Sorting and Filing

I have so many boxes of papers and old photos in my bedroom alone, I am trying to go through them one by one, tossing items no longer needed, refiling important documents, archiving photos for later scrapbook pages.  I have found papers, bills, documents 10, 20, 30 years old in those boxes.  Most of them I routinely trashed; safely stored many others.

There were many good memories like trips with my children to Lion Country Safari in Florida and my oldest son's Kindergarten graduation folder, letters from my aunt, and old newspaper clippings.  But some were bittersweet, like the photo of the car my now ex-husband and I bought together, and our wedding invitation.  I stared at that one for a little while; I re-read it.  My most prominent thought was simply, "what a shame."  Just what a shame.  So much blessing, so much promise, so much hope, and gone.  I didn't cry, but I couldn't find it in me to toss it out either.  So I scanned and filed it in old memories.  Maybe I'll never look at it again, but still it is and was part of me and of our family, and I can't just throw that away, even though he did.  

Chatty Cathy and Her BFF's

The Knoxville News Sentinel had an article last weekend about a doll collectors' meeting in the Knoxville area. It featured one woman's 400 piece collection of original restored Chatty Cathy dolls, one of the most popular favorite dolls of little girls in the 1960's. First produced by Mattel in 1959, she was the first "talking" toy and could repeat phrases such as "I want a cookie," and "Let's have a party" by pulling a string at the base of her neck. And "she's cute," quoted the article.

I remember my Chatty Cathy, and my older sister's, as we were always apt to get the same toys for Christmas, even though we were three years apart in age. She took much better care of hers than did I, as she was a much girlier girl than I. I seem to recall coloring Cathy's eyelids black and perhaps cutting off all of her hair. Maybe that's why I stopped getting dolls for Christmas. It led to much jealousy the year my sister got a lifesize (for an 8-year-old) bride doll, and I got some floppy stuffed baby doll that didn't do anything.

I'm pretty sure we both had a pre-Cathy Betsy Wetsy doll as well. Betsy ... you guessed it: she peed. Well, thankfully it was simulated pee, water from a miniature plastic baby bottle squeezed into a little hole in her mouth and coming out a little hole you know where. Of course, and also thankfully, they weren't allowed to make anatomically correct dolls when we were children. Nor would the baby dolls of our childhoods hardly be considered politically correct today: mostly fair-skinned with rarely an ethnic variety among them, and appropriate for teaching little girls how to become above all else dutiful and doting mothers, feeding, bathing, and changing their babies, and if the girl were lucky, pushing them along in little baby buggies (think Margaret of Dennis the Menace fame).

Could be part of the uproar over the newly emerging Barbie doll was that it threatened this idyllic role training of little girls in an era when women were beginning to have louder voices in the world. Inspired by Marilyn Monore with her curvacious figure pared down to more respectable proportions, the Barbie doll opened the eyes of young girls everywhere to the world of fashion, travel, and careers. I remember having had three Barbie dolls in my life (all given up by the age of 10): Barbie, her bff Midge, and Barbie’s sister, Skipper, all of whom had clothes, shoes, and accessories galore. My sister had, I think, every Barbie-clan doll made from the time they first appeared in the stores in 1960 until late into her teenage years. She finally gave them away, perfectly preserved, to a younger neighbor girl. My Barbies, on the other hand, lost limbs, hair, and all their clothes before they finally disappeared into the night. Like I said, I wasn't a girly girl.

I hope that decades from now today's little girls will look back just as fondly on their Baby Alive and Bratz dolls of this era, even if they do color their eyelids and cut off all their hair.

Wordless Wednesday - An Oil Painting by My Dear Late Sister, Debbie

click on picture to enlarge for greater detail

I Think I Saw that Movie

Sometimes ideas just pop into my head in the middle of the night, so I get up and write them down, mainly because I have trouble sleeping anyway, but also because maybe I’ll think of something to say. Tonight it was movies—really old movies, the ones I saw as a teenager or very young woman a l-o-n-g time ago. As they flash before me, I realize I didn’t really understand most of them then, not the plot, the statement they were trying to make, or the storyline, really. It makes me want to watch them again, really watch them, with a lifetime of experience and perhaps understanding, and a little wisdom thrown in, behind me.

