Tips and techniques from World Book Encyclopedia 1955

Growing up in mid-century Long Island, no  sound was more welcome than the suburban siren call of summer- the seductive jingling  bells of the Good Humor truck.

Normally at the first ring of that irresistible ding- a- ling- ling, slippery tots would jump out of vinyl sided pools, Stan Muesial baseball mitts were tossed unceremoniously to the ground, and gun slinging cowpokes shifted their attention to the thought of a toasted almond or a chocolate éclair bar, as a  blur of pigtails, baseball caps and scraped knees would appear.

Salivating like Pavlovian dogs, they would go running to the nearest parent their hands thrust out impatiently for a coin.

But discerning ears knew that not all chimes were created equal.

Bungalow Bar in the Burbs

On certain afternoons the jingling of bells brought no buyers, the streets remained remarkably empty of Dixie cup craving children.

This was because the chimes belonged to the Bungalow Bar truck, that trespasser from the city Boroughs. A stranger to the burbs, the truck roamed the streets like an unwelcome tourist in a foreign location which in fact it was.

I’m sure the Bungalow Bar man was as friendly as Nick our Good Humor man, always impeccably dressed in his blindingly white uniform, just as I’m sure he was equally skilled at reaching into the ice cream compartment steamy with condensation and able to pull out exactly the item you wanted without even seeming to look.

No doubt he was just as adept at working the silver metal coin organizer that he wore on his belt quickly clicking the little lever that would eject a coin at the bottom for your change.

But he was never even given a chance.

At the appearance of the truck I would join the rest of the kids chanting at the top of our lungs a mean-spirited ditty that was mysteriously passed from neighborhood to neighborhood, without any real foundation to it: “Bungalow bar/tastes like tar/ the more you eat/ the sicker you are.”

The truck itself was quaint, its white rounded corners reminiscent of an old-fashioned Frigidaire the kind found in a Grandmothers apartment.

It was  designed to look like a small bungalow  complete with a white picket fence instead of a door, topped with a dark russet-brown shingle roof and a fake chimney, which if it were real would probably belch out black smoke from its coal furnace.

In the shiny new suburbs where everything you saw and touched was not just new but never before new, it looked plain old-fashioned, and woefully out of place.

Suburban Interloper

Their only customers were the occasional family nostalgic for the old neighborhood, families like my neighbors the Moskowitz’s, who would often sit on lawn chairs set up on their stark concrete driveway as if they were still sitting on the stoop of their Bensonhoist Brooklyn apartment watching the nonexistent foot traffic go by.

Like a doddering old Dinosaur, this interloper that had originated in Brooklyn and Queens had stumbled across the Nassau County  border hoping to join the stampede pouring out to the suburbs of Lon gIsland.

Maybe for those crowded, apartment dwellers who escaped the heat each summer to the fresh air of the Mountains renting tiny, 2 room, asbestos shingled, gable roofed bungalows in the Borscht Belt, the sight of that  Bungalow on wheels brought back bucolic  memories  of pine scented air,and screened porches.

Perhaps in Bushwick or Bensonhurst, Flatbush or Forest Hills, a world of two family attached houses, broad stoops with great balustrades in lieu of backyards, narrow concrete alleyways where little boys rode bicycles and little girls played Double Dutch, Bungalow Bars may have ruled unchallenged but in the modern suburbs of swing sets and split levels, Good Humor was king.

Suburban Paradise

This was the land of Exodus where so many seemed to have found the Promised Land, and Bungalow bars was a remnant of a former life, a reminder of a past left behind.

The boroughs were the Old world and for some, Brooklyn and the Bronx were as far removed from this first generation of suburbanites as Minsk was from my first generation American grandparents.

So we would wait for the big spanking white porcelain truck with the modern clean square edges, its familiar logo with the picture of the chocolate covered bar with a bite taken out of it, baked into the tiny freezer door.

Yes, we were willing to pay an extra nickel more for the privilege of eating a frozen treat from  Good Humor the Cadillac of ice cream trucks, the standard by which other ice cream trucks were judged.

The  Presidential race that dominated the sizzling summer of 1960- a spectacle of pure showmanship filled with hoopla and chutzpah, showboating and glad handling – paled in comparison to my grandmothers beach club, itself crawling with glitter and glamor.

In the years before I went to day camp, my days were spent at The El Flamingo Beach Club on Long Island NY.

The entire day was a step up and in to the good life, living proof that the American Dream was alive and well in mid-century America.

It was a world where your every need seemed to be anticipated and taken care of.

Immediately upon arrival at the club, handsome valets with exotic name like Silvio and Lorenzo sporting  hi-rise pompadours lovingly lavished with Vitalis,  would briskly park your car.

Not far behind, eager-to-please cabana boys with Big Man on Campus crew cuts and smiles, would rush to set up your chairs and umbrellas, later to appear at your beck and call to fetch you another ice tea or diet cottage cheese plate.

It was a rarefied world where the open skies at the beach always seemed Kodacolor perfect, not a mushroom cloud or the nose of a submarine on the horizon.

Like the other Beach Clubs that dotted the narrow spit of Long island, the club was always overrun with sun worshiping, jewelry glittering, deeply tanned women, their middle-aged matronly bodies newly trim from a week at the milk farm pummeled and pounded by a host of masseurs,  squeezed into this seasons-must-have figure flattering swimsuit.

A glittering spectacle, out dazzling the sun and each other with their gleaming potpourri of garish gold and sparkly diamonds, these middle aged sea nymphs in sunfrost green, icy turquoise and luminous gold were Riviera radiant  from head to toe in their sun blazing Cote Azur colors.

They teetered and tottered about on perilously high raffia straw wedgies slides, sun-loving fun-loving play shoes studded with colorful sea shells or a gay spray of red plastic posies to brighten their footsteps, a cold Pepsi in one well manicured hand and a glowing Kool in the other.

High Hopes

The scents and sounds of that summer would sizzle together creating the perfect summer cocktail.

Offsetting  the slightly musty earthy dampness of the cabanas, was the tropical smell of Sea and Ski blending seamlessly with the bracing briny sea air already choked  with the roasted woodsy leathery smell of cigar smoke, pungent chlorine, and the greasy snack bar burgers and fries, making  my eyes tear and my mouth water .

While mindlessly singing along to a Rheingold commercial playing on a Zenith portable radio “my beer is Rheingold the dry beer” a new upbeat commercial came over the radio as high-apple-pie-in-the-sky-high-hopeful as any beer ad jingle

It even caught my Mothers ear when she recognized that unmistakable voice of  Swoonatra, Ol’ Blue Eyes himself belting out a swingin’ campaign jingle for JFK.

With unadulterated optimism dripping from every note, a swaggering Sinatra plugged his pal with special lyrics sung to the hit song “High Hopes:”

“Everyone wants to back….Jack/ Jack is on the right track/”Cause he’s got high hopes/he’s got high hopes/Nineteen Sixty’s the year for his high hopes./Come on and vote for Kennedy/Keep America strong

Come Alive You’re in the Pepsi Generation

The grinning cabana boys had an extra glow of enthusiasm about them that summer-their beaming faces echoing JFK’s own confidently smiling countenance blazoned on the flashy campaign buttons they proudly sported on their white polo shirts.

K–E–Double N–D–Y with his jet propelled as-fine-tuned-as-a sporty-Corvette campaign machine, had just snared the democratic presidential nomination despite his being dismissed as more poseur than performer, and despite the “Catholic Issue”.

For these college boys, stylish JFK had the fresh air of progress.

His energy as effervescent as a bottle of Pepsi, his  sleek, fresh, follow me flare had  the mark of tomorrow stamped all over him.

The scents and sounds of my 1960s childhood summers at my grandmothers beach club  would sizzle together creating the perfect summer cocktail.

