Life with Fred & Lucy: The Curtain Man

                                                             

                                                  Me and Mom

Back in the days, before Cable, Super Walmart’s and, online shopping sites, most people ordered what they needed for their homes from the ‘Curtain Man’. I’m talking about the late ’40’s and ’50’s when doctors made house visits and milk, eggs and butter were delivered to our doorstep by the Abbotts milkman.

                                                          

Even our fruit and vegetables could be purchased fresh daily during summer months from a horse-drawn wagon. In South Philly, we even had a man who would show up every Friday afternoon to sharpen the neighborhood’s knives and scissors on his grinding stone pushcart. But, the person who families anticipated the most was the Curtain Man. As soon as the lanky salesman with the big brown suitcase walked up our street, housewives would grab their payment books and cash.

The Wizard

I don’t remember the Curtain Man’s name, but by the time I was three years old I had begun to associate our next door neighbor’s knocking on our front door with my mother’s running for her purse. The curtain man, always dressed in a suit, was young and wore thick glasses. It wasn’t him that made the ladies drool, but what he had in his suitcase. It wasn’t until much later, and after seeing The Wizard of Oz, that I understood the magic of that suitcase.

This man had samples of just about everything a housewife would need for her home: curtains, pots and pans, dishes, glassware and kitchen towels. My mother would order what she needed and once the product was delivered the following week by Mr. Curtain Man, my mother would make weekly payments which she’d mark down in her payment book.

The Curtain Man never complained when I would look through the suitcase, touching the curtains or lacey hankies and, he never came empty-handed for the kids. There was always a lollipop waiting for me before he left our home. Around the month of November, he would even sell a few items for Christmas: dolls, train sets, books.

                                                   Me and Dad                             

One day, my dad happened to be home when Mr. Curtain Man stopped by. My dad was a conductor on the trolley system; the old PTC system that later became Septa. My dad was making good money at the time and on the day he was home, Mr. Curtain Man had something new to sell. At that time, no one on our block owned a television set.

                                                        

When Curtain Man explained the payment system, my dad was hooked and the set, ordered. It wasn’t that big of a screen, maybe 8 by 10 inches, but every Saturday night, most of the neighbors came over to watch a variety show. In 1949, there were only three stations and a handful of shows to watch. All were done live. Eventually, as the economy got better and our neighbors were making better money, they began to purchase their own sets.

                                                                

 

As more cars filled up our empty street and as people became more mobile, my mother and the other women would head out to Gimbel's or Wanamaker’s in Center City Philadelphia and, the magical Curtain Man came to our house, less and less.

Conclusion

Everyone drives to the malls nowadays to do their shopping, or they order online. We buy our groceries from big mega shopping centers. Strangers at our doors are seldom welcomed with open arms. The world has grown caustic, and now, we worry that the salesman at the door might possibly be a thief or worse.  

When I tell my grandchildren that milk was delivered fresh to our door every day, they assume we kept a cow in our backyard. When I tell them about the Curtain Man and his magical suitcase, I get blank stares or sarcastic comments, “Was this during the dinosaur days?”

                                                               

I’m surrounded by stand-up comedians! My grandkids look at a suitcase as nothing more than a container for their vacation clothing. But to a three year old child in 1949, the Curtain Man was a wizard and his suitcase held loads of treasure.

Book Signings, Bazaars and a Soul Walk

 

                                                                        

This was a busy and exciting weekend for me, starting on Friday when I was invited to a book signing event at the Atria Living Center in Center City Philadelphia by my friend and fellow writer Harry Kyriakodis. It was a great learning experience for me and the residents of Atria who wanted to know what Steampunk was all about. Did I make any converts to the world of Steampunk? You never know J 

                                                       

  

Saturday, I had the wonderful opportunity of hosting my first “Steampunk Granny’s Bohemian Bazaar” at The Treehouse Coffee Shop in Audubon, New Jersey.  I invited a handful of very talented artists, writers and crafters, all of which are the most amazingly talented and creative people to have at any event. Thank you to all the vendors of the Bohemian Bazaar; you all Rock! And, thank you to the owners and staff of the Treehouse for allowing us to use your fine establishment for our bazaar.