No reviews here, as that would require some extensive research since I don’t much recall the movies and this was meant to be a quick post. But I do remember certain scenes and images even if I can’t explain the plot.

Dr. Zhivago – Omar Sharif and Julie Christie starred in the original 1965 version of this epic saga of the life of Dr. Yuri Zhavago between 1912 and 1925, the years that span the WWI, the Bolshevik Revolution, and the Russian Civil War. It also starred Rod Steiger and Alec Guiness. I was only 12 when I saw this movie, a very adult movie for such a young girl, especially one who wasn’t even allowed to cross the street by herself at the time. I had never even heard of the Bolshevik Revolution then; no wonder I didn’t understand the movie. I remember the magnificent scenery in the Russian winters, the “ice palace” and the frozen lake, and the gorgeous costumes, especially the furs. And who can forget the the enthralling music, especially “Lara’s Theme.”

The Godfather – Francis Ford Coppola’s 1972 saga about the aging patriarch of an organized crime dynasty who transfers control of his clandestine empire to his reluctant son. With major stars like Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan, Robert Duvall, Diane Keaton, and Abe Vigoda, all I really remember is the horse head in the bed.

A Clockwork Orange – Directed by Stanley Kubrick in 1971 and technically a sci-fi movie since was set in futuristic London, it was billed as the movie “about the adventures of a young man whose primary interests were rape, ultra-violence, and Beethoven.” Starring Malcolm McDowell and Patric Magee, I fortunately don’t remember many violent scenes (I probably closed my eyes). Speaking of eyes, what I recall most vividly is the reconditioning of the young criminal by some new experimental aversion therapy that involved forcing his eyes kept open (with the use of plenty of eye drops) by some mechanical device as he was subjected to countless hours of violent images played before him. I never did understand the significance of the title; I might have been in a slightly-altered state of mind at the time myself.

Chinatown – Starring Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway, it was Roman Palanski’s 1974 film about a private detective who stumbles on to a scheme of murder that has something to do with water and leads to a dramatic showdown in Chinatown. I know I saw this movie, but I don’t remember anything about it, except wondering how they all ended up in Chinatown.

The French Connection – Gene Hackman played Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle in this 1971 film about a couple of New York cops in the Narcotics Bureau who stumbled onto a heroin smuggling job coming in from France (hence, the French connection). I remember the car chase(s).

I still don’t really like spy and espionage-type dramas…way over my head, or attention span.

Then there were the “in” movies of the 70’s, the ones that sort of defined the decade.

Annie Hall – Woody Allen’s 1977 film about a neurotic New York comedian Alvy Singer (played by his truly) and his love affair with the ditsy and equally neurotic Annie Hall played by Diane Keaton. My thoughts at the time: What could anyone possibly see in Woody Allen?

Saturday Night Fever – John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, 1977, scored by the Bee Gees. Already loved him; just wanted to see him dance. I have actually seen bits and pieces of this movie since the 70’s, so I recall more. Stuck in Brooklyn, the only way Tony Manero (John Travolta) feels that he can make something of his life is to become king of the disco floor.

Although I can still picture Travolta’s gyrations on the disco floor, I don’t remember the ending, but I do remember thinking how much my brother Jon (right) resembles him (still does).

The Goodbye Girl – By Neil Simon, filmed in 1978, starring Richard Dreyfuss and Marsha Mason. A romantic comedy about an unemployed dancer and her 10-year-old daughter who are reluctantly forced to live with a struggling off-Broadway actor. In a sort of practical co-habitation, they end up falling for each other, which two-time-loser-in-love hesitant Paula (Marsha Mason) resists (hence the title, goodbye girl). I’m not sure there were any memorable moments in this one.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show – A real cult flick made in 1977 starring Tim Curry as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, a scientist, and Susan Serandon, the heroine. Meatloaf was also in the movie. A recently engaged couple have a car breakdown in a isolated area and go to this bizarre mansion-castle for help. Transylvanians dance to the 'Time Warp', Dr. Frank-N-Furter, a mad scientist from the planet Transexual, builds his own man, a beautiful Adonis he names Rocky, and a whole host of participation for the audience to enjoy.