 Along with the rhythmic sounds of the ocean waves breaking on the beach, and the staccato click, clack, click of the Bakelite mah jongg tiles, was the constant swatting sound coming from the pink plastic fly swatter that, like Hopalong Cassidy’s six shooter, never left my grandmothers side.

Nana was the fastest swatter in the west, knocking down a formation of enemy flies with one shot.

Any fly zeroing in for a landing anywhere near a peach or plum wouldn’t stand a chance. “Who knew where that fly had been?” was a constant refrain heard all summer.

Shoo Fly Don’t Bother Me

From the time she was a little girl, no insect put the fear of God in Nana like the house fly.

It was no wonder people of a certain age had a fear of insects and flies.

These deadly pests, they were told, were carriers of deadly diseases. All insects were bad but houseflies were by far the worst since it was thought you could get polio through an insect bite.

Which helped explain why even “nice people” who lived in careful and sanitary homes could still get polio and other diseases.

A Cornucopia of Fruit

While we waited for the cabana boys to deliver our lunch, Nana rummaged through her bags for something for us to nosh on.

She never traveled anywhere without a menagerie of shopping bags and bundles, whether it was a three-week vacation or a three-hour visit.

Out of Nana’s huge summer straw tote, the one with floral appliqués and exotic bamboo bracelet handles that she got in Haiti, would emerge all sorts of goodies to nosh on.

But the best summertime treats were the cornucopia of fresh fruit from her neighborhood Italian greengrocer.

The fruit stand on Columbus Avenue with its open air grandstands of vibrant fruits and vegetables added a vivid blaze of color to the otherwise drab city block.

Unlike the chaste fruit found in our own supermarkets that were tucked into styrophone trays, hermetically sealed in sanitary Saran wrap, the seductive sprawl of luscious fruit may have been protected from the baking sun by an awning, but it lay defenseless to the random touching, squeezing even tasting, by perfect strangers.

It wasn’t long before the accommodating cabana boys delivered our lunches to satisfy our ravenous sea-air appetites.

As Nana nibbled on her cool-la-la fancy cottage cheese salad, the pineapple slices curled and twisted decoratively dusted with a shower of paprika, Mom mindlessly picked at her Seafarers Surprise plate, tuna salad  festooned with fancy stuffed olives and a creative use of pimento strips worthy of a Picasso .

Suddenly Mom let out an audible gasp, nearly dropping the bottle of Sucaryl lo cal sweetener she was pouring into her iced tea.

Just as I was innocently  about to sink my teeth into a downy yellow peach plucked from a brown paper bag in Nana’s straw tote, Mom swiftly snatched the fruit away from me before I ever got a chance to bite into the juicy flesh.

Sternly I was admonished to make sure it was washed or else I would get a tummy ache.

Perils of Unwashed Fruit

(L) Vintage illustration Jon Whitcomb 1950s (R) Vintage diagram “A Fly is the Most Dangerous Animal Known” from American Red Cross Text Book on Home Hygiene 1933

But it was Nana’s look of panic at the sight of that unclean flesh entering my pristine mouth, that told me  some greater tragedy would befall me if I bit into an unwashed peach, maybe the very piece of fruit that God Forbid-a fly had rested on for a mille second before being squashed to its demise.

The fly this most feared and dangerous beast that frolicked and feasted greedily in uncovered garbage cans, the gutter, rotting food, or a dead horse even, could have landed on your nice ripe peach wiping his poisonous feet on the food.

Diarrhea would be the least of your problems. For in the dirt and dust on the fruit, I was warned by Nana, were many little seeds of disease.

Since the polio epidemics had occurred in hot summer months when flies were so prevalent, a popular theory circulated that in the hot sun, the skin of fruits nurtured the infantile paralysis germs which had been left there by, who else –the dastardly fly.

Which is why, in my family, unwashed fruit seemed to elicit the same terror as flies.

Protecting the home front especially the food supply against the dangerous fly became a cardinal rule for three generations of mothers in my family.

Copyright (©) 20012 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved -Excerpt From Defrosting The Cold War:Fallout From My Nuclear family

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Life Guards

During the 1950′s and 60′s my grandmother was in possession of prime beach club real estate on a narrow spit of land on suburban Long Island.

A much coveted corner cabana,  we were treated to unobstructed vistas of the clean white sandy beach and could breath deeply of the refreshing salty breezes coming off the ocean.

Protecting El Patio’s sandy shores was the whistle blowing-pith Helmet wearing-Bobby Rydell -look-a-like lifeguard.

With his deep dark Sea and Ski tan, his nose and lips thick with white zinc oxide he looked like he had just come from performing at a minstrel show belting out a rendition of Swannee.

Perched high on his wooden white lifeguard stand, his 6 foot frame towered over everyone, his trained eye sweeping the beach for any infraction to the rules posted on large print for all to see.

The omnipresent lanyard braided in a box stitch with the whistle clipped on it that he wore around his neck, ensured all that he was  at the ready, poised to jump heroically into depths of the ocean in a moments notice.

That is , once he put out his ever present cigarette.

Cold War Beach Control

Another fixture monitoring the nearly deserted beach was Sol Rubin, a solitary figure with a perpetual Roi Tan cigar jutting from his mouth who spent the day ensconced on his folding webbed aluminum chair scanning the ocean in hopes of spotting a Soviet submarine operating off the coast.

Craning his neck to stare through the massive waves with his high powered Bausch and Laumb binoculars with the Touch-O-Matic focusing bar, rotund Mr Rubin was our first line of coastal defense in case an enemy sub might sneak close enough to our shore.

Even as I innocently built a sandcastle with my metal shovel and pail, enemy submarines might be taking radar fixes on our shores and possibly interfering with our missile testing.

Was that battery propeller noises a school of fish or a submarine?

Club members were used to his false alarm sightings which more often than not turned out to be the bobbing petal bathing capped head of a swimmer who had drifted too far out.  Since there were no defenses against incoming missiles, the only way to stop a submerged sub was by detecting them.

So while his cronies were busy dealing cards, rolly polly Mr Rubin made certain that our shores were secure against any surprise attacks.

The club motto was “…You know you’re safe with Sol.”

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Summer beach traffic during the Cold War had its own special flare.

The huge-wrap around picture window in the rear of my Grandmothers Cadillac  offered unexcelled visibility to see and be seen, allowing uninterrupted lavish vistas of Long Beach Road, as we drove to her beach club El Patio to spend the day.

Along with the flashy Ford Fairlaine convertibles filled with wind-swept teenagers blasting their radios..“Mr Sandman, build me a dream (bung bung bung bung)” a common sight on those mid-century  roads was the military convoy of trucks loaded with soldiers followed by long trailers carting not-so-secret-missiles clumsily covered with olive drab-colored tarps on their way to the Missile base in sunny Lido Beach.

Along with the construction of the snazzy beach clubs up and down the narrow strip of land, the government  had built for M’Lady’s and Gents protection, a Nike installation.

Kept in cold storage were 60 Nike Ajax guided surface to air Missiles deep in concrete bunkers buried in the sand…”Mr Sandman Please turn on  your magic beams, Mr. Sandman bring me a dream!”

Building Sandcastle Missiles in the Sand

Sometimes, while driving past the chain linked enclosed Missile base, standing in the shadow of  the Grand Lido Beach Hotel, that Jazz age bubblegum colored sand castle in the sky, I might catch a glimpse of  those Mighty Birds  from the road as the soldiers put them up on their launches.

One week out of every month the base was placed on alert so some very lucky guests at the hotel, Long Islands answer to The Riviera, were treated, at no extra cost, to an extra thrill.

Whether you were dining at the elegant restaurant with its retractable roof for feasting under the stars or being entertained by flashy stars like Connie Francis and Sammy Davis Junior, at the ritzy circular nightclub, you might get an extra floor show feasting your eyes at the sight of 40 foot long beckoning to behold Nike Aircraft Missiles aimed at the sky ready to shoot down any enemy bombers.

