The Middle Class Forum Returns

Another long, two part letter from Pop to Newton Mfg.  The first part touches on what it was like fighting on a battleship in World War II.

December 27, 1964

Beth Murphy

Newton Mfg. Co.

Newton, Iowa.

Dear Beth:

I have just been going through my big old roll top desk and sorting out things. I came across several nice comments from YOU on my writing ability Etc, and I thought that it being the time of year when everyone (mostly anyway) tries to think and say nice things, that it was certainly in order that I thank you for your nice opinion of my writing ability, although I must again say that I don’t think I have it to the extent of it being worth anything.

You are right in that I have had loads and loads of experiences, have been all over the World (or almost so), have rubbed elbows with the great, and have seen the other extreme. In fact in my early youth when I worked in New York City, I roomed with the Superintendent of the Bowery Mission. Also I AM either “up or down” but I guess all of us are that way. I can almost burst into tears for instance at the sight of those poor souls in the Bowery, and an hour later I can be infuriated at the sight of something I don’t like. THIS year it happens to be the President of the United States. I immediately get up and leave the room if the boys or Mama have on the News and he comes on. I have had my likes and dislikes over the years on both sides of the fence, but this man is the only man who holds such a high office that I ever actually hated. Guess I better quit talking about that, my blood pressure is up already!

Twenty four years ago I was sitting in the corner of a compartment on The Battleship Iowa and the big tears were rolling down my cheeks because they were playing “Silent Night” over the ships loud speaker. I just said to myself “Boy if I ever get back to the old USA and out of this mess, nothing will ever bother me again,” but you see it DOES. I was a pretty happy guy when I finally entered San Juan De Fuca Straits in Seattle though, and for the first time for a good many months saw the Stars and Stripes flying on AMERICAN soil. I guess I just never grew up until I had four years of War under my belt. Don’t know as I have yet. I get pretty nervous and irritable at times now, but Mama charitably says that “It’s due to the War”. I don’t think so, as I was as safe as I am sitting right here. A Battleship is darn near unsinkable so I was not in the least bit worried about that.

I think actually that the only time I was worried during the whole War (and I have probably mentioned it before) was when we were up off Newfoundland once in the early part of the War and the German Pocket Battleship Bismarck was supposed to be “lurking” around somewhere, between there and Iceland or Greenland.

Somewhere when I was young, during World War I, I had read about the accuracy and the terrific fire power of the German Navy, and make no mistake it was, it took (37 ships I think it was) quite awhile to sink the Bismarck when the British finally caught up with her later in the War.

Anyway we were anchored in Argentia, Newfoundland and one of those nasty Atlantic storms came up. Big as we were, we were dragging our Anchor, so we just “up anchored” and headed out to sea to ride the storm out, so we would not run aground. It must have been about two in the morning when “boom, boom” something went off. I said to myself “Boy, oh boy! THIS is it,” and about half the ship’s crew started dead run for their battle stations even though General Quarters had not sounded, AND most of us did not even bother to dress either. I grabbed a life jacket and a helmet and that’s about all and “took off”.

Just seconds later (it seemed like years) an announcement came over the loud speaker saying that some of the depth charges from our Destroyer escorts had broken loose in the storm, and that for some reason or other they had “been triggered” and gone off, so THAT was what we all thought was the Bismarck, and I can tell you that although we all felt kind of foolish, that we were also greatly relieved.

I have always had the greatest respect for The German Military Machine. My Dad always told me that if I lived long enough it would be to see the day that the Germans would lick the World. He was not far wrong. They have come uncomfortable close to it in the last two times that we have tangled with them, and I understand that the West Germans have the finest Army in Europe right now. …. I would not be the least bit surprised if they tried it again, except for the fact that weapons are so terrible today that it doesn’t seem possible that anyone would dare try it.

Tags: Pop's Letters

In this second half of his December 20 letter Pop describes a different social era from our own.

Speaking of Counties and Towns. Another thing that we did was “to take care of our own.” Every child in school knew of the children that were very poor, or who had parents who were sick and could not get out and earn, and so as Christmas approached those of us who were more fortunate, shared with those who were not.

We held a “chopping bee” for those who did not have any wood, and for those who did not have clothes and food enough, the women got together at The Church or School (by the way Church was held IN the School by a traveling Minister) and they took the knitted things such as sweaters, socks Etc and all the food and preserves that was necessary not only for Christmas, but they were cared for until they were able to work. We took care of our own in other words without the benefit of The Great Society.

I will have to say in all honesty that there were Poor Farms and I have read about some of them being run by a regular Simon Legree, but the man who ran the one nearest to us (in Ellsworth) almost made himself a pauper by buying and giving so many things to his inmates. I realize that today also there is a “stigma” in being poor. That was not so in “my day”. We just considered them unfortunate and did what we could with what little we had to make their lives more comfortable.

Even what they call the Insane today, did not exist then. Most every family had someone in it that was considered “foolish” but NEVER insane, and they were not “sent away” but were watched by some members of the family continually, since they were a part of the family, the family considered it their burden to care for them. Most always it was to the “very old”, and as you drove by in your carriage you would see them “rocking gently on the porch” and perhaps mumbling to themselves, but in actuality they were quite often happier than the rest of us. At any rate they were not put in padded cells, behind iron bars with hundreds of strangers, they were actually cherished. I think perhaps that came from our Forefathers close contact with the Indians, who in a great many Tribes thought the “foolish” were “touched by the hand of God” and thus were to be cared for and “revered”.

