacher over and over again. Miss Lewis said she had found my sister

waiting on the steps and realized no one was picking her up. Diane told her she was supposed

to wait for her sister. When she asked Diane "What's your sister's name?" she knew

exactly whom Diane was waiting for. Then the principal got involved and asked Miss Lewis

to stay with her until we got there. We said goodbye to Miss Lewis and went back to

Ivanhoe and Smiley to wait for the Lindenwood bus to stop. On the ride home, and even

after we got home, my mother didn't mention what an idiot I had been, which made me feel

even more wretched.

I had told my mom on one of our bus trips what Jaz had told me that morning, which seemed

like last month. So, the next morning my mom walked across the street with us to talk to

Jaz through the opened bus door. Diane and I were busy getting on the bus, so I didn't

hear what mom and Jaz spoke about. A few minutes after my mom went back across

the street, Jaz pulled the huge brake into the on position and headed toward us. I thought maybe he was going to kill us, but instead, he took each of us by a shoulder and plunked us down in one seat. I guess there are some things people "gotta do." Even Jaz.

Watering the Grass

The other evening around sunset, when we were walking into house from the car, there was a smell in the air that immediately made me recall the summer evenings as I sat with my Grandpa Joe as he watered his front lawn on Lafayette.

After a day of being on his feet all day, repairing other people's shoes, he would come home and

eat a small dinner. Grandma always made his first course spaghetti and he ate only about an

ounce with butter and sometimes a little cheese. Then he would have a small portion of whatever else Grandma Santa had made.

After dinner, he would sit on the wide steps that led to their front porch. The steps were concrete and Grandpa Joe would sit there and water his medium size front lawn. I sometimes would sit with him or on a rocking chair on the porch that went across the whole front of the house.

He'd ask me what I had for lunch and breakfast. I think he feared that Mary Fran didn't

know enough to feed her kids. But on the other hand, I think it was a simple way for him

to communicate with me. As the water fell across the hot grass, it gave off an alluring

aroma. At the time, I didn't think much of it, but as an adult, whenever I smell it, it brings

back memories of those long summer afternoons that slipped into long summer evenings.

Sometimes in the late morning or early afternoon, my sister and I, and sometimes Barbara, would sit on the wooden rockers and play "I see something." The participants would say, "I see something blue?" and the other player would respond, "Is it the sky?" Well, of course it was. Then the other player would take her turn. "I see something green." And the other would reply, "Is it the grass?" Yup. As we got older, about 8 or 10, we became much more clever. We would spy passing red cars, or a brown bird. This led to cries of "foul" by the other player because how was she supposed to know what color car went by four minutes ago!

If you can't guess the passing cars then you might as well work them into the game. We

would count how many white cars went buy, or blue, or whatever color we designated. I

don't quite remember the point of that game, but at the time it seemed sensible and natural.

I don't remember ever seeing Grandpa Joe water the back yard, maybe he just put a

sprinkler out there. I do remember "running through the sprinkler" as being a favorite

pass time on a hot summer day. We would dry off as we played on an old swing set that

had been put up specifically to amuse the grand kids, which eventually numbered 14.

Sometimes, Aunt Rita or Aunt Barbara, or cousin Joann, would "lay out" on a blanket in the back yard. They would apply Johnson's Baby Oil with a liberal hand and lay on their fronts and then their backs while we played around them. Once I saw one of them put iodine in with the

baby oil and that seemed really gross, but I asked them to put some on me anyway. Nope.

Too young.

As the years went buy, we got too old to enjoy the simple pleasures of the back yard and

the front porch. If I had realized then what I came to understand about him later, I would have spent more time with Grandpa Joe, just sitting on the steps at twilight, watering the grass.

Kaepas

I wonder how many people remember Kaepa shoes. Both Diane and Sally had them a few times.

The shoes were white athletic shoes with the usual 80's adornments. The special thing about

Kaepa shoes was the removable triangular-shaped pop-ins on the outer side of each shoe. You

got the original color and maybe one extra when you bought the shoes. But, of course, two

wasn't enough. You could buy extra packs of pop-out color triangles. And just like most other

things that are marketed for children, there was only one favored color in each pack. So if you

kid wanted silver, pink, and yellow, you'd probably have to buy three different packs.

For awhile, the girls kept their color pop-outs in a baggie or a jewelry case or some other

special, safe place. However within a short amount of time, the colorful do-dads were misplaced or even thrown out by mistake. By this time, the fad was on the wane, so the pop- outs were no longer on the shelves to purchase. So, there was the poor child's dilemma -- to constantly wear a non-matching pop out that had been on the shoes forever, or to get rid of the shoes that still fit and did not have a lot of wear and tear on them.