It was a real showstopper!

Gazing out the back of the Caddies large panoramic rear window the lingering image of the powerful Missiles thrusting into the deep blue summer sky would slowly diminish, resembling the tiny dioramas of model missiles preparing for launch displayed in the store window of Moe’s Hobby World.

Just as the image faded, we would arrive at the Beach Club.

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Long before we became a fast food, disposable nation, picnicking required something more substantial and permanent than a Styrofoam clamshell  tossed in a brown paper bag.

According to a 1948 advertisement  by Aladdin, every day was a holiday with your “Aladdin Outing Kit”. Aladdin, the  Nashville manufacturers of those classic metal school lunch boxes with the pictures of your favorite TV star emblazoned on them were previously manufacturers of some more sedate adult fare.

Basically a picnic basket, The Aladdin Outing Kit shared in that marvelous post-war exuberance of carefree living and convenience.

Here’s how they explain their playtime snack bar in a 1948 advertisement ”,,,all outdoors is your dining room when you are the proud possessor of a handsome Aladdin outing kit.”

“With it you’re ready in a jiffy to dine outdoors on food kept fresh and appetizing a coaxing invitation to carefree outdoor hours the year-round. Completely equipped from salt shakers, to Aladdin Hy-Lo Vacuum Bottles, smartly and sturdily cased in lightweight gleaming aluminum…from the time you buy it all outdoors is your living room.”

Apparently sales of the Outing Kit paled in comparison to their maiden venture into manufacturing  decaled children’s school lunch boxes.

Their immensely popular Hopalong Cassidy metal lunchbox produced in 1950 was so wildly successful a marriage of peanut butter and jelly with pop culture, it enabled Aladdin to build a new lunch box manufacturing plant.

With the addition of the  Tom Corbett Space Cadett  metal lunchbox 4 years later, the company’s sales really skyrocketed

The rest is school lunch history.

Copyright (©) 2012 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved

Nothing gave off the glow of good All American health than a deep dark tan, and mid-century teens competed for the fastest tan in the west. After all, our handsome, vigorous young President sported a glamorous tan and who in 1961 was more glamorous and the picture of good health than  JFK?

Some Like it Well Done! (L) Vintage ad Meat Institute 1950 (R) Vintage Ad Solarcaine for sunburn pain

Teens and Tans

The  sixties suburbs were sizzling as back yard grilling was going on up and down the block. But it was more than mere hot dogs and hamburgers and Weber grills.

Next door, our neighbor, 15-year-old Lenny Moscowitz was already char broiling in his yard too, in his futile attempt to achieve a golden tan.

A tall, scrawny, lean-cut-of- a- kid, he stood in stark contrast with his short pudgy well-marbled parents. But like the rest of his family he had an unruly shock of kinky red hair and the pallid skin that accompanied it.

Vintage Coppertone Ad Sandra Dee 1960

A Char-Broiled Tan

Like Don Quixote, this poor pale face was on a hopeless quest for a Coppertone tan that would forever elude him. As if somehow, this yeshiva boy would miraculously morph into a sun-burnished surfer from California, that sun drenched  Promised land and win the heart of the ultimate teenage blonde goddess  Sandra Dee.

Brashly flouting  his fairness, he’d lavishly slather on some oily accelerant , skillfully maneuvering a silver metallic reflector to help make those long summer rays burn deep.

He’d sit out all day on a lawn chair listening to WINS1010 on the radio while his milk-white skin turned the color of a rare steak,  boldly staring danger right in the face until he had achieved a  second degree burn.( At which point his overprotective mother would be giving him the third degree).

Lenny would only come in when he had tested for doneness and was fork tender, poking and pressing the thickest part of his belly with his fingers till it felt squishy.

Like any serious grill-meister he had his secret marinade.   Lenny slow roasted, basting in a pool of viscous Fleets Mineral Oil.

Vintage Coppertone Ad with Paula Prentiss & Jim Hutton 1962

Grilled to a Turn

In the yard directly behind ours, with the sounds of WMCA radio wafting over the wisteria, tiny fourteen year old Trudy Weitzman was grilled to a turn in her itsy- bitsy- teeny- weeny -yellow- polka- dot- come –n’ get-it- folks- bikini.

For that char broiled look  so popular nothing seared in the juices like  Johnsons baby oil the # one hit marinade of the boomers.

Turn on a tan with Johnson’s Baby Oil – This vintage ad from the 1960s boasts: “It has no sunscreen like tanning lotions and creams. So there’s nothing to block out the golden sun. You tn faster and deeper than ever before. And you stay tan longer. Come on. Turn on you great big beautiful baby you!”

Two houses down where the voice of Norm Stevens on WMGM was counting down the hits, a chubby Susan Cornblau was slow roasting like a plump chicken on a rotisserie,  expertly  turning and flipping for even browning .

A true sun aficionado her technique was top secret- she got the extra plus of polyunsaturates by liberally applying a coating of Wesson oil. As the ads said it does more than make light crispy fried foods. Everything may have been better with Blue Bonnet on it, but for tanning, apparently, Wesson couldn’t be beat.

Vintage Ad WWII Jantzen Swim Wear 1943

It was a sweltering summer in 1943 and along with most war-weary Americans, Rosie the Riveter needed a day off.

In the heat and stickiness of summer everybody was tired, dog tired, completely fed up with neckties, girdles, time clocks, cook stoves, typewriters, telephones, ration coupons and endless shortages.

Americans United

There was only one way to win the war and get the job done -each of us had to give everything whether it was on the home front or in a war plant making the ammunition and tools our men needed to win

Vintage Illustration Robert Riggse Saturday Evening Post 1944

WWII Man Shortage

Everyday hundreds of men were leaving civilian jobs to join the armed forces.

In their place marched in women, who were “carrying on” work that had to be done to keep America’s war program going at top speed.

There could be no letting down, no slacking until the peace was signed, until our men returned

At Ease

For overworked Rosie the Riveter, the romance of the beach beckoned.

But what good was the beach without a beau to rub suntan oil on her, admire the curves of her swim suit?

Rosie had learned to live with less butter, eggs, and meat, but it was the darn man shortage that drove her batty.

The absence of an entire generation of men between the ages of 17 and 30 left a lonely void.

Even though she and her crowd of girls enjoyed playing bridge and having hen parties to fill up those lonely weekends, Rosie couldn’t help wondering if they were not rationing love too.

If she were headed for the beach, she needed some ammunition to attract whatever available men were still around.

Vintage Ad WWII- Jantzen Swim Suits 1943 Clearly directed at war weary workers the copy reads “Make something of your day off, your vacation or your leave…get a Jantzen and get out where there’s sea and water and joy.”

Last word in Swim Suits

Luckily the stores still stocked the new curve allure Jantzen swimsuit advertised in Life Magazine that promised not only to give you lines that were thrilling but make you the most radiant star of summers bright stage.

The swim suit ads not only prompted you to be patriotic and “buy war  bonds today to be free to enjoy tomorrow” they reminded you “to make each moment something to remember because this was a different kind of summer”

Like most industries Jantzen had retooled to manufacture military items to support the war effort manufacturing sleeping bags, and gas mask carriers but   thankfully  some swimwear still rolled off their assembly lines.

Vintage 1942 Ads for Jantzen -Hurrell Photograph

Beach Bliss

Empowered by  the uplifting capability  of her new Jantzen bra, the heavenly slimming  fabric magic of Lastex , she was ready to catch the eye of any wacky khaki

With glamor and glow she and her pals hopped into her pre-war De Soto and headed to the beach, having carefully saved her dearly rationed  gas allotment  so she could make the excursion.

