Vintage ad Kodak Brownie Movie Camera 1957

Bidding the Beach Club Goodbye

Labor Day signaled the last call at my Grandmothers Long Island beach club.

Just as white shoes would make their final appearance of the season, so it was time to bid the sandy white beach goodbye as the summer of 1961 came to a close.

End of a Mid-Century Summer

By late afternoon on Labor Day, the wind at the beach club had picked up and the whipping sound of the flags snapping in the wind grew louder as the choppy surf grew rougher, spraying salty mist in the air.

Like a sailor lured by the siren call of the sea, the late afternoon beach beckoned.

The tide had gone out making it ideal conditions for serious sandcastle building and I couldn’t wait to get my hands into some wet sand, patting and pummeling it into submission.

Kodak Moments To Remember

Vintage Kodak Camera Advertisiement 1951

These would be moments to remember and Mom grabbed her Brownie Starflex camera, frowning in annoyance that Dad had left it without film.

After being out in the bright sunshine it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness as I followed Mom into the dim changing room of the beach club cabana with its floor gritty with sand and powder, to load the camera with film.

Once she was done threading and winding the metal spool and had snapped the lid shut ensuring not a ray of light would strike the Kodak 127 film and ruin any of the 12 black and white shots, she let me turn the cranking knob winding the film until the start appeared in the ruby-red window.

With her flowered plastic lined beach bag packed with some fluffy freshly laundered towels, a change of suits for me and enough cracker jacks to see me through some serious construction, Mom slipped on her matching beach jacket and thongs and I clutched my colorful metal sand pail and  we headed for the beach skipping with great care  over the mollusk shells dropped by the seagulls on the brick walkway.

Vintage illustration from A Little Golden Book “The Happy Family” 1955 pictures by Corinne Malvern

Scavenger Hunt

The end of the day belonged to the scavengers .

There was Ned Brodie who  broke the tedium of the day combing the perimeter of the beach with a Geiger counter in one hand and a metal detector in the other, hoping to hit the ultimate jackpot of a radioactive coin.

Then there was the daily parade of brazen sun worshiping seagulls.

The birds would be teetering and tottering on their skinny pinkish legs, bottle caps glittering greedily in their hooked yellow bills, those brazen gulls  conducting surveillance, holding summits,  squabbling over territory, leaving a paper trail in their wake.

The end of the day beach maintenance men followed  these white-headed interlopers and their colorful trail of green spearmint, yellow peppermint and  teaberry pink gum wrappers scooping them up along with the Dixie cup lids, bottle caps and popsicle sticks, that the scavenger gulls pulled out of trash cans littering the beach.

No See-Ums

But the late afternoon belonged to the no see-ums, those imperceptible biting sand flies that were the bane of my mothers existence.

These went beyond merely a simple brush off; they required an entire swat team to rid the beach of these pesky bugs.

At the end of the day as umbrellas were lowered, bathing suits rinsed, sands shaken out of shoes, and bets settled up for the day, the no see-ums nipped at your ankles.

By days end the medicinal mentholated smell of Solarcaine filled the summer air, as mothers gently rubbed the thick, soothing lotion into their children’s flaming sun-scorched bodies relieving their agonizing suffering.

Too much fun n’ sun? No need to worry.  The searing pain of sunburn had no place in modern life.

We would have to wait a full year to do it all over again.

Goodbye to Summer -Vintage illustration children’s book “The Happy Family” 1955 Little Golden Books

© 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.

Rosie the Riveter enjoys a rare day off to enjoy the beach in her Jantzen swim suit. Vintage ad 1943

1944 was a different kind of summer.

It was a sweltering July 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, endless shortages and war work.

Americans were working overtime as never before.

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

As men left 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. Doing tasks men considered unladylike such as tending furnaces in steel mills, working overtime on the riveting machines and welding hulls in shipyards.

Vintage Coca Cola ad 1944 “From sunny Calif. to the coast of Maine, faster and faster the ships go down the ways in the wartime shipbuilding program.

My family’s own Rosie the Riveter, my mothers cousin Rochelle – who would forever be known as Rosie  was in the thick of things working at the Brooklyn Naval Yards.

At the height of WWII, the Brooklyn Naval Yard was employing close to 71,000 workers on three shifts. Blue flashes from the arc welders torches were visible day and night. Shipbuilders were busy with the keels of battleships that would be outfitted there.

Rosie was always proud that she could claim she worked on the USS Missouri which was launched on January 1944. She got an extra thrill knowing that the Japanese signed the WWII surrender documents on the deck of the ship she helped build.

But that victorious moment was a full year away.

Like all Americans, Rosie’s frayed nerves had yet to recover from the nerve-racking anticipation of D Day, only a month earlier when everyone was in a constant state of jitters.

Now working day and night, there could be no letting down, no slacking until the peace was signed, until our men returned.

War weary Rosie was ready to ditch her grimy coveralls for a curve hugging new swimsuit.

At Ease

vintage illustration

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

“But,” she would sigh to her gal pals, “what good was the beach without a beau to rub suntan oil on her or 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.

Rosie couldn’t help wondering if they were not rationing love too.

Last Word in Swim Suits

Vintage Jantzen Swimsuit ad 1942 Photo by Hurrell

Rosie  knew she needed some ammunition to attract whatever available men were still around. Squirreling away a few extra dollars each week she decided to splurge on a new swimsuit.

In her summertime campaign to land romance she was glad she could still enlist the help of Jantzen.

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 Jantzen Swim Suit ad 1943

Luckily Macy’s  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.”

Gazing in the three-way mirror her reflection made good on the promise. Rosie the Riveter dazzled.