                                                          

   

Dawn Byrne (close friend & fellow member of the South Jersey Writers’ Group) was there selling our group’s anthologies, Tall Tales & Short Stories from South Jersey and Reading Glasses. John Farquhar stopped by to help sell his “What to Expect When You’re Dead".  Dawn has entered into the world of Steampunk with flying colors by creating her own hat and brooch design. 

                                                             

                                                                 

Marie Reid was there selling her beautiful jewelry, Alex Sullivan was there selling his book of poems, “A Printing Madman.

                                                             

Allie Gilbert (oldest of my nine grandchildren, talented Fashion Designer, her work was featured at the Philadelphia Flower Show, and the person who introduced me to Steampunk) was there with her collection of jewelry and pop culture items.

                                                           

Kahlil Weston (Publisher/Writer/Promoter of Independent Artists) was there to sell his books, “The Wes Daddy Mack Hour”, The Young & the Westless” and the Kahlil Weston Hour”. With Kahlil was a beautiful young new talent, Zhariya Amani. This young lady is going places so keep your eye on her rising star and her book “Words in My Head.” 

 
                                                                 

                                                      

Nanci Rainey was there with her book, “Another Day in the Driver’s Seat” and Patti O’Brien (Editor, Journalist, Writer, Blogger and not only my adopted sister but one of the reasons my book “Roof Oasis” is doing so well, was there selling her “LitBits: Messages in a bottle--A little perspective when you need it.”

                             Nanci, Patti, Janet, Kahlil and Zhariya                                                  Magical Faery ArtMagical Faery Art

Cinsearae Santiago Reiniger (Publisher/ Writer/Fashion Designer/Crafter from the Dark Side) was there with her husband, Dan to showcase her stunning dolls, jewelry, etc. Everyone just loved her dolls.

 

                                                           

                                                                 

 

Loretta Lombardi /Health Coach in healthy eating, was there to sell her book for lovers “I’m Hot, You’re Hot.” Loretta offers classes on macrobiotic meals that keep you healthy and sexy. Shelley Szajner is a spiritual healer and guide and besides selling her Magical Fairy Art, Shelley did a few Tarot readings.

 

                                                           

Rosanna Martella/ Health Coach/ Artist/Sculptor, was there to see her book “Healing Epilepsy Naturally” and a large selection of her beautiful sculptures. The fine people of “Steampunk Works” kept their shop open for the Bazaar.

 

                                                            

  

                                                         

 

Ralph& Lee Cobert are collectors of anything Victorian and they design beautiful clothing for people interested in dressing Steampunk and the Victorian Era. Their clothing is featured is several films.

 

                                                      

One of our vendors, Janet Lima, who was there selling her jewelry and crafts, bought a beautiful hat from the Steampunk Works shop. Here she is modeling it. Janet, her husband and their team run the Keystone Spirit Seekers. I was part of an investigation with them. Check it out here.

                                                         

                                                             

                                                           

 

I was there promoting the Bazaar, selling my book, Roof Oasis, the first in a series; an apocalyptic tale with a twist. I’m not shy and was out in the street encouraging people to stop in and shop.  We are planning a Spring Event “Steampunk Granny’s Bohemian Bazaar Part Two” in April.  I’ll keep you all updated.

 

                                Kahlil, Janet, Dick and Cinsearae

After the bazaar, I headed to the Laurel Hill Cemetery for their Soul Crawl through the cemetery’s history with friend and fellow writer and blogger, Loretta Swearingen Sisco and her husband, Ted.

 

                                                             

 

It was a fun night walking through this beautiful and historic cemetery and learning the history of the people buried there.  Cinsearae and her husband Dan were there, too. I bet you never knew that cemeteries could be so much fun!

 

                                                              

The Cemetery is selling my book in their gift shop, and I helped to sell one of the books at last night’s event. What can I say? Steampunk Granny never stops ticking.

