Pictures

I was thinking about this the past few days -- the fact that today we have instant pictures -- not Polaroids, but digitals which can be printed into great, color prints.

When I was growing up even color pictures were rare. The film was expensive as was the processing. So, when I got my little Brownie camera I always bought black and white 120 film. And I'd go through a roll of film in double time and then get the pictures developed.

Back then (in the 40s, 50s, and even well into the 60s) you have to wait almost a week to get your pictures back from the developer. And was the wait worth it? Mostly.

The picture up top is one of the many I took when I was a child. This was in 1955. I was 12. The coat mom is wearing is made of squirrel and I loved that coat. I "inherited" it long before she died and wore it when I was a lot smaller than I am now. It was so warm. I remember begging her to let me wear it when we went Christmas carolling because I wanted to be warm and it was so cold out.

Anyway, I was thinking about how great it is to have those instant pictures to send around the world so people can see what we're up to and enjoying and the places we're visiting, or just seeing people's (children's) faces.

Do I print all those digitals? No. Wish I could, but I already have thousands of un-scrapbooked pictures, all neatly filed (hard copies, not just on the computer) and ready to be inserted in a scrapbook.

One of these days...maybe I'll get them all in books.
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New computer

Growing up in the 40s/50s in South Jersey I would never have dreamed of something like a computer. Then when I went to college, the computer was a "new" baby, but was too big for anyone to own one, we only had cards with little chads in them telling the mammoth main frame what to do. I had a difficult time grasping that one. I was still in the typewriter age -- at least I had graduated to an electric typewriter.

Well, 50 years later I find that I am pretty computer literate -- NOT programming literate. Let's face it, I'm a user, just like I was a typewriter user back in the good old days. However, I could take apart my manual typewriter and put it back together, seriously. I could pretty much maintain my electric typewriter as well. Back then an electric typewriter cost as much as a laptop (mini) does today, but when the average take-home pay for me and my peers was maybe $60 a week, buying a new typewriter every few years because of some glitch was not even an option.

So why am I writing all this in Runnemede Remembered? Well, my first job was as a typist for a man who attended our church. Then my second job was a typing job for Mr. Softee. My third job was a sales job for Strawbridge's, my fourth job was as a temporary person in whatever typing position my overseer sent me. Get the picture. All those jobs originated in Runnemede.

Now I know that Runnemede has joined the computer age. No longer is the library a small card file with 500 books, no longer do the banks write deposits and withdrawals in long-hand. No longer do the check-outs at cash registers require the cashier to divine the change in a transaction.

I am writing this because I have to get a new computer. My laptop is shot, almost, and it's more frustrating to use it that to not use it, but then I miss so much --BLOGs, e-mails, internet, information about the upcoming 50th reunion of the first class to go all four years through Triton.

Progress, it's amazing, frustrating, time-consuming -- but I love it. Be back when I get the new computer up and running.

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Those hazy, hot, humid days of summer

It isn't summer yet, but the weather is very much summer(ish). Over a week of hazy, hot, and humid days evokes memories over 60 years old. Yes, 60 years.

I know NJ schools are open longer than those in the Midwest where schools have been closed for at least a week.

I recall that immediately after school was dismissed for the three-month summer vacation, the next week started a two-week Vacation Bible School. The thinking was that it was still early summer and the dogdays hadn't quite reached NJ. Wrong.

Also, VBS began at 9:00 a.m. the thinking being that children were used to getting to real school by 9 a.m., so getting to VBS by 9 a.m. would not be difficult. Also, it was cooler before noon than after noon. Wrong.

At least from a child's perspective. Personally, I always looked forward to being able to do what I wanted to do, be able to sleep longer, be able to sit on the cool(er) front porch and read, etc. But I did like VBS.

