Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 23: Coupon Clipper

                 Fred behind counter, Jane with customer                                                          

Back in the fifties and sixties, my father had a love for coupons. It started when he had the store. Since the supermarkets were accepting coupons, my father had to do the same in our store or lose his customers. We had lots of customers and they liked saving money, so you can imagine the amount of coupons collected over a month’s time. The only problem was that someone had to separate the coupons before Fred could mail them out to the manufacturers and regain our losses. Guess who got stuck with that job? Yep, Jane and I. As soon as Michael and Lucy were old enough, they were also shanghaied.

                                                             

                                                                     

Every Wednesday right after dinner, Fred would place the paper bags full of coupons on the kitchen table. Then he would repeat the same instructions, word for word, that he did every Wednesday night. “Separate by company, then by product, then mark down the amount in the copy book. Don’t mess up.”
We kids hated sorting coupons. There were hundreds of stinking coupons and it took hours to sort them all. One day, the four of us devised a plan to stop the flow of coupons that made their way to us every Wednesday night. 

We started stuffing the coupons down our shirts whenever a customer handed them over with their payment. The plan was to dump the coupons down the sewer at the end of the street. We were able to dump two full bags until a neighbor caught us and told Fred. Darn snoopy neighbor!
                                                                    

                                                                  

Fred went ballistic. “Are you *&%&$#&* nuts? Coupons are the same as money. Go to your rooms.”  All four of us were grounded for a week. Eventually, the companies changed their redemption policy and it was less work for Fred to redeem his profits. We were set free!!

We were young and didn’t understand the importance of those coupons to Fred or that those coupons were paying for our clothing, school, doctor’s visits, summer camp, etc.

I swore that I would never clip coupons when I grew up, but here I am sitting at the table clipping coupons and I swear, every once in a while, I hear Fred saying, “Separate by company, then product, then mark down the amount………”

Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 19: A Day in the Life

                                                             

Woke up, fell out of bed dragged a comb across my head…no, I’m not channeling the Beatles, but that song from Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band to describe a typical day working in the store with Fred and Lucy. My parents were both up before 5a.m. in order to receive the fresh milk and bread from the delivery men.

                                                              

My mother had Jane and me up by 6:30 in order for us to have enough time to get dressed and help out with the morning hour business before grabbing our schoolbags and running off to school.  I hated working the morning. Our customers were tired and anxious to get back home to get the kiddies off to school. Why they waited until morning to realize that they were out of lunchmeat and bread to make lunch for the kids, I’ll never know.

                                                                 

Fred wasn’t in a good mood either that early in the day because as soon as the milk delivery was made, Fred, who was the poster child for OCD, had to rotate the milk as soon as it arrived. That meant Jane and I would be on our knees pulling out the day old milk to the front and placing the fresher milk to the back.

                                                     

              

                          Mom was always dressed nice even for the store

The flooring behind the counter was hard wood, but because it was in bad shape, Jane and I were always pulling out splinters from our knees. We had to do the same routine with the sliced bread; moving day old bread to the front and fresh bread in back, but the customers weren’t dumb and they would just toss the older bread to the side and grab a fresh loaf.

                                                         

                    Aunt Helen and Jane with our cousins aka The Stock Boys

After school, Jane and I would change into our work clothes and either help out behind the counter or go help the stock boys bring up the cases of soda or canned food. Yes, Fred called my cousins, Jerry, Michael and Anthony the stock boys, but when they messed up or broke a bottle of soda (the bottles were made of glass back in the days) then he would call them, “Dumb asses.”

                                                                  

Jane and I worked out a technique of doing our homework in between waiting on the customers. I would sit on the edge of the potato bin and do my homework while Jane would do hers sitting on the freezer that held the ice cream. After homework was completed and while there was a lull before the next rush of customers, Jane and I watched American Bandstand and practiced all the new dances.

                                                           

Michael and Lucy were still young, so they helped my mother in the store while Jane and I danced to the music on TV, and Fred took his nap upstairs. My father was very protective of his naps and heaven help you if you disturbed him during this time.

                                                                        

 
There was only one reason he would allow for his nap to be interrupted and that was only if “God himself needed to ask Fred a question.” All other interruptions were discouraged at the risk of early death.

When Fred was rested and back at the store, Jane and Lucy would help mom with the cooking while Michael and I worked the store. When it was time to eat, we ate in shifts and took turns waiting on the customers whenever the bell rang as a person entered the store. We learned to eat fast or suffer a cold dinner. Some things stay with you forever, and unfortunately, I find myself still speed eating.
                                                             

                                                             

Jane and I being the oldest worked in the store until 10 p.m. and then we went to bed to start all over the next day. It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure and sometimes I feel that we four kids missed out on our childhood…that could be why we were so wild when we did get out.