                                                               
                                                                      

 

Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 29: Attack of the Gnocchi Python

                                                                                     
                                                              

I’ve mentioned enough times on my blog how my mother’s cooking was always an adventure, but did you know her cooking sometimes involved the principles of physics? Yes, indeed  it did and especially her baking. The incident with the pasta occurred several months after the cake that ate South Philadelphia catastrophe that I wrote about in episode 9.
                                                                       

My mother was determined to make her own hand made gnocchi. This is a dish that normally involves potatoes, flour, water, but with Lucy in the kitchen, her four children were also required. Before I go any further, there are tons of great gnocchi recipes on line. Here is one sample and it sounds delicious:  http://www.101cookbooks.com/archives/how-to-make-gnocchi-like-an-italian-grandmother-recipe.html
                                                                 

                                                                                
But, I can tell you right now, my mother did not use this recipe. Mom apparently scribbled her recipe on the back of a sales slip that the woman who owned the bra & girdle shop on Broad and Porter streets gave her. The sales slip was all wrinkled up because it was shoved to the bottom of Lucy’s purse. Lucy didn’t want Fred to know about the expensive girdle. I kid you not!

                                                           

To make a long story short, Lucy could barely read the instructions, but that never stopped my mom. She was determined to make the gnocchi or else. After making the mixture, she began to roll out the dough.  She rolled and rolled and rolled. The dough seemed alive and it kept growing. It was the size and length of a grown African python. All four of us kids were in the kitchen watching this culinary adventure because my mom thought it would be great idea if we learned how to cook. 
                                                                  

                                                                         

“Mommy, the dough is hanging off the table,” my brother exclaimed in shock.
“Quick grab it,” Mom screamed while  Michael and Lucy tried their best to hold the growing tube of dough, but she needed more hands on board and Jane and I were put on the other end of the gnocchi beast that just would not stop growing. It was a good thing that the four of us were there to help because that sucker was heavy. 

                                                                                         

“What the%*&*#%$ are you doing in here?” my father asked mom after peeking into the kitchen. He had been ringing the buzzer for one of us to run in and help with the onslaught of lunch time customers, but when we didn’t show up, he came looking for us. 

“I’m making gnocchi for dinner,” My mother replied, giving Fred her ‘Release the Kraken’ stare.

“I can’t move. The wall is in my way," my brother cried out.
                                                                      

Picture this! Our kitchen table was six feet long. Jane and I held at least another four feet stretched out in our hands and Michael and Little Lucy the same on their end. Do the math!

“Why don’t you just cut the dough into smaller slices?” my father asked, ducking the sifting can that my mother tossed at him.

After my dad went back into the store to tell his customers what was going on in the kitchen, my mother decided to take Fred’s advice and cut the gnocchi python into smaller strips. We helped shape the gnocchi by rolling the tip of our thumbs across the 2” strips that mom had cut from the gnocchi python sized rope.
                                                                      

That night, my Uncle Pat and his girlfriend joined us for dinner. The gnocchi tasted delicious, but the meal was very heavy. Uncle Pat had to undo his belt, Mom had to take off her new girdle, and none of us kids could move from the table. The gnocchi was turning into lead weights inside our tummies.

My mother never made gnocchi again, not while she was married to Fred, but years later when I visited her in California where she was living with her new husband, she surprised me with a dish of her homemade gnocchi. They were perfect; light and very tasty.
                                                                      

Later I asked my stepfather if mom required his help when making the gnocchi. He took a big sip of his Napa wine, looked over his shoulder to make sure mom didn’t hear him and replied, “It was a nightmare. It kept growing.” Some things never change.

Life with Fred & Lucy, Episode 27: Rat Patrol

                                                                  

My father was adamant about keeping our building roach and rat free, especially because of the stock that we sold in our grocery store. When you live in a big city, you’re bound to encounter a roach or rat at some time in your life and Fred’s store was no different.

My father had an exterminating company do our entire building from top to bottom every month, and then as an extra precaution, Fred would spray his own concoction in between visits from the professionals. I pretty sure Fred’s ingredients would have been listed as dangerous toxic waste material by today’s standards, but in the 50’s and 60’s DDT ruled. It wasn’t until Rachael Carson’s Silent Spring caused a big uproar, that dangerous poisons were taken off the market and palmed off on the third world countries.                                                           

I went my entire childhood never encountering a roach, but one day we did have a visitor from the rodent family. The rat had arrived via delivery of stock from one of our vendors. Fred was unpacking one of the crates when he met the rat face to face. My father dropped some curse words and the large rat showing absolutely no fear, sauntered away to hide somewhere in our stock room.