I remembered we reached a compromise regarding the out-of-favor shoes. They promised to

wear the shoes in the summer if they could get new ones for school. That sounded great to me.

The only problem was, when summer finally came around their dainty little feet truly had out-grown the Kaepas.

The Music Room

The front door of my Grandma Santa's house opened into the living room. Straight ahead of the

living room was a large dining room, although it did not look as large when I was a teenager as

when I was a tyke. To the left of the front door, was the music room, which eventually became

a television room and finally, my Grandpa Joe's sick room.

Grandma and Grandpa were the first in our family to actually own a television set. From the

outset, there was a ceramic black leopard of about 12 inches long on top of the tv set. The

adults called it a tv light. The light bulb was located in the rear of the statuette, which caused

the leopard to have an aura around him. It was eerie.

People who remember those days, know that the prime-time line up was very limited. However, there was one thing that was on almost from the beginning: Friday Nights Fights. Eventually, there was Saturday Night Wrestling to complete the sports fantasy schedule.

After we moved to Winona and eventually got a car, we would all pile into the dark blue Dodge after dinner on Friday nights and head for Grandma's house. It was almost a half-hour drive,

but my Dad loved to watch Friday Night Fights. He and Grandpa Joe would watch the fights

that came on at 9 p.m. and lasted an hour. If the top matches finished early, a never-ending parade of novices were called into the ring so the program would come out exactly at

10 p.m. Daddy said that sometimes the program would end without the last bout even being

finished.

The women in the house were relegated to the dining room table where they fed babies and

reprimanded children. Of course, there was also eating and drinking at the table and in the

tv room. By the time 10 p.m. came, mothers and kids were ready to call it a night. I remember

when we left, it was always a relief to get outside because the house was usually on the warm

side. But then the cold night air smashed us in the face or the 90% humidity washed over us. I don't remember ever leaving the house on Friday nights when the weather was tolerable.

Now, if the Friday Night Fights had included other family members, such as the Gralikes

or the Veiles, we would stay out even later and go over on The Hill and have brain sandwiches.

The adults seemed to love them and the kids never knew. Our parents told us they were

hamburgers and we believed. Talk about blind trust.

I remember when Neil was 3 or 4 and already showing an interest in sports, he would join

the men in the television room and watch both the fights and wrestling. I suppose it was an

early case of bout mitzvah. It was also about this time that we kids discovered those crisp

squishy things were not hamburgers.

Funny Papers

Another memory of Lafayette is that of sitting on the sofa with my Dad on Sunday morning

reading the "Funny Pages." Sunday's "Funny Pages" were special. They took up a least

four full pages and were in color! Each panel was about three times as big as each panel in

the daily black and white comic strips.

We had a ritual before the reading of the comics. Dad would fill his pipe and tamp down the

tobacco. After that, he would light up, taking at least three or four puffs to accomplish the job.

He'd say, "Bring the pages you want to read." I don't know why he did this every week, because

every week I brought him all the funny pages. I even wanted him to read "Prince Valiant."

Daddy couldn't believe a kid like me would actually want to read "Prince Valiant." I didn't pay much attention to the words. Each week, Valiant was always off fighting the evil-doers, while his beautiful wife stayed at the castle and took care of baby Valiant. I mainly looked at the

intricate drawings and beautiful colors.

"Prince Valiant" was only in the Sunday papers, as was several of the other top notch funnies.

"Blondie" was in the paper every day with the distinction of being at the top of the page of

the funnies. "Blondie" was also the lead-off comic in the Sunday paper. It was on the first page

of the section and was above the fold. Every Sunday, the strips had more panels and gave me

that much more to laugh at. Dagwood was always late running out the door to avoid being

late for work. He inevitably ran into the mailman and they both spilled the contents in their

arms: letters, coffee cups, lunch bags, to name a few. Mr. Dithers and his wife, Cora, made

an appearance every so often. And the kids, Cookie and Alexander, were usually on the phone

or grabbing some thing from the ice box. Dagwood some times made a foot-high sandwich

with onions, cold cuts, tomatoes and pickles stacked on a tiny plate.

I could tell if my Dad was enjoying himself by the times he laughed so hard that he wheezed

and coughed. When he laughed, I did too, matching his hearty mannerisms. Sometimes I had

no idea what I was laughing at. I just followed my Dad's cue and threw my head back and

laughed until tears came to my eyes.

My Dad also had a habit of pointing to each panel with the stem of his pipe. I think he did

that so I would know what words belonged to which panel. I thought this was cool, and

often imitated those gestures when I was "reading" on my own. I didn't have a pipe so I just

used my pointing finger giving it a bounce as I went from panel to panel, making up

stories as I went along.