                                                                   

Life with Fred & Lucy Part 15: Day Trips To Nowhere

                                                                         

                                 Our Desoto looked something like this

Once in a while my father, who normally kept the grocery store open seven days a week, would close early on a Sunday afternoon and take the family on a day trip. All four kids would pile into the big Chrysler Desoto. That car was like built like a tank and its bumpers were wide, which was good because of the way my mother drove. Before every trip my father would announce, “If you have to pee, do it now.”

                                                                  

Our reply was always, “Nah, we’re good.”
My mom would bring a thermos of ice water and pack some snacks for us, especially if it was going to be a long ride. When it was time to leave, we four kids would scramble out the side door of our house and race to the car. I never figured out why we raced to the car because we couldn’t open the door; my father had the key, but as soon as the car doors were unlocked, the fighting began.
                                                                  

“It’s my turn to sit next to the window,” two of us would yell out. It was usually Jane and I who always tried to commandeer the windows. 

“You had the window the last time.” Came the quick reply and shoving from the younger siblings.

“Get the hell in the car you knuckle heads,” my father yelled at all four of us. Why the fight for the two rear windows? People who are baby boomers already know the answer, but for the younger generations, I'll explain.

There were no air conditioned cars back then, as far as I know, and if you were lucky to claim a window, you could position yourself to get the most air when the car was in motion. Plus, it was fun to roll down the windows. 
                                                                           

I’m seeing some confused looks out there so let me explain a bit more. We did not have electric windows in the 1948 Desoto. Windows were manually lowered and raised. See the handles in the above picture. Although this is not the inside of a Desoto, you get the idea of what the interior of an older car looked like and what was missing. We'll talk more about this further in the blog.

These day trips were never planned in advance, but taken at the spur of the moment. My parents were just trying to get their overly active children some fresh air and exercise. At least that's what they told us, but we began to suspect another motive. My father would usually head out to a place with big open spaces like Fairmount Park or Valley Forge. But, no matter where we were headed, it wasn't long before one of us would announce, “I have to pee.”
“Didn’t I tell you to pee before we left?” My father yelled.
“I didn’t have to pee then.” This need to pee always hit one of us when we'd been on the road for a short time and only when it was too far to turn around and head home.
“You kids are a pain in my ass,” my father would yell and then he and mom would start fighting. But, since Dad didn’t want any of us to have an accident in his fancy car, he would pull into the first gas station.
My mother would then herd all four of us to the back of the gas station where the restrooms were located. Mom  then placed a ton of toilet paper on the seat to protect us from ‘man germs’.

After we were settled back into the car and at our assigned window positions, my father headed on the road again. Everything was good until we kids started acting up and climbing all over the back seat.       
No! We didn’t have seat belts back in the old days. No seat belts, no infant car seats, nothing was child proof and adults smoked cigarettes in the car. Guess what; we survived.                                                                                                                                

My poor parents spent the entire trip yelling at us to behave and then yelling at each other about who the children took after. We were a wild bunch and could not sit quiet for longer than a few minutes. In fact, the entire trip would always consist of us complaining about who touched who, or who was getting all the air from the opened window, or who was shoving who. When we finally reached the park, my father , who looked like he was having a nervous breakdown opened the door and yelled, "Get the hell out of the car."                                                                                

“Go…run around,” my mother grumbled as she threw a ball for us to chase. We four kids chased after that ball for hours. When it was time to go home, dad would whistle and we'd run back and pile into the car, only to fall asleep on the long ride home.
                                                               

Sometimes, my parents would just take us for a long ride to nowhere. I think they were trying to find a place to dump us. You know someplace far where we wouldn’t be able to find our way back home.

Good memories for us baby boomers, but unfortunately for families today, the heavy volume of traffic on today's highways and the high gas prices are making road trips like I grew up with, a luxury that is getting harder to do. 

Gilbert Shares Some Stuff We Never Knew

                                                                     

This funny joke below was posted by my brother Mike. We don't normally hear from him because of his crazy work schedule. It was rumored that that he'd become a vampire as we hardly see him during the day.

                                                                             

Another rumor going around was that he is the authentic Rip Van Winkle from the Washington Irving story.

                                                                         

Who knows? But, every once in a while, due to the planets aligning in the right configuration in the heavens, or maybe just a lighter work schedule; we're honored to see him awake.

                                                                           

Michael is the brother from my last Life with Fred & Lucy. He is the brother to three sisters who loved to get him in trouble; he was so accommodating. His sense of humor and love of practical jokes equals my dad's, and in some cases, surpasses it.

                                                                         

So if you're wondering where certain phases come from, wonder no longer. Michael has graciously supplied us with an explanation to one of them. Enjoy!


                                                                          

For some time many of us have wondered just who is Jack Schitt? We find ourselves at a loss when someone says, "You don't know Jack Schitt!" Well, thanks to my genealogy efforts, you can now respond in an intellectual way.