                                                            

My father made the mistake of telling my mother and us four kids which elicited two different reactions. The kids wanted to keep the rat as a pet and my mother channeled her “Release the Kraken” personality and let out a scream heard all the way to Naples, Italy. “I’m not staying in the same house with a rat,” she declared and ran out of the store and to Grandmom’s house. She’d forgotten to take us with her, which was a foretelling of future events.                                                                

My father wanted a quick solution to the rat problem. He needed a cat and not just any cat. He needed a Terminator. We didn’t own a cat.  “Go find me a cat,” he ordered.                                                                           

Jane and I had no idea where to find a cat, but we knew there were a lot of strays up the alley. Taking a quart of milk and bowl with us, Jane and I went on a big game safari. We lucked out and on our first expedition up the alley, found a tom cat with a taste for cold milk. He followed us home, just as my mother pulled into the parking spot in front of the store while giving a slight tap to the bumper of the car behind her. She was just as bad at parking as she was at driving.

My father closed the store so we could take care of the rat. He first placed a wooden board that was close to three feet high at the doorway of the stock room to keep the rat trapped in the room. My mother held the cat in her arm, while my father used a broom to coax the rat out from behind the stock boxes. Mom had one job only and that was to release the cat as soon as the rat showed his head.

While my father searched for the rat and my mother stood guard with the cat, their children were begging for the rat’s life. “Can’t we keep it as a pet?” 
                                                                       

                                                                          

Suddenly, the rat scurried out and my father screamed, “Lucy, the cat!” But…Lucy was nowhere to be found. She took off and ran outside with the cat in her arms. “Where the *&#$&%$ did your mother go?”

I took a peek out the side door and replied, “She’s on Shunk.” My mother had made it to the end of the next street in Olympic record time, “And she’s still going,” I added.

“Go get her,” my father ordered, but I wasn’t so sure I would be able to talk my mother into returning.

Later that day, my mother returned covered in scratches and sans cat. It was almost dinner time and we were busy with the dinner crowd. Lucy was in her playpen where we could keep an eye on her. “Where the hell is the cat?” my father asked her when the store had cleared.

“How the hell should I know,” Lucy replied, as she began to prepare dinner. “And…don’t involve me in any more of your crazy schemes,” she added, slamming the frying pan on the stove top.

                                                              

My father had to enlist the help of Uncle Jack and another cat later that night, while my mother and we four kids visited with Aunt Louise. I guess ‘Operation Rat’ was a success because we didn’t see any trace of it or the cat.

Like I said, DDT isn’t used now, but back in the days it was, and…it was probably in the spray the trucks used as they rode up and down the Philadelphia streets spraying for mosquitoes.
                                                             

I remember chasing after those trucks with the rest of the neighborhood kids and getting splashed with the mist from the insecticide spray they were using. What did we know? We were told it was safe. Scary, right?

Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 25: Uncle Ralph Meets King Kong

                                                             

                         

                                       Grandpop Enrico on left...Uncle Ralph on right

When I was around eleven, Uncle Ralph, who is my maternal grandmother’s brother traveled from Naples Italy to the States. Since Uncle Ralph was only able to visit for a month, my Aunt Ann, Uncle Mario and my mother planned all sorts of activities for him. Most of the time was spent visiting family, but once in a while my mother would hand over Uncle Ralph to her spawn. Leaving that poor elderly man with us wasn’t a good idea.

                                                        

Uncle Ralph understood and spoke very little English, so right now I’m guessing you have some idea where this episode is going. My siblings and I understood some Italian, but not enough to help Uncle Ralph survive a trip to the neighborhood movie theatre for the weekly Saturday Double Creature Feature. Why my mother thought that sending Uncle Ralph to a kiddie matinée with four out of control kids would be a pleasant experience for him is something I’ve never understood.

                                                                                                                                            

Lunch bags packed with boloney sandwiches, TastyKake chocolate cupcakes and of course a bruised apple (read earlier blog # 21) we took hold of Uncle Ralph’s hand and walked to Broad and McKean. After we purchase our tickets, we tried to get Uncle Ralph to sit in the back of the theatre, but his eyesight wasn’t that good and he wanted to sit up front.