The crowded beach was a picture of muscular grace and bulging waistlines, of smooth tans and freckles, of sunburn oil, adhesive plaster and bathing suits which had obviously been in mothballs since the early 1920s

After 3 straight summers of crisis, war-weary Americans needed a little relief. So they undid their stays, let their hair down and dug their toes happily in the sand- without dignity, without care.

Establishing her beachhead among the other brown backs on the  pristine white sand,  Rosie settled in  for a healthy burn.

So long pale face.

Vintage ad Jantzen swim suits 1943 WWII Something to Remember for the boys overseas: “It’s a new kind of summer,” this war time ad begins,”thrilling with new Jantzen swim suits to make a girl lovely for a man on leave…to give a man something to remember”

Hello Soldier

Suddenly out of thin air, looking trim in his tailored trunks appeared  Stanley, a khaki Casanova , who swept her off her feet.

The dream guy she was always talking about had really come to life.

She couldn’t remember very much what they talked about …except when the soldier asked her to go dancing that very evening, “Fate, she thought, “you’ve got a finger in this…and who am I to fight you!”

The evening would reek of romance.

Now that perfume was also very dear due to alcohol shortage, she was glad she used her favorite Cashmere Bouquet, the soap with the fragrance men loved.

A girl had to lure a man with something!

While sharing a conga line together, the sizzling rhythms, the drums and maracas filling her mind, Rosie remembered all the articles she had read, all the movies she had seen, all the songs she had heard, and it all help confirm what she knew in her heart to be true.

This was indeed love!  It all added up…the starry eyes…the fireworks in the bloodstream…this was what the songs sing about…this is what little girls are made for…this is what she washed religiously with Ponds for!

This was why she scrimped and saved to  buy a Jantzen suit !

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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How I Spent My Summer Vacation- Relaxing at home by the pool
Photo by Peter D Brown Photography

How I spent my Summer vacation

I will be on summer vacation this week.

Please be on the lookout for posts of summers past

Sally

Vintage Cabana Set ads (L) Mc Greggor Sun Wear 1948 (R) Catalina Sport Sets 1954 as worn by Norm van Brocklin and Elroy “Crazy Legs” Hirsch who formed one of footballs greatest passing teams

Beach Club Paradise Pt. II

My grandmothers mid-century beach club was an oddly  female universe at least during the week  when women far outnumbered the men .

Up and down the rows of attached cabanas, the daily routines were as identical as their pink flamingo color.

As ladies shed their flowered splashed shifts, wriggling with great effort to zip up their lastex swim suits, the ever smiling cabana boys effortlessly opened their folding bridge tables in anticipation of the days Mah Jonng marathons.

With their big straw hats adorned with plastic daisy’s covering their faces, swimsuit straps untied so they wouldn’t get a tan line, the girls spent the day playing canasta and dishing about last night’s Million Dollar movie.

(L) Vintage Motorola Portable Radio (R) Life Magazine Cover August 1961 Yankees Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris

The Beach Club Boys of Summer

But come the weekends the ladies were joined by their overworked and overweight husbands. El Patio was overrun with groups of stogie smoking, pot-bellied men dressed in eye-catching terry lined cabana sets in exotic patterns evoking the  faraway South Pacific.

Whether playing pinochle or gin rummy, their lido straw hats dipped strategically below one eye, they always listened to the ball game.

Anxiously chewing the flexible white plastic tip of their white owl cigars, heated discussions flared up over which Yankee slugger would smash The Babes home run record. The American League Pennant race was all but forgotten that summer of ’61 as fans tormented themselves and each other with the burning question -would Mickey Mantle or Roger Maris break babe Ruth’s record of 60 homers in one season?

Among the men was my Uncle Harry. Sitting stylishly at ease in his gleaming white leather Italian styled slip on shoes, was my nattily dressed uncle who despite being at a beach never once  wore a bathing suit.

Sporting a natty Lido telescope straw hat with a fancy  woven braided band my Uncle Harry would be glowering behind his no glare Ray bans, giving opinions freely from the side lines like a battle-scarred retired officer from the comfort of their glider aluminum chairs.

Even with his vision clouded by cataracts he read the tiny print of the Daily Racing Forum religiously.

But he suddenly looked up from the crumpled copy he was currently squinting at long enough to put in his two cents about the baseball game. An inveterate gambler with a gruff voice like a boxing promoter he dismissed the plays with a wave of his liver spotted hand. Handicapping the 2 players like they were horses at Belmont he was betting on  Maris .

Even with the southern drawl of Red Barber blaring loudly from their large Motorola portable radio with the oversize dial and the CONELRAD markings, ...”Here’s the pitch swung on, belted….its a long one…back back back heee makes a one-handed catch against the bullpen! Oh Doctor!”  the folksy red head’s colorful play by-play of the Bronx Bombers reverberating  throughout the club  was not enough to dim the  high volume chattering of these strident ladies.

Copyright (©) 20012 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved -Excerpt From Defrosting The Cold War:Fallout From My Nuclear Family

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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• Beach Club Paradise on Parade (envisioningtheamericandream.com)
• Wouldn’t You Really Rather Have A Cadillac? (envisioningtheamericandream.com)

Wish You Were Here!
Photo of Sally Edelstein by Peter D. Brown Photography

Hope you all are having a swell summer and enjoying my posts of summers past…..will be returning soon!

Life Guards

During the 1950′s and 60′s my grandmother was in possession of prime beach club real estate on a narrow spit of land on suburban Long Island.

A much coveted corner cabana at the El Patio,  we were treated to unobstructed vistas of the clean white sandy beach and could breath deeply of the refreshing salty breezes coming off the ocean.

Protecting El Patio’s sandy shores was the whistle blowing-pith Helmet wearing-Bobby Rydell -look-a-like lifeguard.

With his deep, dark Sea and Ski tan, his nose and lips thick with white zinc oxide he looked like he had just come from performing at a minstrel show belting out a rendition of Swannee.

Perched high on his wooden white lifeguard stand, his 6 foot frame towered over everyone, his trained eye sweeping the beach for any infraction to the rules posted on large print for all to see.

The omnipresent lanyard braided in a box stitch with the whistle clipped on it that he wore around his neck, ensured all that he was  at the ready, poised to jump heroically into depths of the ocean in a moments notice.

That is , once he put out his ever-present cigarette.

Cold War Beach Control

Another fixture monitoring the nearly deserted beach was Sol Rubin, a solitary figure with a perpetual Roi Tan cigar jutting from his mouth who spent the day ensconced on his folding webbed aluminum chair scanning the ocean in hopes of spotting a Soviet submarine operating off the coast.

Craning his neck to stare through the massive waves with his high-powered Bausch and Laumb binoculars with the Touch-O-Matic focusing bar, rotund Mr Rubin was our first line of coastal defense in case an enemy sub might sneak close enough to our shore.

Even as I innocently built a sandcastle with my metal shovel and pail, enemy submarines might be taking radar fixes on our shores and possibly interfering with our missile testing.

Was that battery propeller noises a school of fish or a Russian submarine?

Club members were used to his false alarm sightings which more often than not turned out to be the bobbing petal bathing capped head of a swimmer who had drifted too far out.  Since there were no defenses against incoming missiles, the only way to stop a submerged sub was by detecting them.

So while his cronies were busy dealing cards, rolly polly Mr Rubin made certain that our shores were secure against any Cold War surprise attacks.

The club motto was “…You know you’re safe with Sol.”

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Summer beach traffic during the Cold War had its own special flare.

The huge-wrap around picture window in the rear of my Grandmothers Cadillac  offered unexcelled visibility to see and be seen, allowing uninterrupted lavish vistas of Long Beach Road, as we drove to her beach club El Patio to spend the day.

