The New Year is usually an occasion for contemplation. We think about the year ahead and promise ourselves that we'll stop doing things that hurt us and start doing others that will be helpful. When the moment arrived where I began to reflect on the past, I started remembering things that aren't here any longer—things that are missed and a few that aren't.
For example, I can remember looking forward to Sunday papers that included a rotogravure section. For those under 40, that was a slick group of photographs from all over the world reproduced by a process that made them look like printed snapshots. Pictures in the roto section would make the dry news come alive with images that stood out from the page. That part of the Sunday paper has been replaced by heavy handed magazine sections that most people ignore. The rotogravure pictures couldn't be ignored. They were a reflection of the time in which we lived—then.
Going to the movies was always interesting because, in addition to a double feature, you could look forward to the newsreel. These differed from TV news broadcasts in several ways. Usually, they were a couple of week behind the action—it took that long to make it to the movie screens from the battlefronts of the world. Second, newsreels usually contained a feature designed to make you laugh or at least shake your head at mankind's foibles. And finally, they did very little editorializing in their contents. They were an attempt to report the news as it happened. The editing that took place was reflected in the choice of stories that made it to the screen, not in the way those stories were told.
Then there were the news features, notably "The March of Time" which focused on a particular subject. One example I can remember seeing as a small boy was devoted to the invincibility of the French army in the Maginot Line before the German World War II conquest of France. Another "March" speculated on the future of the immigrants who fled the dust bowl and settled in a hostile California. The commentator speculated on the possibility that they would starve in the barren California desert as graphically described by John Steinbeck in his "Grapes of Wrath."
In many upper middle class households, there were servants to help the lady of the house. Those "maids" were a combination of nanny, house cleaner, laundress, baby-sitter and grocery shopper. Maids had names like Katie, Mary, Rosie, and Elizabeth. They earned, during the depths of the depression, perhaps $8 per week plus room and board and had a couple of afternoons and evenings a week to themselves. And they were happy to have jobs and relatively comfortable surroundings.
Factories manufacturing consumer goods welcomed visitors to tours of their facilities. Places like the Wrigley gum factory, Campbell Soups, Curtis Candy and Wanzer Dairy all had regular tours followed by a sampling of their products. Visitors included school or summer day camp groups and tourists. Those were the days before product liability risks were so important, the days when the threat of product tampering was virtually nonexistent. The tours were a form of advertising by the companies that developed a brand loyalty that no longer exists in our price conscious society.
Some folks lament the passing of low priced commodities. Ten cent loaves of bread and twenty-nine cent gallons of milk are long gone. But those same people have conveniently forgotten how little they were able to take home from a 48 hour, six day work week and how hard it was to afford the milk, bread and $29 men's suits offered at the department stores.
One thing missing in our world today is simple service. Years ago, department stores would gladly deliver your purchase to your home at no additional cost. When you went shopping, you could expect to be greeted in every store by a bevy of sales clerks anxious to help you select the exact merchandise you were looking for. Today, it's almost impossible to find anyone to direct you to a particular department, and paying for goods is done at an impersonal checkout counter where the prices are calculated by bar codes (sometimes erroneously) without the cashier even looking at you as a customer. Today, we're confronted by the choice between "courteous and efficient self-service" or no service at all.
There was a time when a lot of your needs were delivered to your door with a smile. Milkmen would arrive with a basket filled with products and you would indicate, usually on a card posted on your back door, what it was that you wanted him to leave that day. At the end of the month, there would be an itemized bill showing how much milk, cream, butter and eggs you had bought that month. The same was true of fresh produce. Truck owners would collect their goods from what were then called truck farms. Those farms ringed the cities in areas that are now prosperous suburbs. Trucks would start well before dawn and move the freshly picked veggies into the city, offering the goods from the rear of the trucks at reasonable prices.
Service and friendliness were traditions you could rely on. They came in all forms. Postal delivery was twice a day and postmen were always willing to stop and chat. Streetcars had two workers on board—a motorman to run the trolley and a conductor to collect fares, give out transfers and offer directions. The conductor was always willing to talk to his riders and even on a bad weather day was helpful. Policemen walked beats in many city areas and knew everyone who lived or worked there.
While things were no less stressful in those years, they were certainly more friendly. Contacts were more personal. And the future looked brighter than the present. Looking ahead today, can we say the same about the year ahead? Let's hope so. |