Jack Schitt is the only son of Awe Schitt.

Awe Schitt, the fertilizer magnate, married Miss O. Needeep They had one son, Jack.

In turn, Jack Schitt married Noe Schitt. The deeply religious couple produced six children: Holie Schitt, Giva Schitt, Fulla Schitt, Bull Schitt, and the twins Deap Schitt and Dip Schitt.

Against her parents' objections, Deap Schitt married her cousin Dumb Schitt, a high school dropout. After being married 15 years, Jack and Noe Schitt divorced.

Noe Schitt later married Ted Sherlock, and, because her kids were living with them, she wanted to keep her previous name. She was then known as Noe Schitt Sherlock.

Meanwhile, Dip Schitt married Loda Schitt, and they produced a son with a rather nervous disposition named Chick N. Schitt.

Two of the other six children, Fulla Schitt and Giva Schitt, were inseparable throughout childhood and subsequently married the Happens brothers in a dual ceremony.

The wedding announcement in the newspaper announced the Schitt-Happens nuptials.

The Schitt-Happens children were Dawg, Byrd, and Hoarse. Bull Schitt, the prodigal son, left home to tour the world. He recently returned from Italy with his new Italian bride, Pisa Schitt.

Now when someone says, "You don't know Jack Schitt," you can correct them.

 

Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 12: Discipline

                                                                        

My parents were strict, Italian and Catholic. That’s all I have to say and I think you'll get the gist of where I'm going with this newest episode. How did Italian parents dish out discipline in South Philly? Swiftly! But, I don’t think it mattered what your nationality was; parents demanded respect back in the old days, and believe me, they got it.

                                                                       

                                                       Lucy, Mike, Me and Jane

My siblings and I were a handful, but we didn’t start out each day asking ourselves, “How can we drive Fred and Lucy nuts?” Honest! It just happened. We never meant to drive our parents crazy, but somehow,  we  always did a good job of it

I was the mouthiest of Fred and Lucy’s four cherubs; always debated the rules. I would challenge the rules, bargaining for more freedom. Jane, only eighteen months younger, often chimed  in. Did we weaken our parents' stance? Hell no!  I told you they were strict.

                                                           

                                                     

When the four of us weren't getting into trouble, we were fighting. The three sisters usually siding against the lone brother. Poor Michael was outnumbered...but...every once in a while he got even. Michael had an inquisitive nature. He was always taking things apart just to see how they worked. Our clocks and radio the most frequent targets.
                                                                       

My father would normally find parts of the wall clocks or radio in my brother’s room. What was Michael building? My brother eventually figured out how to bug the whole house before he reached the age of twelve. He missed his calling in life and would have made a great 007. Needless to say, between my sassing back and Michael's need to experiment on household objects, we received most of the spankings, but only if our parents could catch us.

My father had a bum leg from a childhood accident that had landed him in an Atlantic City Hospital for two years. He'd developed osteomyelitis and almost lost his leg. That illness left him with a limp, but if we made him angry enough, he’d chase us throughout the house.

“Get back here,” he’d yell as he limped after us. Sure, the belt hurt and sure, we would cry, but my father would only hit on us on our butts and then all was forgiven. My mother was not so forgiving and it was my mother who we feared the most.

                                                               

                                                      Release the Kraken!

My mother used various objects to get our attention when we four kids misbehaved: wooden spoons, slippers, hair brush, a doll (that Patty Play-pal Doll story is for a later time) but when she was close enough, she used her hands. Her bedroom slippers were her weapons of choice. Her aim was better than any of the Military Drones used today.                                         

I still don’t know how she did this, but she would throw her slipper at us and that sucker would track us down; turning corners if need be. It didn’t stop its flight until it made contact. Did Mom’s slippers come equipped with radar? We’ll never know, but her aim was just as good with the hair brush.
                                                                     

                                                                                 
We knew we were in really big trouble when she took out the wooden spoon. This spoon was the one used for the ritual making of the Sunday Gravy. The wooden spoon wasn’t that big, but my mother used it like a numchuck, and there was nothing wrong with her legs, in fact, she ran faster than we did. My parents demanded respect not only for them, but for our neighbors and customers, and heaven help us if a neighbor complained about us; out came the strap or spoon.

Today, teachers today get little respect from their charges or the little darlings’ parents, but back in the day, if you can home and told your parents that Sister Mary Margaret (who I think was a relative of Attila the Hun) hit you with her ruler; you were hit again by your parents. Why? Well, according to my parents, it was always our fault.

All that discipline didn’t harm us, and if anything, it made us stronger, respectful, less of a cry baby, and more importantly, taught us that we were accountable for our actions. Every action has a reaction and our generation knew this and lived by the code, and if my parents were alive today, Mom would be using her slipper on  the knuckleheads in Congress.

                                                                            

Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 10: The Offspring

                                                                                   

                          Fred & Lucy's offspring at Atlantic City.

Christmas Eve was the big festival in our family. My Grandmother along with mom and my aunts Anna and Rose would help prepare the seven fish dishes…yummy! My siblings and I try to keep up with the tradition, although, because of the rising cost of fish; I’m down to four selections.

                                                            

The Siblings

We are our genetic code! You can argue all you want, but the proof is in the pudding. We've inherited our characteristics, both physical and mental, from a long line of ancestors. My siblings and I share most of my parent’s physical ailments and a whole bunch of mental crap, too.
                                                                   

 OCD runs rampant in our family, which makes us wonderful employees: loyal, hard-working, dependent, and detail oriented…but we can also drive ourselves crazy with this need to do everything right.

                                                                                                                                                          
                                                             

My two sisters, Jane and Lucy along with my brother Michael were a wild bunch. Don’t get me wrong, we were well behaved and respectful to everyone we met, but we like the Little Rascals and the Three Stooges were always getting into some miscalculated mess. Did you notice me giving Jane the stink eye?So using our baby pictures, Let me introduce you to the children of Fred & Lucy.

                                                                                         

Lucy…the baby… was the peacekeeper between Jane and I. Poor Lucy is the one that was dragged unknowingly into some of our craziest projects, usually with us telling her, “Don’t worry, we won’t drop you.”

                                                           

Jane…the second child, was the sister that I was jealous of. She is the sister that I tried to sell her to the Fudgy Wudgy Ice Cream Man down at the shore.

                                                        

Michael was the only boy… Mom's favorite. He drove Fred crazy by taking every clock in our house apart; he was mechanically inclined. He was always ratted on by his three sisters whenever he did something wrong, which was usually a  daily occurrence.

                                                                

                                                                  

Last is me…the oldest and the ring leader of the oft disastrous escapades that always landed us four kids in loads of trouble. Was I a brat? Maybe not so much a brat, but someone who constantly challenged authority.

                                                             

Here is the whole family at Palumbo's with Uncle Pat and his girlfriend. Now that you’ve met the family , I hope you’ll visit my weekly episodes of "Life with Fred and Lucy".                                                                                     

Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 6: Don't Break the Baby

                                                                

                            Baby Lucy, the youngest of the siblings                                           

Okay, from the first five episodes, I’m guessing that you’ve figured out that my siblings and I were a wild bunch of tots. On the few occasions that we had free time to ourselves to play, we played hard and sometimes dangerously.

                                                       

                                                                    

To set up the scene of where we did most of our playing, I’ll tell you about my father’s storeroom. Except for our kitchen, the living room and the bedrooms were on the second floor of our two-storied home. What was originally the living room on the first floor was now being used for stock. My father had boxes and boxes of can food lined up in neat rows that took up the entire room. There were small walkways between the aisles. The boxes were stacked almost to the ceiling.

                                                               

                                                                    

 Get the picture? My siblings and I had our own Himalayan mountain range to explore

                                                              

I was seven years old and Lucy was only six months old when my father bought the store. My job was to watch over my little sister. In the old days, no one wore helmets or knee pads.

 

                           Michael, Lucy, Mom and Jane in background                                                

Kids back in the old days, played hard and fast without worrying about the scrapes and bumps that come naturally with childhood. We were survivors; we loved adventure. By the time that Lucy was three years old, I took on the responsibility and job of teaching  Lucy how to have fun via mountain climbing with her crazy siblings.

                                                                                                                                                    

My parents were so busy in the store that they had no idea what the hell we were doing. They assumed, wrongly, that we were maybe playing hide and seek in that big old stock room. Ha!

                                                                        

Jane who was nine and Michael who was five at the time would climb the boxes until they reached the very top; only a few feet from the twelve foot ceiling. They would then pull up  Lucy as I pushed her from below. Once we were all on the top of the stacks, we began to jump (I kid you not) from one stack of boxes to another.

                                                              

God must have had his entire army of Guardian Angels watching us crazy kids as we risked limbs, and most likely our lives, jumping the entire length of the room; stack to stack. We never did fall or drop the baby, but our days of mountain climbing ended one day after my father walked into the stock room. Look at the picture above. My father had that same expression as he caught me in the act of passing Lucy over to Jane's side of the mountain.

                                                                     

“What the %*#@* are you goofballs doing? You’re going to #%**@# break that baby. GET DOWN, NOW!!!

                                                                         

Needless to say, I received a spanking and lengthy speech from mom, which in my opinion was worse than the spanking.
                                                                                  
We were banned from the stock room; unable to climb the Himalayans. But, it wasn't the end of our adventure. We kids were rather resourceful when it came to our play; resourceful and dangerous. My parents, always busy in the store, never learned about us playing firemen on the roof of our first floor addition.