Along with the flashy Ford Fairlaine convertibles filled with wind-swept teenagers blasting their radios..“Mr Sandman, build me a dream (bung bung bung bung)” a common sight on those mid-century  roads was the military convoy of trucks loaded with soldiers followed by long trailers carting not-so-secret-missiles clumsily covered with olive drab-colored tarps on their way to the Missile base in sunny Lido Beach.

Along with the construction of the snazzy beach clubs up and down the narrow strip of land, the government  had built for M’Lady’s and Gents protection, a Nike installation.

Kept in cold storage were 60 Nike Ajax guided surface to air Missiles deep in concrete bunkers buried in the sand…”Mr Sandman Please turn on  your magic beams, Mr. Sandman bring me a dream!”

Building Sandcastle Missiles in the Sand

Sometimes, while driving past the chain linked enclosed Missile base, standing in the shadow of  the Grand Lido Beach Hotel, that Jazz age bubblegum colored sand castle in the sky, I might catch a glimpse of  those Mighty Birds  from the road as the soldiers put them up on their launches.

One week out of every month the base was placed on alert so some very lucky guests at the hotel, Long Islands answer to The Riviera, were treated, at no extra cost, to an extra thrill.

Whether you were dining at the elegant restaurant with its retractable roof for feasting under the stars or being entertained by flashy stars like Connie Francis, Edyie Gorme and Sammy Davis Junior, at the ritzy circular nightclub, you might get an extra floor show feasting your eyes at the sight of 40 foot long beckoning to behold Nike Aircraft Missiles aimed at the sky ready to shoot down any enemy bombers.

It was a real showstopper!

Gazing out the back of the Caddies large panoramic rear window the lingering image of the powerful Missiles thrusting into the deep blue summer sky would slowly diminish, resembling the tiny dioramas of model missiles preparing for launch displayed in the store window of Moe’s Hobby World.

Just as the image faded, we would arrive at the Beach Club.

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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The sizzling summer of 1960 was dominated by the equally hot Presidential race between John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon.

Earlier in the summer Kennedy had boldly beckoned us to hitch our wagon to his train and be pioneers in a New Frontier. After the seemingly stillness of the Eisenhower years, Americans were anxious to get moving again.

The  Presidential race-  a spectacle of pure showmanship filled with hoopla and chutzpah, showboating and glad handling – paled in comparison to my grandmother’s beach club, itself crawling with glitter and glamor.

Beach Club Ballyhoo

In the years before I went to day camp, my days were spent at The El Flamingo Beach Club on Long Island NY.

The entire day was a step up and in to the good life, living proof that the American Dream was alive and well in mid-century America.

It was a world where your every need seemed to be anticipated and taken care of.

Immediately upon arrival at the club, handsome valets with exotic name like Silvio and Lorenzo sporting  hi-rise pompadours lovingly lavished with Vitalis,  would briskly park your car.

Not far behind, eager-to-please cabana boys with Big Man on Campus crew cuts and smiles, would rush to set up your chairs and umbrellas, later to appear at your beck and call to fetch you another ice tea or diet cottage cheese plate.

It was a rarefied world where the open skies at the beach always seemed Kodacolor perfect, not a mushroom cloud or the nose of a submarine on the horizon.

Like the other Beach Clubs that dotted the narrow spit of Long island, the club was always overrun with sun worshiping, jewelry glittering, deeply tanned women, their middle-aged matronly bodies newly trim from a week at the milk farm pummeled and pounded by a host of masseurs,  squeezed into this seasons-must-have figure flattering swimsuit.

They teetered and tottered about on perilously high raffia straw wedgies slides, sun-loving fun-loving play shoes studded with colorful sea shells or a gay spray of red plastic posies to brighten their footsteps, a cold Pepsi in one well manicured hand and a glowing Kool in the other.

High Hopes

The scents and sounds of that summer would sizzle together creating the perfect summer cocktail.

Offsetting  the slightly musty earthy dampness of the cabanas, was the tropical smell of Sea and Ski blending seamlessly with the bracing briny sea air already choked  with the roasted woodsy leathery smell of cigar smoke, pungent chlorine, and the greasy snack bar burgers and fries, making  my eyes tear and my mouth water .

While mindlessly singing along to a Rheingold commercial playing on a Zenith portable radio “my beer is Rheingold the dry beer” a new upbeat commercial came over the radio as high-apple-pie-in-the-sky-high-hopeful as any beer ad jingle.

It even caught my Mothers ear when she recognized that unmistakable voice of  Swoonatra, Ol’ Blue Eyes himself belting out a swingin’ campaign jingle for JFK.

With unadulterated optimism dripping from every note, a swaggering Sinatra plugged his pal with special lyrics sung to the hit song “High Hopes:”

“Everyone wants to back….Jack/ Jack is on the right track/”Cause he’s got high hopes/he’s got high hopes/Nineteen Sixty’s the year for his high hopes./Come on and vote for Kennedy/Keep America strong!”

Come Alive You’re in the Pepsi Generation

The grinning cabana boys had an extra glow of enthusiasm about them that summer-their beaming faces echoing JFK’s own confidently smiling countenance blazoned on the flashy campaign buttons they proudly sported on their white polo shirts.

K–E–Double N–D–Y with his jet propelled as-fine-tuned-as-a sporty-Corvette campaign machine, had just snared the democratic presidential nomination despite his being dismissed as more poseur than performer, and despite the “Catholic Issue”.

For these college boys, stylish JFK had the fresh air of progress.

His energy as effervescent as a bottle of Pepsi, his  sleek, fresh, follow me flare had  the mark of tomorrow stamped all over him.

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High Noon at the Democratic Convention 1960

High Noon at the Democratic Convention 1960 PT II

Convention Guide 1960

Cool Shades

Break out your Wayfarers…today is National Sunglasses Day!

Accustomed to sporting cool shades I have of late been seen skulking about in those oversize, black, wraparound sunglasses so very chic amongst the senior set in Bocca Raton.

Though hardly ready for a retirement home, I have been required to wear these temporarily because of recent eye surgery.

Sunglasses worn solely to protect my vision…what a concept

I Wear My Sunglasses at Night

Sunglasses status as fashion accessories has become as great a consideration as the degree of protection they offer from the sun. Vintage Ray Ban ad 1960 “Try on a pair…you won’t settle for less”

Once upon a time, people wore sunglasses only when they were under the sun. Now they wear them from sun up to sun up. From New Years Day til New Years Eve.

In every kind of weather.

Everywhere.

So how did sunglasses evolve from frankly functional to fashions ultimate accessory?

Eye Care For the Sun

Vintage ad Willsonite Sun Glasses 1941 “Used by the Army Navy and leading airlines”

Before designers flaunted their logos on their overpriced frames, the only designer names attached to sunglasses were optical firms like Bauch & Lomb, American Optical and Willsonlite.

By the late 1930s advertisements for sunglasses began appearing emphasizing scientific protection from the damages of the sun…fashion was an afterthought.

Vintage ad Optiks Sunglasses 1941

In 1936 while army air corp pilots first began wearing polarized sunglasses developed by Bauch & Lomb to protect their eyes from the dangerous glare of the sun, earth-bound beach bunny’s were soon encouraged to protect their own precious peepers from harmful rays, with their own version of the Ray Ban aviator sunglasses.

“Don’t blame the hot dogs for the dizziness and nausea you feel after a day in the sun,” Optik sunglasses cautioned the beach goer in this 1941 ad. “Ten to one its due to unsuspected distortion in your sunglasses!”

A “Beach headache” they explained was a red flag that you were getting too much sun and its harmful ultra violet rays which could lead to permanent eye damage.

Capt.Only Superior products such as Optiks sunglasses with their scientifically ground and polished lenses, would protect you from distortion danger,

Vintage ad for Gaby Suntan Lotion 1944

Besides which, isn’t you eyesight worth 50 cents?

So while you were slathering on the baby oil to get a healthy sun tan, be sure to don a pair of good sun glasses for protection.

 Outdoor Eye Care

American Optical offered lenses in Cosmetan (brown) or Calobar ( green)

Advertising continued to be geared to sportsmen Whether shushing on the slopes or splashing in the surf, hunting down deer or driving a ball down the Fairway, sun glasses were for the active American lifestyle and fashion was still a second thought.

Long before Google glass there was Sportglas by American Optical to protect the active post war sportsman…and sports lady Vintage ad American Opticals Polaroid Sportsglas ad 1946

National Sun Glass Week

Ironically, despite the ubiquitous of sunglasses today, National Sun Glass Week has been whittled down to a mere day- June 27 National Sunglass Day! (L) Vintage ad 1946 American Opticals (R) National Sun Glasses Week ad 1950

By the postwar years, sun glasses were becoming so popular that they merited their own week June 26-July 2- “Wear Sun Glasses for Comfort and Safety.”

In one of their ads we are warned of the dangers of not wearing sun glasses to sporting events. “Who has made the smarter choice,” we are asked. Smart Sue or Dumb Don?

“Over exposure to sun will reduce the fellows eye sensitivity to light about one-third compared to Smart Sue who wore sun glasses to the baseball game. Dumb Don’s ability to see will be curtailed for hours, possibly days- real danger lurks when he drives after dark or works in his factory.”
Not wearing sunglasses can cost him his job! Every person is affected this way. Sun glasses protect your eyes.”

“Buy 2 or 3 pairs,” the reader is encouraged. “keep them on hand.”

Star Struck by Sunglasses

Hollywood star Barbara Stanwyck sports fashionable shades 1947

As sun glasses increasingly became associated with Hollywood glamor and the wealthy vacationers in St Moritz, celebrities now not only wore sun glasses but began lending their name to the products.

Post War Celebrities Tex McCrary and Jinx Falkenberg wear sporty American Opticals Polaroid Sportsglas to get rid of Reflected Glare 1948 ad

That popular post-war celebrity couple Tex McCrary and Jinx Falkenberg – stars of sports, radio and television – who lent heir endorsement to dozens of product proudly wore snappy Polaroid Sportsglas whenever they lobbed a few tennis balls.

“How the unique Polaroid principle blocks reflected glare” Vintage ad American Optical Polaroid Sportsglas ad

Polarized lenses technology had been created in the 1930s by Edwin H Land founder of Polaroid Corp. and American Optical used it in their Sportglas.

Fashion Eyes

As the melding of sunglasses and glamor grew so did the market for flattering glasses.

Vintage ad Flexfit Sunglasses 1951

Flexfit sun glasses posed the question?

“Why be a ho-hum girl…when you can be a humdinger!”
“This summer glamor eyes your face with Flexfit sun glasses! Wonderful styles to turn admiring eyes your way!”

Flexfits “Hidden Spring Action” is truly the most sensational invention in sun glass history! Only Flexfit Sun Glasses bring you this revolutionary feature that outdates all other sun glasses!”

Fashion for the masses, was Flexfit’s promise with their flexible sunglasses that they boasted were the most sensational invention in sun glass history!

Flexfit sun glasses promised the smartest styling ever seen with features and styling that, they claimed, up till now have only been seen at Europes most exclusive resorts….in glasses costing from $12.50 to $25 ! Yet you pay no more for Flexfit sun glasses than for ordinary, old-fashioned sun glasses- a very democratic $1.49.

In addition Flexfit offered their miracle “Hidden Spring Action” – “found only in their sun glasses – lets you bend, shape and flex your sun glasses to a custom fit.”

Cool Rays

Vintage ad American Optical’s Cool Ray Sun Glasses 1948

Vintage ad American Optica’ls Cool Ray Sun Glasses 1946

Bausch & Lomb offered 11 exciting frame styles and 12 fashionable colors! Vintage Ray Ban Sun Glasses ad

Frame Your Eyes in Flattery with Ray Ban Sunglasses !

Foster Grants

Vintage Fosta Grant Sunglasses ad 1955

No one did more to emphasizing the sex appeal of sunglasses than Foster Grant.
“Look alive! Look lively! People can’t help noticing you…admiring.” begins this 1955 ad . “Fosta Grantly sunglasses are the freshest liveliest styles under the sun for man woman and child.”

By the 1960’s purely practical sunglasses became purely funglasses.

The death knell for utilitarian sunglasses was finally dealt a blow with the sexy ad campaign by Foster Grant that helped escalate the popularity of sunglasses.

The Spell of the Shades

Vintage Foster Grant Sunglasses ad featuring Raquel Welch 1968 The first ad in the series featured Peter Sellers and ran in 1965. Subsequent ads used Anthony Quinn, Woody Allen, Jane Fonda, Julie Christie.

In the 1960s attempting to compete against the technological edge of Cool Ray Polaroid polarizing lenses, Foster Grant developed the clever marketing “Who’s That Behind the Foster Grants” ad campaign, that went on to huge success becoming part of popular culture.

The folks at Foster Grant were besides themselves with the new rage for sunglasses. “Since we are the undisputed king of the hill in sunglasses, this international boom really hits us where we live,” they boasted in one of their ads.

And bragging rights were justified.

They were the grandaddy of sunglasses. In 1929 Sam Foster of Foster Grant Co sold the first pair of Foster Grants sunglasses on the boardwalk of Atlantic City. They were also the first company to use abrasion resistant lens coatings to block the suns ultra violet rays.

Vintage Foster Grant Ad “Isn’t that Anita Ekberg behind those Foster Grants?” 1966 “Behind each and every pair Anita underwent a strange and awesome change. Now somehow cooler, more aloof. Now wittier. Now prettier”

America was under the Spell of the Shades, observed Foster Grant.

“If you don’t believe it, gentle reader, look around. We are in the midst of an intercontinental sunglass explosion and it has nothing to do with the glare of the sun.”

Of course Foster Grant sunglasses did offer eye protection with their ff77 lenses, but that was a mere afterthought to most folks.

As they explained in their ad: “People don’t buy them for their lensmanship. Anita Ekberg, for instance, doesn’t know ff77 from first base. But when we left, she ordered 15 pairs.”

Just like a woman!

Vintage 1966 ad Foster Grant “Isn’t That Elke Sommer Behind those Foster Grants?”

The provocative headline asking the reader: “Isn’t that Elke Sommer behind those Foster Grants?” lent an cool air of mystery to the shades.

“The suspense is killing, so we’ll fess up. It is Miss Sommer,” they reassure the reader.

“But you’ve got to admit that, despite her singular talents, there is a split second when you wondered. And that’s the power of sunglasses. Our 1966 Foster Grants have wondrously worked their magic upon her. Elke changes.”

“Looks and mood alike. Coy. Arch. Petulant, Commanding.”

“That dear friend, is the Spell of the Shades!”

“The day of strictly utilitarian protection from the dastardly glare of the sun is gone. Now sirens like Sommers are sporting a different pair with every vapor every ensemble ever time of day. Winter and summer.”

“Sunglasses are in.”

The rest is history….

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Sizzling in the Sixties Suburban Sun

Long before Crew Cuts was the name of J. Crews adorable line of clothing for boys and girls, it was mid- century summers must have hair cut for boys of all ages.

Also known affectionately as a butch cut, a buzz cut and a flat top, it was, along with baseball, camping, and Good Humor, an essential part of summer’s ritual. Getting your hair shorn was a rite of passage for the boys of summer.

Although it appeared to be a care-free- no-fuss-no-muss hairstyle, keeping it up or keeping it down required maintenance with a mid-century product called Butch Wax. One manufacturer of the paste-like substance promised to help keep your hair as evenly “as the bristles of a new brush”.

There was not just one size fits all crew cuts…the variations were exacting and numerous according to these Max Factor vintage ads from 1961.