                                                             

       

We tried to explain to Uncle Ralph that the seats he had picked were dangerous. We were sitting right under the balcony, but he was adamant about his choice and since he was the adult; we did as we were told. Uncle Ralph, unprepared for what was about to happen, opened his lunch bag and took out his sandwich. We four kids warily looked over our shoulders and up to the balcony. We knew from experience what would happen next.

                                                                           

As soon as the lights went down and the first cartoon came on, the food fight began. The balcony brigade began the battle with the tossing of buttered popcorn. The kids right under the balcony retaliated by pitching ‘Sugar Babies’ caramel candy and Jujubes candy back at the enemy. My Uncle Ralph, who was now covered in sticky popcorn, had dropped his lunch during this ruckus.

                                                               

The movie ushers, accustomed to this weekly event, swiftly appeared on the scene with their flashlights, which they used to identify and intimidate the culprits. After the ushers gained some control of the theatre, the first movie began. It was the 1933 King Kong film. Uncle Ralph had never seen King Kong. I don’t know if Uncle Ralph had children of his own, I think he did, but I’m pretty sure they behaved better than we did.

                                                                           

Lucy sat on the right side of Uncle Ralph, so she had no choice but to behave. I can’t say the same for Jane, Mike or me. We were squirmy kids and didn’t sit still the entire time. When both features had ended, Uncle Ralph stood and brushed off the remains of the early bombardment of buttered popcorn. He didn't smile or speak to us the entire walk home.
                                                                     

                                                              
 After we arrived home, he asked my mother for a shot glass of whiskey and then he went to bed. I don’t know if Uncle Ralph ever squealed on us to Fred and Lucy, but my mother never left him alone with us again.

Life with Fred & Lucy, Part 20: The Joker is Wild

                                                            

I’ve mentioned before what a practical joker my father was. He lived to laugh, and he'd try to make others laugh, most often, at their own expense. No one was safe from Freddie boy when he got started. Before my aunts and uncles could rebound from the pigeons on the roof escapade or the rabbit stew debacle, Fred was busy planning out the next joke.

    Grandmom, little Lucy, Grandpop, Mom and Uncle Marie
                                                               

Our family would visit my maternal grandmother’s house on 7^th and Ellsworth Streets every Sunday for early dinner before rushing back to the store. Grandmom wasn’t that far from the Italian Market on 9^th Street, so everything back then was organic and free range.                                                                         

We didn’t have the corporate farms back then like we do now, with food enhanced with so many chemicals, estrogen, antibiotics and only God knows what else. Grandmom would make her pasta and tomato gravy  from scratch.

             Grandpop, Uncle Ralph, Uncle Mario                                                                    

My grandfather loved his beer. Knowing this, my father during several of the Sunday visits, would guzzle down a beer and then refill the bottle with water followed by carefully replacing the cap. He did this, unobserved, for a while. One day, and after a particularly hot day working in the nearby bakery making bread for ten hours, my grandfather pulled out a tampered bottle of beer and guzzled it down. Thinking the first bottle a fluke, he downed a second and then a third bottle; they all tasted like water. Grandpop went berserk; big time. The Beer Distributors were cheating him and he was pissed.

                                                                                            

Grandmom called our house to tell us that Grandpop was going bat shit crazy and was planning on  heading over to the beer distribution site to give the owner a piece of his mind. Translated into English, it meant that Grandpop was going to beat the living shit out of the owner. She wanted someone to stop him before he got into trouble.

Freddie boy had to jump into his Dodge Desoto and head off his very angry father-in-law. I’m not sure what happened that day, but mom and dad fought when he came back home. It was a few weeks before we kids learned of the practical joke, and why we'd stopped going over our grandparent's house. Eventually, Grandpop got over the trick played on him. He and my father made up over a few glasses of home made wine. Of course, after a few glasses of kick-ass, home made wine, everything seem funnier, and usually, all is forgiven.

Side note: my grandfather took to locking up his beer supply when my father was around, just in case, Fred wanted to play another practical joke on him.