At THIS time of year, any child that was in the house was of a certainty considered “foolish”, because (according to the weather) there were skating parties, Bobsled parties, hay rides in the moonlight, behind a couple “of old plugs” decorated with bells, hauling an old hayrack full of straw (and of course hot bricks) on sled runners, and of course any kid “worth his salt” had a “snow Fort” of tremendous proportions.

Actually it might be square and ten feet on each side or it might be a blockhouse that high with “peepholes” and all the “fixings” of one of the old Forts at Pemaquid, Maine or at Castine or Bucksport. These were made during “wet and heavy” snowstorms of course and the “provident” also made pile after pile of nice round snowballs for future use. I WILL admit that caused the “razor strop” to be brought out more than once, as when the snowballs hardened, it was almost the equivalent of throwing rocks and many of us got a nice black eye or a gash on the cheek if we were hit in that place. Of course we were warned not to aim at the face, but sometimes it was not possible to be that accurate, so as I say some of us wound up with a little “first aid treatment”, and the one responsible wound up in the barn with “the razor strop”. I still have the one Dad used on me and next Spring when you come around, I will show it to you. Since I am an “old softie”, I have threatened but never used it. When “Pete” (my eldest) was 12 years old, I used it once and then found out that I had punished him for something that he had never done, and from that day to this I have never laid a hand on one of my Sons. I was upset for years even though he said “that’s all right Dad, you didn’t know”. Yes Sir! That’s one part of “The Good Old Days” we can do without. I will send them to their room, turn off the TV, confine them to their own dooryard, and a few other things, but I will NOT lay a hand on them.

I have strayed a long way from your Grandfather, but may God rest his Soul. My Grandfather was the only man that I ever really what you called “loved”. He was an old sailing vessel man in his younger days, and was a “peddler” when he “quit the Sea”, so I suppose I get “the salt in my veins” and what “peddling” ability I have from him. Anyway he was one of the finest men that I ever knew and I have covered at least two thirds of this old world.

Merry Xmas and Happy New Year.

Leon.

Tags: Pop's Letters

In this “two-parter” Pop writes about life growing up in Maine.  The first part is about food preparation back then.

December 20, 1964

Mr. Harold Lufkin, V.P.

Newton Mfg. Co.

Newton, Iowa.

Dear Mr. Lufkin:

Having been one of those “State of Mainers” like your Grandpappy, your Christmas letter was of special interest to me. You and some of the Gals at Newton have always flattered me by saying that I ought to write a book. Well I guess we will have to call this a “mutual admiration society” as I think YOU should write the book.

One of the things that I always did like though is Tripe. I can easily understand though why a great many might not. It tastes a great deal like sour pickles UNLESS it is cooked right. My mother used to soak it for several hours in cold water before she cooked it. Then she made a batter of eggs, dipped the Tripe in some flour and the batter and fried it. It came out a beautiful golden brown and looked a good deal like a piece of French Toast does, AND it was delicious. Of course she was very fussy when she went to Market. There are two kinds of Tripe. We always had what you call the Honeycomb Tripe. Try it again sometime, and especially with your Saturday night beans. If you have ANY part of Maine in you, then you must like Boston baked beans, put in a bean pot with some nice salt pork, a little molasses and cooked slowly until done, and of course served with Brown Bread steamed in one of those old fashioned coffee cans.

The Salt codfish was also one of my favorites. This of course is also soaked in water for several hours to get the most of the salt out of it, and then you “try out” as Mother called it some salt pork, and you use the fat from that (which is very sweet and tasty) on your boiled potatoes and codfish. Of course the best Codfish that you could get was to catch it yourself, and having been “born to the Sea” that was what we generally did. Then the fish were cleaned, split open and laid out in the sun on a wire netting to dry (salted of course). When they were “cured” they were hung in the attic or some dry place for future use. If you ever happen to be around Nova Scotia you will see a great deal of this going on even today.

Of course a great many of the things that we did in “yesteryears” would give The Food and Health Inspectors “the horrors” today. I expect that perhaps a great many flies Etc must have “lit” on the drying fish, and that perhaps an occasional “bat” stopped for a sniff when it was in the attic, but you know (perhaps it is because my memory is short) I can’t remember that we HAD a great many flies around when I was a boy. Mosquitoes and the little “black flies” yes, but I really don’t remember too many of these “filthy flies” that we have around today. Perhaps it was because we did not have too many insect killers for them to multiply and grow fat upon?

And of course all of our popcorn came from the attic, as the ears of corn were hung up there to dry, and on cold winter nights we just stoked up the old Glenwood and made popcorn or popcorn balls. Could not just put it in an Electric one as you do today, with butter and all the fixings right in the package. No sir! We even had to work for our “eats” in those days. When the stove was hot enough we got out the “cornpopper” which had a handle on it and just shuffled it back and forth across the stove until all the little kernels turned into fluffy white “popcorn”. Of course some liked what we called “the old maids”. Those were the kernels that did not pop. Christmas we always had the “cornballs”. They were made by putting the popcorn in a bowl and mixing them with molasses, forming them into “balls of corn” and letting them set until they were not sticky anymore (or not too much so). Later of course came the early modern days and Mother colored them. Anyway they were hanging from every limb of the Christmas tree and Christmas was just not Christmas without them.

Tags: Pop's Letters