I was living in Miami, Florida, at the time, and I saw this with a group of straight and gay friends from work. While many fans went to the movie in full drag, my friends did not, at least not the time I was with them. (It was a movie to be seen over and over and over again, although I would not recommend it for a young person.) It was the audience interaction that was most fun as we took our bag of props with us to the theatre. For instance, you hear a loud “bang” and the couple’s tire blows, and at the same instant, everyone in the audience pops a balloon. The couple run through the rain to the castle while the audience squirts squirt guns at each other. Fans sang along with the songs and held lit cigarette lighters to light up the darkness. Ridiculous, eccentric, it was fun. The last lines of the movie as the castle and the aliens within it fly away:

And crawling on the planet's face

Some insects called the Ruman Race.

Lost in time,

and lost in space......

and in meaning...

Then there are the classics, movies I’ll love forever, and that I have actually seen many times but still want to see again.

Fiddler on the Roof – Made in 1971, with Topol as Tevye and Norma Crane as Golde, his wife. What’s it all about? One word: Tradition. Tevye sums it up in the first lines: “A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But here, in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn't easy. You may ask 'Why do we stay up there if it's so dangerous?' Well, we stay because Anatevka is our home. And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word: tradition!”

The music is glorious, and even though this movie took place around the same time as Dr. Zhivago, in pre-revolutionary Russia, I loved the story line of a poor Jewish peasant who had to contend with marrying off his three daughters in non-traditional ways while antisemitic sentiment threatened his home. It is a beautiful story of romance with a glorious musical score and memorable characters.

The Sound of Music - Made in 1965 with Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer, perhaps the best musical (or movie) of all-time. This is one you can hardly forget as it airs almost yearly now, like The Wizard of Oz, usually at Christmastime. A biographical saga about a nun turned governess who ultimately falls in love and marries a Captain with 7 children, it has everything: music, the stunning scenery, a basis in fact and history set in WWII Austria, romance, drama, comedy, adventure and suspense (a little). Loved it all, and will watch it again and again and again.


Cabaret – Bob Fosse’s 1972 musical starring Liza Minelli and Michael York. At the center of the movie is the Kit Kat Club. The club is the hub of Berlin’s lowlife during the rise of Nazism—an essentially immoral place where anything is for sale. While I do not remember anything more specific about the movie, I cannot forget Liza Minelli’s appearance in garter belts and bowler hat.

So many others, too many to mention, and you can see now why I just have to see them again—surely they all have much more relevancy than my memory alots them. Then, too, with the price of everything through the roof and the economy in such a slump, to put it mildly, good old-fashioned movie nights are an attractive alternative to nights on the town (not that I’ve had one in 20 years). Time to trade some DVD’s, pop some popcorn, and settle in for a family oldies-but-goodies movie fest.

Fa Ra Ra Ra Ra, Ra Ra Ra Ra

Christmas dinner is a time-honored tradition. Undoubtedly like most Americans, I can remember childhood Christmases where we gathered the whole family for a huge dinner, turkey, dressing, cranberries, potatoes, candied yams, green bean casserole, rolls, pumpkin pies, the whole nine yards. Sometimes at our home, but more often at my aunt and uncle's home in another county in my home state of Ohio. Both my aunt and uncle were wonderful cooks and there was always an abundance of mouth-watering holiday dishes.

As the years passed, and cousins and siblings went their separate ways with their own families, my family carried on as many of the traditions as we could. But our fesitivities were always much smaller as we were generally living far from our Ohio homeland and unable to do much traveling. Funny how we always seemed to make the same amount of food, though, despite the fact that we had far fewer people to feed.

Now that my children are grown, our holidays are much simpler but just as delightful. This year, my eldest son and daughter-in-law and my grandson visited us on Christmas Eve. My grandson Drake's first Christmas--he is 8 months old.

What a joy to watch him, entranced as he was by the ribbons and bows and lights...more on that later.

We had our big Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve since we would all be together, the three of them, my husband, myself, and my youngest son who still lives with us. Same traditional foods, but I did manage to force myself to make just a little less than I had done in Christmases past. We had a wonderful time.

Christmas Day was uneventful for the most part; our youngest spent the day with his girlfriend's family, which left dh and I to fend for ourselves. With no big dinner to prepare for the first time -- ever -- we decided to go out to dinner with our dear friend Inez. I don't know about other parts of the country, but here in East Tennessee, NOTHING is open on Christmas Day. We had a choice between the local Chinese Restaurant and a Waffle House. We chose the Chinese Restaurant.

Do you remember the movie "A Christmas Story," made in 1983 with Darren McGavin? It takes place in a 1940's fictitious town in Indiana (filmed primarily in Cleveland) and centers around little Ralphie Parker's desperate attempts to convince his parents, his teachers, and even Santa, that the Red Ryder BB Gun would be the best Christmas present in the whole wide world. It's a wonderful movie filled with many of the wholesome traditions we all remember (but mine are from the 50's and 60's, not the 40's), shopping for a Christmas tree, standing in line to see Santa, presents under the tree, staying up late to put them together, and getting up early to take them apart, and most of all, Christmas dinner!

Unfortunately, those folks didn't get to eat their Christmas turkey because a pack of neighborhood dogs somehow got to it first, and as Ralphie explains in the movie, "The heavenly aroma still hung in the house. But it was gone, all gone! No turkey! No turkey sandwiches! No turkey salad! No turkey gravy! Turkey Hash! Turkey a la King! Or gallons of turkey soup! Gone, ALL GONE!"

Our trip to the Chinese Restaurant, Peking Buffet, reminded me of the next scene where Mr. Parker packed the family off to their local China Palace for a Chinese Christmas Dinner. What is tradition, anyway, without family? The togetherness in the celebration was what made it special. As was ours. Our Chinese Buffet was excellent and we had a wonderful time of togetherness.

Oh, but no one sang "fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra." And, thank goodness, I didn't have to cope with a Major Award, and there is no leg lamp, broken or otherwise, in my front window.

Christmas Past

Make a Smilebox photobook

The Stick

For all of you who are wondering just what to get your modern child for Christmas, here's a novel idea: Get him or her the wonderful, inventive, ingenious toy that was most recently inducted into the Toy Hall of Fame at the Strong National Museum of play -- the stick! Yes, that's right, the old-fashioned stick!

If you were a child prior to the electronic age, then you already know the power of the stick. Long before high-tech video games, computers, ipod's, and the like, there were cardboard boxes (also a toy inducted into the Toy Hall of Fame in 2005) . . . and the stick. The only accessory needed was our imagination. The stick could be a slingshot or a pistol if it was shaped just right; almost any old stick could be used for a sword or a baton, or an imaginary horse to ride on, and a good, sturdy stick was perfect for a walk in the woods and made an excellent bat for baseball or playing stickball. Add pets, and you could spend hours playing fetch with the dog or dangling a rope of yarn before a cat. The possibilities were limitless. Even if it got left in the wash, no real harm was done, except perhaps a pull or two on better fabrics.

I have to admit, they weren't much fun to play with while just sitting on the sofa or lying on the bed (think "pet rock"). They required active play and beckoned one to come running, in sheer defiance to a mother's frantic cries of "don't run with that stick!" Marketed properly, it's the ideal toy for today's generation of inactive, unimaginative, overweight children (and adults).

That gives me an idea. It might make me famous, or at least rich . . . I'll get back to you.

Have a blessed day!

Vintage Cartoons

We found these vintage cartoon/poems among my late uncle's possessions as we sorted through the remnants of his and my aunt's estate. I've never seen anything like them before, and find them most interesting, if not entertaining.

I've tried to research their origin to no avail. I've seen similar cartoon pages, but nothing quite like these; and most of the ones I've run across have been printed in black-and-white, with or without poems, mostly without. They probably also pre-date these quite a bit, perhaps the early 20th century.

So, where did these cartoons come from? Some sort of book or magazine? When were they published? By whom, and who is the artist/poet?