.

Kindergarten

In addition to the aforementioned "Spiritual Bouquets," I remember some other things about

Kindergarten at St. Margaret's. I don't remember how I got there or home. We didn't have a

car until we moved to Winona, so perhaps I walked with Barbara, or went home with Grandma

Santa.

I remember one day, Miss Alice, the Kindergarten teacher, asked me to go upstairs and ask

my Aunt Barbara to come down and help with something or other. I was to tell Barbara and

wait until she told her teacher and then return with Barb.

I suppose Miss Alice assumed I knew my way around because I had "connections." How wrong

she was. The only operative word in her instructions was "upstairs." So I nodded and took off.

The Kindergarten room was in the basement, so I headed for the steps. On the first floor, I

just stood there and looked down the long hall. The floor was polished to a beautiful shine

and all the doors with frosted, textured glass, were closed. What to do. What to do. After

waiting there a few moments, I knocked on the first door. A tall, slender nun opened the door

and waited for me to speak. I waited for her to speak. Finally, she said, "Well?" I answered,

"Is Barbara Simeone in this room?" She told me that this floor was for grades one through

four and Barbara was on the upper floor. (I guess Barb was know to all the teachers because

of Grandma Santa.)Sister pointed to the steps going up. I ran up the

steps to the second floor and knocked at the first door I came to. I repeated the message to

this nun who shook her head and pointed down the hall. "Sixth Grade," is all she said. As she

closed the door I could tell she was not happy by the interruption.

Of course, trying to deal with all this added tension, had brought tears to my eyes. I walked down the hall, eyeing each name plate on the doors through my tears. It came down to two doors with Sixth Grade printed on them. It took me a few moments to decide which one to knock on. I knew whichever one I knocked on, it would probably be the wrong one. Should I knock on both doors at one time? What if I left the building and went home? Would anybody know, or care? Then I remembered I didn't know how to walk home by myself. More crying. I finally decided to knock on the one right in front of me instead of the one a few feet from me. When the nun in this room opened the door, she could see this pitiful looking five-year-old with tears streaming down her pudgy face. She bent down, gave me a hug and said, "Barbara,

your niece is here for you." I guess I did have connections. At least this nun knew me.

Barb came out and said, "What a baby. Why are you crying?" I tried to talk, but I was taking

in more air than I could exhale. "Wait a minute. Here's your problem. Your shoes are on

the wrong feet. How did you walk all day like this?" We sat down on one of steps and she

changed my shoes around. She thought I was crying because my shoes were hurting me. I

didn't bother to tell her that I didn't even know my shoes were on the wrong feet and I was

crying because I had such a hard time finding her.

While she was changing and buckling my shoes, I told her, "Miss Alice wants you to help

her do something." Barbara said she was glad to get out of her class and go down to help

Miss Alice. I was glad I didn't have to go in search of anybody else. And even though I didn't

know my shoes were on wrong, my feet did feel different, and better, than when I went up

those awful steps.

After Mass

Sometimes, when my little baby sister was not having a good Sunday morning, my Dad and I

would go to Mass at St. Margaret's by ourselves. There was no such thing as a noon Mass. But the 10:00 Mass did last until about 11:30 a.m. On our walk back to our flat, we would take a right turn and go up Lafayette to Grandma & Grandpa's house. We would go through the gangway to the back porch, because we knew by this time Grandma would be in the kitchen off the porch making Sunday dinner. She would offer me a drumstick from the mounds of fried chicken she was making, or a little bowl of spaghetti (who ever heard of pasta) with homemade meat sauce. Of course, I never refused either of them.

Grandpa Joe would always come to the kitchen to see Dad and me. Like clock-work, after they

shook hands, Grandpa Joe would ask, "You don't want a drink, do you?" My Dad would

answer, "If you're having one, I might as well have one, too." So, Grandpa Joe would go into the cabinet below the sink, and fetch a bottle of whiskey. The sink didn't have a real cabinet under it like today's do, but it had a few shelves behind a fabric "skirt." Then Grandpa would ceremoniously go to the white, built-in cabinet across the room. It had a glass door separated into several panes. He'd open the door slowly and get the shot glasses down. Then he would

slowly pour an even amount of whiskey into each shot glass, replace the cap on the whiskey,

and offer one of the glasses to my Dad. He waited until Grandpa Joe picked up his, and then

in unison, they drank their shot of whiskey. Then again, as if it was scripted, Grandpa Joe would ask, "You don't want a beer chaser, do you?"