Empowered by  the uplifting capability  of her new Jantzen bra, along with the heavenly slimming magic of Lastex fabric  , she was ready to catch the eye of any beach bound man!

Beach Bliss

This 1944 Jantzen ad clearly directed at war- weary worker. 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.”

With a sense of adventure 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 to Jones Beach, a NY State Park on Long Island close by the hot pavement of Manhattan.

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

Vintage Jantzen ad 1942 Photograph by Hurrell

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.

Stodgy newspapers filled with sobering war stories got put to good use. Folks folded the papers into triangles, fastened them at the corners and wore them as hats to keep off the summer sun. They spread them on beaches and covered them with frankfurters, potato salad, pickles and thermos bottles.

To a beach goer who could sit down and cool off and maybe have somebody bury him up to his chin in the sand, things weren’t nearly so bad as they seemed in the hot city and the war seemed far away.

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

So long pale face.

Hello Soldier

Vintage Jantzen swimsuit ad 1943

As the sun beat down hot and clear from overhead, the queerest of prickly feelings nipped at the back of her neck. It was as if someone were staring at her hard! She twisted and there suddenly like a mirage in a desert devoid of men, a dreamboat, trim in tailored trunks, seemed to appear out of thin air.

A soldier stationed at Manhattan beach, Rusty was a khaki Casanova who swept her off her feet.

The hot day sizzled with romance.

At the end of the day as the flag was lowered to the strains of the national anthem, Rosie joined many of the bathers picnickers and onlookers within hearing and stood at attention proudly  facing towards where the flag was being lowered.

As the last strain of the Star Spangled Banner played in the distance, Rusty bent his head and kissed her. She felt filled to the brim with little bubbles of happiness

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

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2015. 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.

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 the next few weeks.

Please enjoy some favorite posts of summers past. See you soon!

xo

Sally

Vintage Ad 1951 TWA

The summer vacation has long been an American tradition, but not all destinations are created equal.

While the 1% are off on their luxurious destination vacations, for many Americans who continue to see their income decline, the prospect of an end of summer vacation dims along with it.

The continuing economic slump has meant another summer of staycations for many middle class Americans.

So what’s a struggling family to do for fun this summer?

What if you could experience the thrilling wonders of Yosemite, the cool mountains of the Alps, the majesty of the Grand Canyon along with hundreds of other thrilling locations, teeming with adventure and beauty all from the comfort of your living room couch.

If you’re the happy owner of a genuine View-Master, the world’s your oyster… at least it could be if this was the 1950s. and ‘60s.

The View-Masters enthusiastic ads promised the  stay-at-home-vacationer a  travel experience like you never encountered.

It was down right thrilling!

 Hold me, Thrill me

 “You’ll thrill to marvelous views with View-Masters famous 3D view,” the ads  gushed.

 “You’ll know why folks everywhere name View-Master Tops in Travel. These Come-to-Life stereo pictures will thrill a family.”

“All the family will enjoy pictures of famous American scenes, exotic faraway lands, exciting children’s stories in the amazing depth of three dimensions. Viewmaster stereo color pictures are so real you’ll feel as if you are actually a part of the scene. Each low cost View Master reel contains 7  stereo Kodachrome scenes.”

The ads further promised to “take family and friends on entertaining educational stereoscopic tours of the world famous wonderland with true to life color 3 D view master pictures”. Whether to seashore, the mountains or a historical site  they would be your guide.

Yes, you’ll smile with satisfaction at the money you save, you’ll smile with pleasure as you relax in your Laz-E-Boy recliner as you travel the globe.

 A Rainy Day Suburban Savior

View-Master saved many a rainy day for me growing up in the 1960s.

Stuck inside my home in a non air-conditioned house during a stormy summer, could be a recipe for disaster for a 6-year-old.

While my older brother could be content to stay put with his transistor radio and lose himself  in the top 40 world of “Music radio …77 WABC…the place to be…hit time of bop shoo  op a bop bop”, I was  the more restless spirit. After amusing  myself with the hand- me- down Tinker Toys and Lincoln Logs, remnants from my brothers  old Davy Crockett days,  I developed a case of wanderlust.

My brother may have been satisfied merely listening to Ricky Nelson croon on about being a travelin’ man…. I wanted to be one.

Wanderlust

Now with the help of my trusty View-Master  I could travel to the farthest corner of the earth or at least Carlsbad Caverns, Muir Woods, or the Hoover Dam.

If I never found out “who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp? Who put the ram in the rama lama ding dong? “it was fine by me.

Seeing the world in vivid  colorful 3D was almost like being there.

Holding the black speckled Bakelite View-Master, I’d carefully insert the circular cardboard discs with the individual tiny picture windows  into the top of the viewer,  waiting to heart the click letting me know it was in its correct position.

I was ready to be transported.

The View-Master dangled the promise to take me on thrilling  3D adventure and it was true to its word. Whether down old Mexico way, or walking the sands of Waikiki,  I would make a lot of stops all over the world.

“You’re in the threshold of glorious new vacation thrill when you enter the world of the View-Master—- no passport required.”

You’ll never even miss that costly destination vacation.

 Copyright (©) 20015 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved -Excerpt From Defrosting The Cold War:Fallout From My Nuclear Family

L) Vintage Ray Ban Sunglasses Ad 1960 (R) Vintage Jantzen Swimsuit Ad 1950s, illustration by Pete Hawley

How To Enjoy The Sun In Style

In the summer of 1960 the glitter and glamor of my Grandmothers beach club often rivaled the showboating and schmoozing of the presidential campaign that summer.

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

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.

Splashing around happily in the shallow end of the turquoise tiled pool, my mother and I  watched the endless parade of equally shallow strutting ladies preening for lots of second glances.