The Standard Crew Cut

This was the most popular of all short-hair cuts. “It is trained to stand upright in front and on top, with the sides cut close to the shape of the head. It’s length is about an inch and a half at front to an inch at the crown and !/2 inch at back.

The Short Pomp

“This haircut looks like the regular crew cut in shape but it is slightly longer in length so that the hair begins to lie down a bit and cover the scalp when combed back. The top front length is about 2 inches, an inch and a half at crown and an inch at the back.”

The Flat-Top-Boogie

This haircut is getting more and more popular, The flat-topboogie has long sides which must be kept carefully trained to look neat. The sides are combed back and upward, pulling the longer strands around the back of the head in a semi ducktail.

The West Pointer

This is the official haircut of the US Military Academy. All hair on sides and back is kept clipped down to the skin. hair above forehead is rounded to shape of the skull with a maximum length of an eight of an inch for plebes and 1 inch for upper classmen.

Copyright (©) 20014 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved

Life was a colorful, carefree wash n’ wear world

Summertime and the living was easy especially in the post war world of wash n’ wear clothing.

Summer and synthetics was a match made in chemical lab heaven.

The easy care revolution in textiles was always in full display at my suburban summertime family barbecues.

The World is Yours….especially in these Arnel Triacetate separates just right for the perfect couple. What says down home gingham better then ahhhh…..Arnel!

It was always fun to see my usually serious relatives suddenly seasonally transformed, parading around in their color-fast, color-fun, wash n’ wear summertime attire.

It was nothing short of a tribute to post-war possibilities in polyester.

“Dress Right You Can’t Afford Not To. The good old summer is time for all kinds of weekend fun…including the fun of dressing right for whatever under the sun you’re doing,” begins this 1957 ad. “When you look good, you feel good- sure of yourself.” And in mid century America nothing gave you the smart self confidence like an outfit in smart, wash n’ wear polyester.

As the humidity mounted on the sticky city streets, my small contingency of hot-town-summer-in-the-city relatives was always delighted to be out in the country for their dose of fresh air.

It was the perfect tonic for the exhaust fumes, grit and grime of 1960’s NYC.

Breathing in the fresh suburban air, laced with the fumes from the chemically laden charcoal briquettes emanating from all the other grills of ex-urbanite- neighbors up and down the block, stimulated a suburban sized appetite

Go casual or dress up in carefree colorful wash n wear Dacron

Two’s Company in wrinkle-shy smart woven cotton Dacron

In the summer of 1961 despite the Berlin crisis looming in the air and the possible threat of thermonuclear war, folks demeanor at my big family barbecue were as trouble-free as their Dacron separates.

No longer weighed down with winter’s worries, uncles aunts and cousins appeared buoyant in a way I never saw all winter.

It was if by shucking their winter wools and gabardines for the, wrinkle free ease of 100% Acrilan, they were ridding themselves of a seasons worth of heavy burdens.

In fact the only wrinkles present at these gatherings were on the heavily lined faces of my sun worshiping relatives.

Cool Daddy-O-in Drip Dry Dacron

Bermuda shorts in racy Rayon -Dacron texture you’d swear was linen! Frosty Cool, they wont crush or muss!

First sightings of our Uncles hairy legs and knobby knees poking out from baggy Bermuda shorts, brought on uncontrollable giggles for my brother and me.

Drip dry dashing in their 100% Acrilan sports shirts, they were a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns in the easy care, luxury  acrylic fabric.

Men’s winter bellies that had been neatly contained by worsted wool suit jackets were now bursting free in their clingy Ban-Lon shirts

Figure flattering Ban-Lon was the wonder material favored by  folks everywhere. The figure revealing fabric was a type of NyLON developed and patented by the laboratories of Joseph BANcraft & Sons.

Acrilan was was an acrylic fibre developed by Chemstrand. “Luxury’s yours in wash n’ wear shirts of 100% Acrilan.The texture must be touched to believe. “They’re soft and warm as a harem girls kiss” exclaims the copy in the 1956 ad on the right. Wear ‘em, wash ‘em, they don’t stretch or shrink. “Best of all they completely frustrate moths and mildew- completely satisfy men.” Vintage Acrilan Ads 1956

Ban Lon- He’ll love you for it…give him one of these exciting Ban-Lon beauties. “Believe us he’ll be your baby in Ban-Lon, claims the copy in this 1960 (R) ad. “Despite its luxurious look, it can well stand up to his manhandling! It’s shrink-proof. mildew-proof, and moth proof!”

 Cool, Colorful  and Carefree

Live easy…look breezy in cool carefree uncrushable Dacron in these patio perfect 1961 dresses

Polyesters you’ll love to live in! Bared and beautiful, Bouffant beats the heat with little straps that expose you to enjoy balmy suburban breeze. Fashioned in lustrous wash n’ wear Dacron . Vintage women’s fashion 1961 Sears catalog

Women’s winter weary bosoms, revealed in sporty little perma-prest sundresses seemed to be coming out of hibernation in an exuberant display of deeply tanned decolletage.

Perfect for the patio- these Ship ‘n Shore separates are wild about color. “Cool as as a breeze. And they go to any lengths to please!” Kinda like most mid century women!

The gals were comfortably fun-loving casual in their Ship n Shore drip dry patio pants, peddle pushers and capris.

Their color-happy, easy-wear Celanese separates were vibrant in sun coral, refreshing in turquoise and electric in jubilee orange, colors that seemed to match their enticing fruit colors-for-warm-weather-wear lips.

Celanese Fortrel makes the scene (L) Vintage Catalina sportswear ad 1962 (R) Vintage Sears catalog 1961

Patios and polyester were made for one another in vibrant refreshing colors Vintage catalog ads Sears 1961

Whether Antron, Acrylon or Dacron it was a veritable sea of drip dry, and wrinkle free, a wash n’ wear tribute to post-war man’s progress over nature, a cornucopia of the space age convenience of miracle man-made fabrics.

The real miracle was that there wasn’t a natural fabric among them. What a tribute to the great outdoors.

Because these new miracle man-made fibers were totally synthesized from chemicals found in the oil industry, there was enough petroleum in the clothes to ignite barbeques up and down the block.

Poke up a fire and relax while supper grills to a turn. Just don’t stand too close to the fire; nothing acts as an accelerant better than polyester.

These Dacron shirts make a man feel debonair. They’re designed to lounge in whether your brand of relaxation is a soft EZ chair or a turn on the golf links. Casual when it comes to taking care of, Dacron takes care of itself. Mens Dacron Sportshirts 1961 Sears Catalog

While the men huddled ‘round the smoky Weber grill, hotly debating whether Roger Maris would break Babe Ruth’s Home runs this season, the wives held their own smoky gab fest.

Engulfed in a plume of hazy blue cigarette smoke the normally harried housewives were as relaxed as their free and easy care fabrics.

More time to Play in Polyester

You look your best…work much less in Dacron and cotton for automatic wash n’ wear. Before this revolution in textiles a homemaker might spend up to 20 hours a weeks ironing clothes, tablecloths and bed linens made of natural fibers.

Thanks to the magic of modern chemistry we were into the new wonderful world of synthetic fabrics and the American housewife was the happy recipient of these new discoveries

In the easy does it, no fuss no muss, new and improved push button post war world, the miracle that could only happen in the wonderful world of wash n wear was a godsend to the housewife. No more long hot summer hours spent ironing out wrinkled linens or creased cottons. Here were clothes that practically care for themselves.

Yes there was a new way to live…and it was easy.

Better Living Through Chemistry

Vintage advertisement Union Carbide 1949

For years the wizards of chemistry had been working tirelessly in their labs concocting chemically made fibers that challenged natures best in wear and appearance

Far from being scorned as they are now, chemically made fibers were considered a key to better living.

