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.