VBS started with a "pep rally" each day. Dad would start us out with a bevy of songs and flag pledging and scripture verse memorizing. Then we got the project for the day. If we returned the next day and had one of the five best turn-ins of the project, we received a prize. I can only recall winning one prize that I really, really wanted and that was a sheriff's badge. The project? Write out the 10 commandments in my best handwriting. Not only did I write out the commandments (shortened version that appears on many courthouses), but I included all the other words in Exodus 20 as well. I was determined to win one of those badges. And I did. That was my "Western" summer. I had a holster with a cap gun, my sheriff's badge, my rope which I learned to used quite well, actually, and I had a baby brother who would sit still long enough that I could lasso for practice.

We all were ready after the "pep rally" to head downstairs for our lesson and handcraft project. These were the days before air conditioning was common, especially in churches. So the basement provided a lot of heat relief.

The lessons were themed, I suppose. I only really remember the Moses to Ten Commandments to Joshua series.

The handwork projects included woodcarving -- we made bookends. This included varnishing them, carving them, and putting them together with a screwdriver. Teacher help was available, but as I am not a very patient person, I did my own, proving that an eight-year-old could do something a little difficult.

VBS at Mt. Calvary. After the first day of getting "in the groove" so to speak, it was two weeks of great fun, adventure, and friendship.

Oh? And did I mention the wonderful snacks? No? Well, that's because they weren't real good, but the teachers tried. I recall the really bad homemade root beer. I mean it was really bad, but the dear lady who made it faithfully each year for all us children, was thanked by one and all, regardless of whether we liked it or not.

I pray that this year's VBS programs will be as much fun for the children who attend as they were for me when I was a child.

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Spring storms

We've had quite a number of severe storms lately -- out here in the Midwest -- and I remember the storms (if you could call the that now that I know what a storm is really like) we had when I was growing up and during the many times I returned home.

There was a smell in the air, even before there were any visible storm clouds. I suppose it's because we were due east of the Delaware River (yes that's what the smell was) and the wind had changed direction and picked up speed. Anyway, we always knew that a storm was coming well before we actually heard any thunder.

Now we have weather radar to keep us updated. These past few days one of our TVs has been tuned into that channel almost constantly. We praise God that the storms, while tornadic, haven't spawned any funnels in our area.

I recall one day, I had just gotten home from school. The sky was darkening. Our bad storms (remember that's relative) always came from just to the east of the Downing school. And we'd watched the clouds build up and darken. I usually just stayed on the front porch and watched them roll in.

I got home from school and my dad grabbed me and told me to go to the basement. Go to the basement? Why? Because there is going to be a tornado, I was told. Yeh, right. Well, the sky did get that greenish tint that accompanies and warns of the possibility of a tornado, but I wondered why my dad would say such a thing. NJ doesn't get tornadoes, does it? Well, not back then. We never heard of such a thing.

Well, if there was a tornado that day, it missed us, but I had nightmares for years of me being in the basement with the family, and looking up into a funnel and it turning and missing our house just as it got close enough to see what was whirling inside.

Last night as the storms came through we were given a play-by-play of where the whirling clouds were. Communities were told to go their "safe place". Our "safe place"? Our "safe place" is with our Lord. However, our tornado non-shelter is under the stairwell behind the elevator.

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Monthly cleaning

I first attended Downing School, then Bingham, then back to Downing. One of our monthly "chores" was to clean out our desks. I loved doing that. We were encouraged to clean our desks whenever we had spare time, i.e., we finished our arithmetic before everyone else. But, we were required to do it at the end of the month. The teachers had to justify their attendance books at that time, and this was when we had the monthly cleaning of our desks and various other classroom chores, such as clearing off the bulletin boards of any papers that were posted, making sure that the cloak room was clear of all matter such as rotting lunches, or clapping the erasers -- which really was a daily chore which I loved to do. I think most of us did enjoy clapping the erasers.

For those of you who don't know what clapping the erasers is, it is simply taking two chalkboard erasers and taking one eraser in each hand -- chalk side away from the hand -- and then banging them together until you can't see any more dust flying from them. You had to either hang out the window or go outside to do this chore. If the weather was nice, we opted to go outside. Since each classroom was provided with four erasers, two of us had this job!