Each gals  curve hugging suit equipped with molded bras to showcase bountiful bosoms,competed for attention-  a flurry of rhumba stripes, pleats, cotton shirred, piped ruffles, saucy anchor buttons, and bows placed just so.

Vintage swimwear 1962 Spiegal catalog

 It was a peculiar female universe at least during the week when women far outnumbered the men, but for the solicitous cabana boys, and the occasional group of stogie smoking, pot-bellied retirees 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.

Even with the southern drawl of Red Barber blaring loudly from their large Sylvania  transistor radio with the oversize dial and the CONELRAD markings, 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.

Ladies Only

Since the men were in such short supply during the week  they hoped to at least elicit envy from the other scrutinizing gals.

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, my grandmother called them the girls from Iponema by way of East Flatbush.

Vintage beach wear 1962 Spiegel Catalog

Beneath huge showy straw hats, some as large as pizza pies, their winter dull hair, had been miraculously enlivened by Miss Clairol in mouth-watering shades that ran the gamut from apricot soufflé, strawberry parfait, and lemon meringue.

Unlike Mom, their teased hair never seemed to melt or wilt, thanks to liberal use of Helene Curtis Spray Net, nor were their lips like Mom’s, covered in chapstick, but improbably colored by Hazel Bishop’s no smear lipstick, staying so perfectly you could swim with it-but-god forbid you got wet swimming and risk ruining your hair-do.

Vintage Ads (L) champion Papers 1957 (R) 7-Up 1958

Life’s a Beach

My grandmother was in possession of prime beach club real estate, a much coveted corner cabana, so we were treated to unobstructed vistas of the clean white sandy beach.

The powerful ocean waves were restrained by algae stone jetties that also served the purpose of dividing the white sandy beach into socially stratified enclaves.

These unofficial boundaries protected each beach club from the huddled masses lest it be turned into, my grandmothers worst fear,  a Coney island where the crush of crowds concealed the sand, the beach  filled with who knows what kinds of people who had been who knows where.

Living proof that the American dream was alive and well in mid-century America

But the white sandy beaches themselves were often deserted.

The ladies of the club much preferred to loll around the pool on chaise lounges as the cabana boys lavishly rubbed Bain de Soeillee Orange Gelee onto their mahogany burnished, Lady Norelco’d bodies.

Lest they lose their dollar tip at the end of the day the crew cut cabana boys were careful to avoid shmeering the goopy orange gel on m’ ladies new-this-season Rose Marie Reed swimsuit, the one featured at Saks but scooped up for a song at Loehmans.

They would make a splash without once getting wet.

No, the sandy beach was not for them- it was too messy with its gritty sand that got into all the inconvenient  nooks and crannies, its salty mist terrible for their elaborate do’s.

For the afternoon, while their balding overworked, overweight husbands labored in the steaming heat of the Garment Center, and their kids safely tucked away at camp these suburban satyrs were temporarily transported to a Riviera of their own making.

Copyright (©) 20015 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved -Excerpt From  Defrosting The Cold War: Fallout From My Nuclear family

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2015. 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 Cabana Set Boys of Summer

Beach Club Paradise On Patrol

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.

Lunchtime By the Cabana

Tempting creative salads

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.

Image Credit: Aloha Organic Fruit

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 (©) 20015 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved -Excerpt From Defrosting The Cold War:Fallout From My Nuclear Family

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Beach Club Paradise on Parade

Vintage ad Kodak Brownie Movie Camera 1957

Bidding the Beach Club Goodbye

Labor Day signaled the last call at my Grandmothers Long Island beach club.

Just as white shoes would make their final appearance of the season, so it was time to bid the sandy white beach goodbye as the summer of 1961 came to a close.

End of a Mid-Century Summer

By late afternoon on Labor Day, the wind at the beach club had picked up and the whipping sound of the flags snapping in the wind grew louder as the choppy surf grew rougher, spraying salty mist in the air.

Like a sailor lured by the siren call of the sea, the late afternoon beach beckoned.

The tide had gone out making it ideal conditions for serious sandcastle building and I couldn’t wait to get my hands into some wet sand, patting and pummeling it into submission.

Kodak Moments To Remember

Vintage Kodak Camera Advertisement 1951

These would be moments to remember and Mom grabbed her Brownie Starflex camera, frowning in annoyance that Dad had left it without film.

After being out in the bright sunshine it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness as I followed Mom into the dim changing room of the beach club cabana with its floor gritty with sand and powder, to load the camera with film.

Once she was done threading and winding the metal spool and had snapped the lid shut ensuring not a ray of light would strike the Kodak 127 film and ruin any of the 12 black and white shots, she let me turn the cranking knob winding the film until the start appeared in the ruby-red window.

With her flowered plastic lined beach bag packed with some fluffy freshly laundered towels, a change of suits for me and enough cracker jacks to see me through some serious construction, Mom slipped on her matching beach jacket and thongs and I clutched my colorful metal sand pail and  we headed for the beach skipping with great care  over the mollusk shells dropped by the seagulls on the brick walkway.

Vintage illustration from A Little Golden Book “The Happy Family” 1955 pictures by Corinne Malvern

Scavenger Hunt

The end of the day belonged to the scavengers .

There was Ned Brodie who  broke the tedium of the day combing the perimeter of the beach with a Geiger counter in one hand and a metal detector in the other, hoping to hit the ultimate jackpot of a radioactive coin.

Then there was the daily parade of brazen sun worshiping seagulls.

The birds would be teetering and tottering on their skinny pinkish legs, bottle caps glittering greedily in their hooked yellow bills, those brazen gulls  conducting surveillance, holding summits,  squabbling over territory, leaving a paper trail in their wake.

The end of the day beach maintenance men followed  these white-headed interlopers and their colorful trail of green spearmint, yellow peppermint and  teaberry pink gum wrappers scooping them up along with the Dixie cup lids, bottle caps and popsicle sticks, that the scavenger gulls pulled out of trash cans littering the beach.

No See-Ums

But the late afternoon belonged to the no see-ums, those imperceptible biting sand flies that were the bane of my mothers existence.

These went beyond merely a simple brush off; they required an entire swat team to rid the beach of these pesky bugs.

At the end of the day as umbrellas were lowered, bathing suits rinsed, sands shaken out of shoes, and bets settled up for the day, the no see-ums nipped at your ankles.

By days end the medicinal mentholated smell of Solarcaine filled the summer air, as mothers gently rubbed the thick, soothing lotion into their children’s flaming sun-scorched bodies relieving their agonizing suffering.

Too much fun n’ sun? No need to worry.  The searing pain of sunburn had no place in modern life.

We would have to wait a full year to do it all over again.

Goodbye to Summer -Vintage illustration children’s book “The Happy Family” 1955 Little Golden Books

© 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.

Beat the Summer Heat – World Book Encyclopedia 1955

As we suffer through an oppressive heat wave, an offering of  mid century tips for a very contemporary problem.

How to beat the summer heat- automatically. Vintage ad Vendo Vending machines 1958

During this oppressive heat wave, summer’s must have accessory is the ubiquitous water bottle. Whether Aquafina or Poland Springs no one leaves home without toting these portable hydrators. Always at the ready, these  plastic water bottles can be found  littering desks and cluttering  conference tables in offices up and down the coast.

But long before these portable thirst quenchers became available, a parched, overheated worker had to rely on the office water cooler or the cool refreshments from a vending machine.

Vintage Illustration for Spry 1953

Before the popularity of air conditioning, the summer heat slowed down office workers everywhere,  including Mitzie McCrea a mid-century miss who toiled in the steamy jungle that was Manhattan. Sometimes Mitzie just wished she could live inside her Frigidaire, especially when the summer temperatures reached the high 90s like they did that August in 1958.

Vintage illustration Fedders Air Conditioning Ad 1952

This saucy secretary who could take dictation faster than you could  place a long distance call and could change a typewriter ribbon more deftly than anyone on Seventh Avenue,  slowed to a crawl in the hot weather. Like most firms in Manhattans steamy mid-town,  sales were sluggish, and overheated office workers just slogged through the day. The hot air circulating  through the office by the giant standing fans offered no relief.

As temperatures rose, employee morale dropped.

Wisely, Mitzi’s manager Mr. Dithers took matters into his own hands, making cooling refreshments available to his suffering staff throughout the day. Just a simple phone call to Kansas City and quick as a wink the Vendo Company – the premier manufacturer of cold beverage vending machines – was soon installing a series of their top-notch machines for  on the spot refreshment.

Smiling, Dithers  figured out how to beat the summer heat automatically! And boost sales.

Vendo formed in 1937 in Kansas City, Missouri was the standout manufacturer of cold beverages machines during the 1950’s. An important milestone was the introduction of the soft drink machine of Coca Cola in 1937. In coordination with Vendo Co. Coca Cola could vend their drinks in coin operated coolers. In 1940 the US mint office produced double the amount of coins of the previous years to keep up with the demand of change for vending machines. Vintage Vendo Company ad 1958

Mitzie and her co workers were thrilled and her eyes lit up at the row of tempting refreshments

Rich wholesome ice cream! Cold sparkling Coca Cola! And nothing said “chill” more than a tall refreshing cup of milk. Hmmm boy,  that’s good cooling! All served automatically at the touch of a button!  Old Man Dithers was going modern all the way.

Now all Mitzie needed was to save up those nickels and dimes to beat the summer heat.

 © Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2016. 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.

JFK in the swim. Photo by Bill Beebe/Los Angeles Times Archives?UCLA

A Favorite From the Vault

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

Vintage ad Avon 1962

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  Frank 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.

Ken’s Man Bun – Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

Oh Ken, say it ain’t so!

Whose hair brain idea was it to give poor Ken Carson a man bun? I’m not sure even curvy Barbie would be happy with this new do. And classic Barbie fuhghettabout it

Ever since Mattel introduced diverse versions of Barbie s beau along with a slew of new fashionable outfits, new hairstyles and body types it is the hair bun Ken that has garnered the most attention.

Love it or hate it man bun requires a lot of hair.

Blue eyed blonde Ken 1961 and (R) Fashionista Man Bun Ken 2017

The original hair challenged Ken of my youth has come a long way. The  first generation doll sported a flocked blonde crew cut, which meant Ken didn’t have a hair to spare to even create a pompadour for heaven’s sake let alone a man bun. And God forbid it ever got wet; Kens felt hair would start to recede with the swiftness of male pattern baldness.

Today’s Brooklyn hipsters might  be alone in embracing  the man bun, but original Ken sported  1961’s most popular hair do, the crew cut.

1960’s Ken came beach ready in fetching red trunk and a towel, his hair shorn permanently for the summer.

And why not

A popular haircut for the collegiate set, it was mid- century summers must have hair cut for boys cut for boys and teenagers.

Crew Cut Style

Vintage Ad 1961 Max Factor Crew Cut Butch Wax. “The Butch- the shortest of all popular haircuts”

Also known affectionately as a butch cut, a buzz cut and a flat top, a crew cut 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 same year Ken debut.

The Standard Crew Cut

Vintage Ad 1961 Max Factor Crew Cut Butch Wax

 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

Vintage Ad 1961 Max Factor Crew Cut Butch wax

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

Vintage Ad 1961 Max Factor Crew Cut Butch wax

 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

Vintage Ad 1961 Max Factor Crew Cut Butch wax

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 (©) 20017 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved

Once upon a time, a deep dark tan was the gold standard of a successful summer run.

When it came to getting a gold medal for the best bronze I was always a winner.

In full disclosure, I am still one of those throwbacks who still sports a tan no matter how out of fashion it may be.

I came from a generation where backyard grilling meant more than barbecuing a steak. The suburbs were always sizzling with teenagers char broiling in their yards in an attempt to achieve a golden California tan.

Lavishly slathering on some oily accelerant like baby oil, skillfully maneuvering a silver metallic reflector to help make those long summer rays burn deep, I would marinate all day in baby oil, expertly turning and flipping for even browning. With skills that eluded me in home ec classes, I would slow roast all day only going inside once I was grilled to a turn in my itsy bitsy teeny-weeny yellow polka dot bikini.

So it was with some hesitation that I decided it was time for this burnished body get a to a once-over by a dermatologist for any possible skin cancer. I was the mature and healthy thing to do.

Given the fact that in 6o some years I had never been looked at by a dermatologist, I had resigned myself she was bound to find something suspicious and I’d have a biopsy. Or two. Or more. Friends I had spoken to said they almost routinely get some kind of biopsy taken at an appointment like this.

I walked into the office rather sheepishly since I am currently sporting an end of summer  deep dark tan. It felt like going to an AA meeting drunk. Her walls were decorated with posters and prints from the American Cancer Society saying things like “Having a tan was natures way of saying you have skin cancer” etc.

Eyes downcast, I prepared myself to be admonished.

Well, you could have knocked me over with a tube of Bain de Solie when she said everything was normal and there was nothing disturbing. I was fine. Relieved, of course, I credit my good fortune to my long line of good sun worshiping genes. Both grandmothers loved the beach, spent their final years living there and I am sure my great grandparents were out sunning in Minsk when they weren’t being chased by the Russian Cossacks.

As a disclaimer, this is not an endorsement for freewheeling tanning. Skin cancer is serious and one must take precautions. My days of baby oil are long gone, a good sunscreen has taken its place. But nothing takes the place of a day in the sun. Or a healthy tan at the end of a good summer.

Copyright (©) 2018 Sally Edelstein All Rights Reserved

Bidding the Beach Club Goodbye

Labor Day signaled the last call at my Grandmother’s Long Island beach club.

Just as white shoes would make their final appearance of the season, so it was time to bid the sandy white beach goodbye as the summer of 1961 came to a close.

End of a Mid-Century Summer

By late afternoon on Labor Day, the wind at the beach club had picked up and the whipping sound of the flags snapping in the wind grew louder as the choppy surf grew rougher, spraying salty mist in the air.

Like a sailor lured by the siren call of the sea, the late afternoon beach beckoned.

The tide had gone out making it ideal conditions for serious sandcastle building and I couldn’t wait to get my hands into some wet sand, patting and pummeling it into submission.

Kodak Moments To Remember

These would be moments to remember and Mom grabbed her Brownie Starflex camera, frowning in annoyance that Dad had left it without film.

After being out in the bright sunshine it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness as I followed Mom into the dim changing room of the beach club cabana with its floor gritty with sand and powder, to load the camera with film.

Once she was done threading and winding the metal spool and had snapped the lid shut ensuring not a ray of light would strike the Kodak 127 film and ruin any of the 12 black and white shots, she let me turn the cranking knob winding the film until the start appeared in the ruby-red window.

With her flowered plastic lined beach bag packed with some fluffy freshly laundered towels, a change of suits for me and enough cracker jacks to see me through some serious construction, Mom slipped on her matching beach jacket and thongs and I clutched my colorful metal sand pail and  we headed for the beach skipping with great care  over the mollusk shells dropped by the seagulls on the brick walkway.

Vintage illustration from A Little Golden Book “The Happy Family” 1955 pictures by Corinne Malvern

Scavenger Hunt

The end of the day belonged to the scavengers .

There was Ned Brodie who  broke the tedium of the day combing the perimeter of the beach with a Geiger counter in one hand and a metal detector in the other, hoping to hit the ultimate jackpot of a radioactive coin.

Then there was the daily parade of brazen sun worshiping seagulls.

The birds would be teetering and tottering on their skinny pinkish legs, bottle caps glittering greedily in their hooked yellow bills, those brazen gulls  conducting surveillance, holding summits,  squabbling over territory, leaving a paper trail in their wake.

The end of the day beach maintenance men followed  these white-headed interlopers and their colorful trail of green spearmint, yellow peppermint and  teaberry pink gum wrappers scooping them up along with the Dixie cup lids, bottle caps and popsicle sticks, that the scavenger gulls pulled out of trash cans littering the beach.

No See-Ums

But the late afternoon belonged to the no see-ums, those imperceptible biting sand flies that were the bane of my mothers existence.

These went beyond merely a simple brush off; they required an entire swat team to rid the beach of these pesky bugs.

At the end of the day as umbrellas were lowered, bathing suits rinsed, sands shaken out of shoes, and bets settled up for the day, the no see-ums nipped at your ankles.

By days end the medicinal mentholated smell of Solarcaine filled the summer air, as mothers gently rubbed the thick, soothing lotion into their children’s flaming sun-scorched bodies relieving their agonizing suffering.

Too much fun n’ sun? No need to worry.  The searing pain of sunburn had no place in modern life.

We would have to wait a full year to do it all over again.

Goodbye to Summer -Vintage illustration children’s book “The Happy Family” 1955 Little Golden Books

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2019. 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.

I hate Mums.

There, I’ve said it. Yet I just returned from the local nursery loaded down with a dozen or so pots of this despised plant.

As summer annual flowers begin to fade, the vacancy in my terra cotta pots was becoming dispiriting, as their limited singular season was soon over. Many of my spring plants are now in hospice, displaying the telltale signs of being near death, scraggly, leggy, with little to no production of flowers. These once upon a time glorious show stoppers, my own flashy Vegas showgirls decked out in vibrant pinks, yellows, and dayglo magentas that could take your breath away, have retreated after a successful but limited run.

They are on their last legs despite my attempts to nurse them back to health. Hoping for a miracle, even  Miracle Grow cannot alter Mother Nature’s decree of a limited lifespan. It is the cycle of life writ large and observed every season. Unlike perennials-for those who are non-gardeners- annuals are plants that germinate, flower, set seed and die all in one season.

Some annuals are true survivors. My mélange of yellow and orange lantana still linger, marigolds and zinnias are as vibrant as ever and those crazy pansies with the sweet faces will go through frost. Dependable begonias those so E-Z to grow workhorse of the garden are as happy now as they were in mid-May when they first made an appearance in my window boxes and pots.

Discarding and removing summer’s annuals is an annual period of mourning for me so Yom Kippur seemed the perfect day to do so. These once gorgeous flowers are not unfortunately inscribed into the Book of Life*.

So that’s where Mums come in. In order to fill in the bare spots and refresh my fading container garden, mums the word. These ubiquitous plants found at every home goods store, fruit stand, and supermarket are about the only real choice to add color to the garden.

I feel as though I’m a prisoner to mums. There are slim pickings when it comes to fall flowers. Ornamental kale? Thanks but no thanks I prefer my kale in a salad bowl and not in a garden container.

So what is my issue with Chrysanthemums? Visually they are nice enough if a bit bland for my taste. Is it that they remind me of suburban track houses? Seeing row upon row of them reminds me of walking into a suburban development. All the plants look the same but for a different coat of paint.

Don’t Shoot The Messenger

But the truth of the matter is, I hate mums because they are the first warning shot that summer is nearly over.

Along with the appearance of Halloween candy and pumpkin spice lattes both of which seem to come way too early every year, the display of mums reminds me that cooler weather is approaching and the halcyon days of my beloved summer are slowly behind us. So I shoot the messenger and mums become the fall guy.

As a beach bum, I love summer with the same passion I hate mums and so the two are forever intertwined. Yet having just planted the mums in their pots, I am grateful for the bursts of color they provide if only in their simple way.

They are hardy, they are predictable and in a time of chaos, perhaps that is exactly what I need.

But when it comes to the end of summer, it’s still mums the word for me!

*According to Jewish tradition God inscribes each person’s fate for the coming year into a book,  The Book Of Life, on Rosh Hashanah and waits until Yom Kippur to “seal the deal” the verdict.

I got my deep love of the water and the beach from my beloved mother Betty.

Born in Brooklyn on Bastille Day, her lifelong enthusiasm for the sand and surf was deeply infectious and I caught the beach bug very early. Before I barely walked, my mother had me crawling on the warm white Long Island sand not far from where we lived, and splashing in our little vinyl backyard pool in our new suburban home.

Endless summer days at the beach with her remain some of my fondest childhood memories. Days spent at my grandmother’s beach club, one of the dozens that dotted the narrow spit of Long Island, were magical. The memory scents bring me back immediately. 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, stinky smell of cigar smoke, pungent chlorine, and the greasy snack bar burgers and fries.

Unlike most of the other heavily tanned and bejeweled ladies who populated the beach club who teetered and tottered about on perilously high raffia straw wedgies slides, a cold Pepsi in one well-manicured hand and a glowing Kool in the other, my very-hands on mother would spend hours in the pool with me. Splashing around happily in the shallow end of the turquoise tiled pool, we would watch the endless parade of preening women providing endless entertainment.

Beneath huge showy straw hats, some as large as pizza pies, their winter dull hair, had been miraculously enlivened by Miss Clairol in mouth-watering shades that ran the gamut from apricot soufflé, strawberry parfait, and lemon meringue.

Unlike my own mother Mom, their teased hair never seemed to melt or wilt, thanks to liberal use of Helene Curtis Spray Net, nor were their lips like Mom’s, covered in ChapStick, but improbably colored by Hazel Bishop’s no smear lipstick, staying so perfectly you could swim with it-but-god forbid you got wet swimming and risk ruining your hair-do.

The ladies of the club much preferred to loll around the pool on chaise lounges as the cabana boys lavishly rubbed Bain de Soeillee Orange Gelee onto their mahogany burnished, Lady Norelco’d bodies.

No, the sandy beach was not for them- it was too messy with its gritty sand that got into all the inconvenient nooks and crannies, its salty mist terrible for their elaborate do’s. My mother though loved getting right into the nitty-gritty of the sand especially when it came to building sand castles.

So when Mom and I headed to the beach it was almost always nearly deserted.

Clutching my colorful metal sand pail as she clutched her flowered plastic lined beach bag packed with some fluffy freshly laundered towels, a change of suits for me, and enough Cracker Jacks to see me through some serious castle construction we would head for the ocean skipping with great care over the mollusk shells dropped by seagulls.

The memories remain long after the sand castles dissolved.

As my mother became infirm in the last few years of her life keeping her from the beach, her Sundays spent poolside at my Huntington home surrounded by family bought her infinite joy.

But not as much as the joy it gave me, providing this for her.

The highlights of my summer were always her big July 14th birthday bash, where relatives and friends filled my patio and pool.

My mother is gone now, as is the pool. The memories are forever.

Happy birthday, I hope you are on a heavenly beach right now.

How to beat the summer heat- automatically. Vintage ad Vendo Vending machines 1958

Hydrate, hydrate, and re-hydrate. That is the mantra for this summer’s scorching heat.

During this oppressive heat wave, summer’s must-have accessory is the ubiquitous water bottle.

Whether Aquafina, Smartwater, or Poland Springs no one leaves home without toting these portable delivery systems of hydration.  Always at the ready, plastic water bottles can be found littering desks and cluttering conference tables in offices throughout the parched country.

But long before these convenient thirst quenchers became available, a withered,  overheated worker had to rely on the office water cooler or the cool refreshments from a vending machine.

A Baked Apple

Vintage Illustration for Spry 1953

The steamy summer heat wave of 1953 turned New York City from the Big Apple to the Baked Apple. Twelve consecutive 90-degree days had set the record for the hottest stretch in the history of the city.

Air conditioning was not widespread and was used primarily in air-cooled movie theatres and other public spaces. The summer heat slowed down office workers everywhere, including 25-year-old Mitzie McCrea a mid-century miss who toiled in the steamy jungle that was Manhattan.

Not unlike today, a brutal stretch of scorching temperatures had hit the metropolitan area with no immediate relief in sight. It was predicted the sweltering summer would only get worse with historic heat on the horizon for the city.

Mitzi was melting under this oppressive day after day stretch of heat.

Commuting to her office in midtown was brutal. The steamy subway platforms were unbearably hot, and the crowded cars were cooled only by ceiling fans. Air conditioning, the dream of very heat-maddened subway sardine was at least two years away. Poor Mitzi would arrive at work drenched in sweat.

Sometimes Mitzie just wished she could live inside her Frigidaire, especially when the summer temperatures reached the high 90s like they did that July.

Vintage illustration Fedders Air Conditioning Ad 1952

This saucy secretary who could take dictation faster than you could place a long-distance call and change a typewriter ribbon more deftly than anyone on Seventh Avenue slowed to a crawl in the hot weather.

Like most firms in Manhattan’s steamy mid-town,  sales were sluggish, and overheated office workers just slogged through the day. The hot air circulating through the office by the giant standing fans offered no relief.

As temperatures rose, employee morale dropped.

Wisely, Mitzi’s boss Mr. Dithers took matters into his own hands to revive his withered staff, making cooling refreshments available throughout the day.

Just a simple phone call to Kansas City and quick as a wink the Vendo Company – the premier manufacturer of cold beverage vending machines – was soon installing a series of their top-notch machines for on-the-spot refreshment.

Smiling, Dithers figured out how to beat the summer heat automatically! And boost sales.

Vintage Vendo Company ad 1958

In the late 1930s soft drink vending “machines” were basically just ice chests that required the customer to dig through the ice to get their beverages. Based on the honor system, they relied on trustworthy customers to not take more drinks than they had paid for.

Even machines that mechanically delivered soda bottles in exchange for coins were unreliable. They couldn’t distinguish between real coins and “slugs.

Two brothers, Elmer and John Pierson came to the rescue founding The Vendo Company.

In 1937 they invested in a new vending machine design.

Known as “The Red Top” it was essentially a lid with mechanical underpinning that could be fitted on top of a standard cooler. It could store bottles away from the ice which lessened mechanical failure.

The company also developed a sensor that could distinguish between real coins and slugs based on the sound waves emitted when the coins were dropped in the machines.

Their big break was in 1940 when Vendo got the official endorsement of Coca-Cola.

Vintage Vendo Ad Coin Changer

With the advancement of modern refrigeration, a supply of ice was no longer needed. It was so popular that in 1940 the US mint office produced double the number of coins of the previous years to keep up with the demand for change for vending machines

During WWII Vendo received a huge war contract from the government which considered soft drinks “essential for soldiers’ morale.”

In 1946 the invention of the first coffee vending machines was perfect for coffee breaks. Vending machines soon became a national phenomenon offering a variety of beverages and foods.

Mitzie and her co-workers were thrilled and her eyes lit up at the row of tempting refreshments that were soon installed.

Mr. Dithers went all out to cool down his staff.

Rich wholesome ice cream! Cold sparkling Coca-Cola! And nothing said “chill” more than a tall refreshing cup of milk. Hmmm boy,  that’s good cooling! All served automatically at the touch of a button!  Old Man Dithers was going modern all the way.

Now all Mitzie needed was to save up those nickels and dimes to beat the summer heat.

 © Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2022 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.

Unbearable summer heat is nothing new though each year we seem to think we’ve never had it this bad.

While many are googling tips on how to survive this wretched heat wave, I turned to my trusty 1954 World Book Encyclopedia to get some time-tested tips.

Seventy years ago when accessibility to air conditioning was limited, overheated folks who were uncertain how to keep cool in the sweltering summer, depended on the encyclopedia for practical ideas to beat the heat.

World Book Encyclopedia  illustration 1954

Like the it-never-crossed-your-mind idea of keeping windows open. World Book let you in on a special tip- open both top and bottom.

Forget about those slushy, icy drinks to cool you down. Experts in 1954 warned against too many iced drinks claiming they interfere with circulation.

Who knew an iced grande latte might actually make you warmer?

Fruits and vegetables should be eaten, they suggest, but “they should be attractively served to stimulate the appetite!”

Mid-century, meat-loving Americans needed encouragement and enticement to eat those nasty greens.

Speaking of meat, to keep cool in summer, folks were also advised to limit foods with high protein content- best to stick to starchy ones instead. Conventional wisdom at the time led folks to believe that we should “cut down on protein foods” when the weather gets hot.

Forget about burgers?

Forget about juicy, red-blooded all-American steaks?

Forget that piece of unpatriotic advice!

American meat beats the heat, hands down!

Vintage ad American Meat Institute 1954

The World Book might be good for geography, maps, and historical facts, but when it came to up-to-the-minute, scientific nutritional information, those thickly bound books could be behind the times.

According to The American Meat Institute, up-to-date protein in its best form- meat -their self-proclaimed yardstick of protein foods-was exactly what you should be eating to beat the heat.

New, scientific research proved it!

Completely contradicting World Book’s suggestion of avoiding protein, The Meat Institute, citing recent nutritional research, flooded the market in the 1950s with a series of advertisements encouraging the necessary consumption of protein i.e. meat during hot summer months.

Vintage ad American Meat Institute 1954

In fact, in the 1954 ad featured above, they more than suggest sluggishness is due to not enough sirloin.

Don’t blame the heat or the humidity when the weather gets you down. It could be that you’re not getting enough protein.”

“People used to think that we should “cut down on protein foods” when the weather gets hot. Now science has shown that nothing could be farther from the truth.

And of course, the only kind of protein was the kind from meat -the yardstick of protein foods

In the 1950’s protein was king, hear me roar, and the finest kind came from animals.

In the us against them, cold war, spy vs spy environment, there were of course the good, hardworking patriotic proteins (Animal products) and bad, lazy proletarian protein (vegetables.)

Yes You’re Right in Liking Meat

Vintage advertisments American Meat Institute

To make certain mid-century Americans included plenty of essential red meat in their diet, The American Meat Institute created a long-running ad campaign touting the benefits and magic of meat, assuring the public that yes, you’re right in liking meat!

The ads that ran from WWII through the 1950s drew no distinction in food value or health benefits whether from the lowly hot dog or the king of meat, the sirloin steak.

Meat was the yardstick of protein, the gold standard of nutrition, or as the American Meat Institute called it “the nutritional cornerstone of life.”

And it was so much more

Meat Was What Made America Great.!

The pulse-quickening excitement of a sizzling steak brought out the patriot in a man.

Meat was what made America great.

“No other nation in the world,” my father would boast, breathing deeply of the steaming fragrance of the charred carcinogenic meat, a first off-the-grill sirloin, “is blessed with the amount of good, rich, nourishing meat”.

“Meat helped win the war by keeping us healthy and vigorous. American meat,” Dad would say nearly choked up, “had done its job!”

The copy in the ad confirmed my father’s convictions.

The experience of millions of servicemen in the tropics during the war years helped to show the importance of meat in hot weather.

Their high protein diet included upwards of a pound of meat a day and contributed immeasurably towards keeping up their stamina, vigor and readiness for action.

Vintage ad

“Studies have shown, that too little protein for just two days can bring on that washed-out feeling of fatigue or lethargy,” the ad informs us.

“A juicy broiled steak does a lot more than pick up your appetite and your spirits. It can help to make you feel like “getting into the swim” instead of sitting on the sidelines.”

Vintage ads, Jantzen Bathing Suit (L) American Meat Institute (R)

Speaking of swimming- “How do you look in a swimsuit?” the reader is asked.

If m’lady needed to whittle her summer waistline to fit into her new Jantzen swimsuit, nothing would help her shed pound quicker than a diet heavy on meat.

If the fit of your summer clothes shows that you’ve added a few pounds over the winter, nows the time to start on a high protein diet built around meat.

Shedding excess fat is like shedding a heavy overcoat. You’ll l feel cooler, fee better. And you’ll be able to push a lawn mower or caddy cart farther without nearly as much feeling of exertion.

Meat could not only keep you cool, but it could also help you sizzle!

© Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2022 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.

I’m not ready for sweater weather!

And I’m not putting away my white shoes any time soon.

With Labor Day looming, my longing for a never-ending summer grows fiercer, becoming protective of the precious time left in this most favorite of seasons. Soaking up the sun on my idyllic North Shore Long Island beach, I remain oblivious to the calendar and the call of commerce.

What’s the rush? Seasonal card display August

Our consumer culture doesn’t make it easy.

Despite the blistering heat wave, suddenly in the last few weeks shops are decked out in plastic faux fall foliage. My Huntington supermarket is featuring apple cider instead of Long Island’s summer bounty. One local Costco even had an artificial Christmas tree on display. It sends a chill up my summer spine.

Spooky Halloween greeting cards annoy me but I am anything but grateful to be confronted by rows of cheery Thanksgiving Day cards. Is there any possible need to see a pilgrim in August?  Really?

And just like that… it’s fall.

Except it’s not.

Hello Fall Displays

It’s faux fall. Summer officially ends September 22, folks, nearly a full month away. Yet store shelves are stocked with autumnal splendor, meant to invoke cozy flannels, bonfires, pumpkin patches, and chilly nights.

Bah humbug!

I don’t have any need to pick out a Hallmark Halloween card or buy a bag of trick-or-treat candy corn while I’m still sporting a Speedo bathing suit. Cheap plastic goblins, ghosts, and scary witches made in China don’t inspire.

Pumpkin Spice Oreos were introduced in 2014 and 2017 as limited editions and were released on August 15 this year.

And don’t even get me started on the sudden plethora of that king of all fall flavors, pumpkin spice appearing in everything from Oreos to breakfast cereals, to cups of Greek yogurt.

Who knew an “Everything Bagel” now includes -along with sesame seeds, garlic, and poppy seeds- an aromatic blend of cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger meant to evoke a fall day in Vermont? If you ask me, that king of all fall flavors has taken an autocratic stance.

I am not ready or willing to fling myself into fall. