Marvin Parish, Phil Sowers and I recently shared a few memories of our neighborhood malt shop. The three of us went to Williams and then Yukon Intermediate. That was our neighborhood.
The exchange started with the poem at the bottom of this post that Marvin had forwarded to us.
Remember when we got in trouble for “acting up” at the Malt Shop?
You know the place where you had to wait 30 minutes for a cheeseburger and a chocolate malt and it was worth it. Les was the barber and his sister ran the malt shop. What was with her? What was with Les? In this day and age the sister would be in some type of “home” and Les would probably be “registered”.
Marv and Phil,
I really liked the 50s version of email. It brings back fond memories.
I too went to the malt shop a lot growing up. Mrs. Grizell was the mother. I did not call it the Malt Shop. It was Mrs. Grizell’s to me. As I remember her, she had red hair. Her son, Les had the barber shop next store. For some reason my mom did not like the way he cut my hair, so I went to Chuck’s on Yukon. The magazines were better there anyway. Mrs. Grizell’s plain looking daughter, who worked in the malt shop was named Chickie. I call her plain, because she wore very plain dresses.
I don’t remember having to wait a long time when I ate there. Our whole family really liked the food. We used to take out our orders. That was when I learned that if you ate your food there, you had to pay sales tax. If you took it home, there was no tax. Chickie’s cheeseburgers were very good, but my favorite were the tacos at $.30.
I would get mine with hot sauce. One day when I was about nine, I asked for extra hot sauce. I may have said lots of hot sauce. Chickie obliged. That afternoon, there was a Cub Scout meeting at my house, and I attended with zinc oxide on both my upper and lower lips.
Don and Marv,
Hi guys, boy do I remember “those tacos” to this day. I believe they were the first tacos I’d ever had. My wife Pat makes wonderful tacos but I can still taste those from Lamole street. In fact, My folks thought I’d marry a Mexican girl just because I ate so many tacos. Oh what memories.
Thanks for sharing our youth. I’ll smile all night!
And now for the 50s version of email poem.
|1950s version of an E-Mail
I have no idea who put this together, but it is wonderful!!
Long ago and far away, in a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan, or the dawn of Camelot.
There lived a race of innocents, and they were you and me,
For Ike was in the White House in that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges, and Peyton Place was porn.
We learned to gut a muffler, we washed our hair at dawn,
We spread our crinolines to dry in circles on the lawn..
We longed for love and romance, and waited for our Prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz , and no one’s seen him since.
We danced to ‘Little Darlin,’ and sang to ‘Stagger Lee’
And cried for Buddy Holly in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Only girls wore earrings then, and 3 was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts, except for Jean McKinney..
And only in our wildest dreams did we expect to see
A boy named George with Lipstick, in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We fell for Frankie Avalon, Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie, they never made it twice..
We didn’t have a Star Trek Five, or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rocky-Rambo Twenty in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Miss Kitty had a heart of gold, and Chester had a limp,
And Reagan was a Democrat whose co-star was a chimp.
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We had a Mr. Wizard, but not a Mr. T,
And Oprah couldn’t talk yet, in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We had our share of heroes, we never thought they’d go,
At least not Bobby Darin, or Marilyn Monroe.
For youth was still eternal, and life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We’d never seen the rock band that was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren’t named Jefferson , and Zeppelins were not Led.
And Beatles lived in gardens then, and Monkees lived in trees,
Madonna was Mary in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We’d never heard of microwaves, or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed, but they were not grown in jars.
And pumping iron got wrinkles out, and ‘gay’ meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never co-ed in the Land That Made Me, Me.
We hadn’t seen enough of jets to talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at the bottom of the bag.
And hardware was a box of nails, and bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction in the Land That Made Me, Me.
Buicks came with portholes, and side shows came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough to cover both your cheeks.
And Coke came just in bottles, and skirts below the knee,
And Castro came to power near the Land That Made Me, Me.
We had no Crest with fluoride, we had no Hill Street Blues,
We had no patterned pantyhose or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for those dysfunctions in the Land That Made Me, Me.
There were no golden arches, no Perrier to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda, and cats were not called Bill..
And middle-aged was 35 and old was fifty-three,
And ancient were our parents in the Land That Made Me, Me.
But all things have a season, or so we’ve heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline we swear by Retin-A.
They send us invitations to join AARP,
We’ve come a long way, baby, from the Land That Made Me, Me.
So now we face a brave new world in slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they’re using smaller print in magazines..
And we tell our children’s children of the way it used to be,
Long ago and far away in the Land That Made Me, Me.
If you didn’t grow up in the fifties,
you missed the greatest time in history.
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