Our desks were the kind that had the seat that was hinged, as was the lid. There was a hole cut in the desk on the right side corner farthest from the child, which at one time held an ink pot. No more ink pots once the lead pencil was invented.

We had a desk like this on our back porch for most of my growing up time, and I used it, of course, to play teacher. Dad put a chalkboard up in front of one of the windows, which was a little high for a shorty, so I had to stand on a footstool to use it.

After our desks were cleaned out to our teacher's satisfaction, we received a new pencil. We got a new pencil (No. 2, eraser tipped, yellow painted) every month. And oh how we coveted the box in which the pencils came. The top slid off the box not unlike the larger crayon boxes do today.

I don't remember what qualified us for a box, but whatever it was, believe me I tried very hard to be one of the recipients. Since the class was 30 or 31 children, that meant that three boxes would be deprived of its pencil content (12 per box), so three of us each month received one of the coveted boxes.

I suppose it would have been fairer to just give the boxes out to the children in alphabetical order (10 months, 30 children) but that's not how I recall the boxes being given out.

I still have a love for all things stationery (as did my father to a hoarding extent). And I just love to walk through Staples and sniff the paper or the pencils (the wooden ones). The smell of these items evokes such fond memories.

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Back home

It's been almost a year, now, since I was back in Runnemede. Where has the time gone?

The Drexler family returned to Runnemede to attend the 100th Anniversary celebration for Mt. Calvary Union Church, where my father pastored for 55 years. What a weekend it was! I never had so much fun in my life, not even at family weddings.

In the past year I lost a dear friend, Dawn Anderson, who seemed to be doing pretty well fighting cancer when is saw her last May. She was one of my bridesmaids, and we kept in touch over the years. In fact, several years ago, I had a bridesmaids' lunch reunion and she was there. Also, Mr. Manduka (Uncle Bill) was very ill, nigh unto death, but God wasn't ready to receive him yet. He's 90 and still going and going and going. Praise God!

I am heading back in September and will see what or who is happening at the church. I need to get a few more pictures that I didn't get last May, namely the cornerstone of the church which has the date of the building of the church. And maybe some fall floral pictures from what's left of mom's garden.

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Fancy lunch

I am reading a book about a WWII hero (Fiction) and in this book the author describes the Wanamaker Tea Room. Boy, did his description bring back memories. I don't know if I've ever written about this before, and it's realy about Philadelphia, not Runnemede, but the journey starts in Runnemede, so I guess it really is about Runnemede. When I was a child, say 7 or 8, my dad took me into Philly (via bus #31) and we got off the bus at 13th and Market in downtown Philadelphia, PA. The excitement began as we got on the bus. Excitement equals an upset stomach. However, I was able to keep my breakfast down during the bus ride into Town. Dad wanted to take me some place special. I think the occasion was my birthday. Anyway, it was the first of several trips dad and I would take to this wonderful restaurant -- the Chrystal Tea Room on the 9th floor of Wanamaker's store. There were three ways to get there once you got into the store. You could ride up in an elevator, you could take a series of escalators up, or you could climb nine flights of stairs. Dad opted for the elevator. (ASIDE: the music floor was two floors down - 7th floor -- and I spent many lunch hours there when I was working in Philly in the early 60s. The difference was that to save time I would run up the stairs to the 7th floor and run down the stairs when I left the music department. To think that now I can't even do one step!) We arrived at the entry to the restaurant. The tables were set with linen table cloths and had linen napkins and silver cutlery, as well as two goblets. One for water, and the other for wine I suppose. We only got water. Dad suggested that I get the chicken salad sandwich on toast, which I did. It was delicious, and became my favorite. Did dad and I return to that restaurant? Yes, we did, several times. So did my mother and I. Thank you daddy for taking me to such a nice place. And thanks to Dan Walsh (the author of the book The Homecoming) for reminding of those pleasant trips and times of love and laughter with my father. ttfn