How Can You Resist

Vintage ad Vicara Fiber Division Virginia-Carolina Chemical Corp. 1954 “Perfect for springtime sweaters”

Contemporary fabrics like Celanese Acetate were perfect for the new busy mid-century American Housewife. “She needed a special kind of clothes for her busy, rewarding life,” readers were told in one ad touting the fabric. “Whether as den mother, eagle eye supermarket shopper or decorating wiz it was a fast paced life.”

Polyester made good on its promise to lighten Moms load.

A New Way To Live

“There’s a new way to look …a new way to live in Dacron! There’s a new way to live…and its easy! It begins with your discovery of Dacron for modern living clothes that practically care for themselves. You’ll find wrinkle-shedding Dacron alone or blended with other fibers) lets you forget your ironing board…saves you cleaning upkeep ,helps your clothes wear and wear, stay fresh no matter the weather. Look to your stores for a whole new way of fashion a whirl of exciting colors and textures Dacron polyester fiber for you to live in and love. Dacron one of Du Ponts modern living fabrics” Vintage ad 1953

It all began with DuPont’s discovery of Dacron. By 1961, Dacron, the granddaddy of polyester was already a decade old

Dacron was made for modern living. It was the biggest thing to hit the clothing industry since nylon.

It Started with Stockings

Vintage ad DuPonts Nylon

Dupont started the EZ care revolution with the introduction of nylon in 1939, the first fiber synthesized entirely by chemicals. A replacement for silk, it was wildly popular as nylon stocking and women gobbled them up.

But duty called and nylon was soon drafted by Uncle Sam. Off to war, it was essential for parachutes , tents and airplane tires .

With the war over, the test tube boys knuckled down and got back to work fulfilling their post war promises of a better tomorrow.

In the spring of 1951 DuPont debuted Dacron (polyethylene terephthalate).

 The Dawning of Dacron

Vintage ad Dacron Suits 1957

No one was more a devotee of DuPonts miracle man-made fabric than my Dad. He could say so long to seersucker, and summer-weight woolens. When it came to summer suits, Dacron blew them out of the water.

Not only were Dacron Suits cooler,  the pants would keep their creases unless you deliberately removed it with a hot iron.Washed by hand or machine and drip dried, these suits were ready to wear!

Derided as tacky today, polyesters like Dacron were miracle space age wonder.

Nothing announced to the world that you were a man of discerning taste the way a garment of 100% Dacron did.

Synthetics were far from the cheap inexpensive items we associate with them now. In fact the only wrinkle was that the very first Dacron suits were a whopping $95, out of reach for the average Joe.

Wash and Wear to Go Go

This remarkable suit made with Dacron” polyester fiber can be machine washed machine dried and worn immediately. It was the worlds first Automatic Wash n Wear.This modern living innovation, DuPont explained, is made possible by new tailoring techniques, properly made fabrics, and modern home driers.

But in that fast paced, rat race world of mid-century America what business man on the go-go had time to wait for a suit to drip dry?

It wasn’t long before the world’s first Automatic Wash n’ Wear suit debuted.

The benefit of this new wonder was it wasn’t just wash n wear. This suit could be dried and “pressed” ( wrinkles out, crease still in) in your automatic dryer too! The automatic dryer which had only a few years earlier been a luxury was by the mid 1950s a necessity in the suburban home.

In the future, DuPont promised the consumer , you will be able to buy “Automatic Wash n Wear convenience in many other type of clothing.”

The Power of Polyester Unleashed

In another decade the possibilities of polyester would know no bounds. By the 1970s the postwar promises of polyester would be fully realized.

The Evolution of Polyester 1956-1971

Polyester was in full swing by the 1970s. Sears catalog 1971

Copyright (©) 2014 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved

You Scream, I Scream, We All Scream For Ice Cream!

Growing up in mid-century Long Island, no  sound was more welcome than the suburban siren call of summer – the seductive jingling  bells of the Good Humor truck.

Normally at the first ring of that irresistible ding-a-ling-ling, slippery tots would jump out of vinyl sided pools, Stan Muesial baseball mitts were tossed unceremoniously to the ground, and gun slinging cowpokes shifted their attention to the thought of a toasted almond or a chocolate éclair bar, as a  blur of pigtails, baseball caps and scraped knees would appear.

Salivating like Pavlovian dogs, they would go running to the nearest parent, their tiny hands thrust out impatiently for a coin.

But discerning ears knew that not all chimes were created equal.

Bungalow Bar in the Burbs

Vintage ad Dixie Cups 1946

On certain afternoons the jingling of bells brought no buyers, the streets remained remarkably empty of Dixie cup craving children.

This was because the chimes belonged to the Bungalow Bar truck, that trespasser from the city Boroughs. A stranger to the burbs, the truck roamed the streets like an unwelcome tourist in a foreign location which in fact it was.

I’m sure the Bungalow Bar man was as friendly as Nick our Good Humor man, always impeccably dressed in his blindingly white uniform, just as I’m sure he was equally skilled at reaching into the ice cream compartment steamy with condensation and able to pull out exactly the item you wanted without even seeming to look.

No doubt he was just as adept at working the silver metal coin organizer that he wore on his belt quickly clicking the little lever that would eject a coin at the bottom for your change.

But he was never even given a chance.

At the appearance of the truck I would join the rest of the kids chanting at the top of our lungs a mean-spirited ditty that was mysteriously passed from neighborhood to neighborhood, without any real foundation to it: “Bungalow bar/tastes like tar/ the more you eat/ the sicker you are.”

The truck itself was quaint, its white rounded corners reminiscent of an old-fashioned Frigidaire the kind found in a Grandmothers apartment.

It was  designed to look like a small bungalow  complete with a white picket fence instead of a door, topped with a dark russet-brown shingle roof and a fake chimney, which if it were real would probably belch out black smoke from its coal furnace.

In the shiny new suburbs where everything you saw and touched was not just new but never before new, it looked plain old-fashioned, and woefully out of place.

Suburban Interloper

Their only customers were the occasional family nostalgic for the old neighborhood, families like my neighbors the Moskowitz’s, who would often sit on lawn chairs set up on their stark concrete driveway as if they were still sitting on the stoop of their Bensonhoist Brooklyn apartment watching the nonexistent foot traffic go by.

Like a doddering old Dinosaur, this interloper that had originated in Brooklyn and Queens had stumbled across the Nassau County  border hoping to join the stampede pouring out to the suburbs of Lon gIsland.

Maybe for those crowded, apartment dwellers who escaped the heat each summer to the fresh air of the Mountains renting tiny, 2 room, asbestos shingled, gable roofed bungalows in the Borscht Belt, the sight of that  Bungalow on wheels brought back bucolic  memories  of pine scented air,and screened porches.

Perhaps in Bushwick or Bensonhurst, Flatbush or Forest Hills, a world of two family attached houses, broad stoops with great balustrades in lieu of backyards, narrow concrete alleyways where little boys rode bicycles and little girls played Double Dutch, Bungalow Bars may have ruled unchallenged but in the modern suburbs of swing sets and split levels  Good Humor was king.

Suburban Paradise

Suburbia so Modern…so Up to Date

This was the land of Exodus where so many seemed to have found the Promised Land, and Bungalow Bars were a remnant of a former life, a reminder of a past left behind.

The boroughs were the Old World and for some, Brooklyn and the Bronx were as far removed from this first generation of suburbanites as Minsk was from my first generation American grandparents.

The Cadillac of Ice Cream

So we would wait for the big spanking white porcelain truck with the modern clean square edges, its familiar logo with the picture of the chocolate covered bar with a bite taken out of it, baked into the tiny freezer door.

Yes, we were willing to pay an extra nickel more for the privilege of eating a frozen treat from  Good Humor the Cadillac of ice cream trucks, the standard by which other ice cream trucks were judged.