Why did my uncle keep these (besides the fact that he apparently kept EVERYTHING, down to dime store receipts and operator manuals from appliances long since discarded)? Did he find them personally significant, some sort of commentary on his own life or emotions? Did he just find them humorous, nothing more? Could it have been my aunt who saved them, and not my uncle? If so, the same questions apply.

If anyone knows anything about the origination and history of these or similar cartoon pages, please comment. It's a mystery I would like to see unraveled.

Have a blessed day!

Babies Don't Keep

Well, here I am "retired," 20 years too late, and now that I could do whatever I want with no time schedule, I find there is nothing to do, yet still so much to do. If this were 20 years ago, my dreams would have come true. I would be a stay-at-home mom, I would be there for my two young sons, they would be the priority of my life as it should be, I would see their first steps, hear their first words, watch their first everythings. Instead, I missed it all, left it to the hands and hearts and eyes and ears of strangers. Not because I wanted to; not because I was out there climbing some insignificant corporate ladder; not because I was trying to keep up with the Joneses, but because I had to. My circumstances forced me to.

So now, here I am, semi-retired, no schedule, no deadlines, no walls, no bosses, but it's all too little, too late. Nevertheless, I'll log my days, my hours, my unevents; maybe I'll see a pattern, maybe something good will develop, even though nothing could ever take the place of, make up for, all the time I've missed and all the time my boys have missed with me. I'll never get over it, I'll never get it back, I'll never replace it, I'll never forgive it, myself, my circumstances.

Most people look forward to retirement. Perhaps they don't have regrets. Perhaps they feel as though they've done their part, they've earned it. Perhaps retirement means more when you can move to Boca Raton, take a cruise, buy a condo, fly to Paris, I don't know. I still have too much to figure out. Too many things I wish I'd done differently, too many years I wish I could rewind and relive.

There's a timeless poem that reminds us "babies don't keep." I heard it many years ago, and it's been the lament of my soul since my children were small. The mother in this poem is not worried about the appearance of her home, her undone dishes, her unmade bed, laundry half-done; she has more important tasks at hand. She knows that in an instant her children will be gone--her boys, men; her daughters, grown. Her job is eternal, and her tenure fleeting.

Oh, how my heart ached every day I had to go out to some office somewhere and leave my children behind. At night, I cried; not from the sheer exhaustion of it all, but because I had to do it over again the next day, drop my little boys off at some daycare center at what seemed like first light, not being able to pick them up again until dusk. It didn't seem fair.

They grew so fast. Now they are men, gone their separate ways, and the days I missed and the days they missed cannot be recovered. All the jobs I've ever had sooner or later went on without me, I never got richer, or more important, or more renowned, never got a bigger house, finer things, yet it's 20 years later and I'm left wondering where all the time went and what it was all for.

Because I had to work, I had no choice. I wonder.

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth

empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

hang out the washing and butter the bread,

sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo

but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Have a blessed day.

Theresa Lillian Matthai

Just realized that my cousin Cathy submitted a new comment on a previous blog entry of mine which I wrote this past birthday. Noticing that I had referred to my mother as Theresa Lillian Matthai, Cathy stated she never knew her name was Theresa and asked why she had always been called "Lilly." My Uncle George, Cathy's father and my mother's brother, had also mentioned to me sometime back that he would like to see me write more about my mother since he felt he hardly knew her, at least in those early years of our lives as he was away in the Navy and she was so much older than he. It also occurred to me that perhaps Uncle George did not know my mother's first name was actually Theresa, so let me explain.

Indeed, mom had always been called Lil or Lilly, and for most of her life believed her first name to be Lillian and her middle name to be Theresa. That is what she had always been told and, of course, had no reason to doubt it. The story went, as she related it, that my grandmother loved the name "Lillian," but my grandfather, Karl, wanted mom to be named after his mother, Teresa, still in Germany. They couldn't agree so, mom was told, settled on the name "Lillian Theresa" (spelled with the "h").

Mom had always hated the name "Lillian;" and, in fact, while growing up and particularly in high school and her early adult years, refused to be called Lillian at all. She went by her "middle" name and all of her friends called her "Terry," short for Theresa, but not nearly as pretty. Somewhere along the way, she dropped the "Terry," and went back to Lillian, as I do not ever remember my father, grandmother, or aunt or uncle calling her anything but Lil or Lilly. Perhaps she outgrew the novelty of it all. (In my youth, I changed the spelling of my name from R-o-b-i-n to R-o-b-y-n because I thought it was cuter.....but, I digress.)

So, mom was Lillian to most of us and certainly to Grandma. Here's the twist: After Grandma passed away in 1977, mom found her own original birth certifiate among other of Grandma's important papers and personal effects. Apparently, mom had never had occasion to look at her birth certificate before because she was certainly surprised to find that her name was listed as "Theresa Lillian Matthai" on the birth certificate, not vice versa. It seems Grandpa Karl had had his way after all! Mom was a bit perturbed to say the least, as she spent all those years remaking herself into "Terry" when she was "Terry" all along.

I personally can't picture her as "Terry," or "Theresa" for that matter. She just seems like a Lillian to me. I miss her.

As an aside....did you know that Aunt Loraine was always adamant that her name was misspelled as well? I believe her name is "Lorraine Roselle Matthai." She always insisted that "Loraine" should be spelled "Lorain" (one (1) "r;" no "e"), but to compromise, she kept the "e" at the end of her name, although she refused to keep the two (2) "r's." Uncle George, did you happen to find HER birth certificate among all the paperwork you recently had to sort through?????????

Have a blessed day.

I Remember

I just now read the story my Uncle George wrote about "the olden days" called "How Many Remember This" (see his blog at http://gematthai.blogspot.com/2008/03/how-many-remember-this.html). I wish I'd read it sooner. It seemed to center on shopping in downtown Cincinnati and touched on the stores, the modes of transportation, where we ate, all fondly remembered by George, and many of us who read the article as well. I too remember most of the people, places, and things he mentioned, although I am quite a bit older than his daughter, Cathy, my cousin, who commented that she could recall such sites and experiences as well.

I particularly remember going downtown with grandma (Nora), and it was always an all-day excursion on the bus and back. We always went to Woolworth's and Neisner's and Shillitos. I do not remember elevators with elevator men (I assume they were all men), but I do remember what George mentioned last in his article, escalators. In those days they were very, very narrow and steep, a bit frightening to a little girl who thought she might get caught if she didn't jump off just right!

We always ate at the lunch counter at Woolworth's, one thing I dearly miss and recall very distinctly. We always sat in a booth as well. (I think Grandma was too short to sit on the bar stool.) I also remember the basement; we always went there as it was called the "bargain basement." Since Woolworth's and other such stores in those days were called "dime stores," I don't know how much more of a bargain there could possibly have been found there. I suppose they were akin to today's "dollar stores."

Stroll down Memory Lane for more history and pictures of Woolworth's at this blog:


http://expolounge.blogspot.com/2007/01/woolworths-lunch-counter.html

An egg sandwich was $.30. Imagine that!

Cathy, I, too, remember the candy counter: we often were treated with candy necklaces--little candy "jewels" on elastic string--or candy strips--those wide pieces of paper with about 4 "dots" of colored candies neatly spaced in row upon row; or my brother's favorite, tiny wax "Coke" bottles, 4 to a tiny carton, with juice inside. One just had to bite off the top--and spit it out :) -- to take a drink. And what about the candy "cigarettes?" Sticks of pure sugar with a red-painted tip; we surely looked grown-up with those hanging out of our mouths!

Get it all here at Nostalgic Candy.com http://www.nostalgiccandy.com/index.asp



I was always most impressed, though, by the Tyler Davidson Fountain in Fountain Square. I know it's changed so much over the years, both the fountain and The Square, but it always stood out as a most amazing site! (Photo courtesy of HelloCincinnati.com)



There was no air conditioning on the buses (do they have air conditioning today?), and the windows were always open in the summer. They only went down half-way as I recall; perhaps a safety feature? The buses were loud and hot and crowded, and they stopped at every block. We couldn't wait to pull the string when we were nearing our stop and always bickered over whose turn it was.

I still can't really say, "Those were the days," but there will always remain some fond memories. Thanks for the story, Uncle George!

Have a blessed day!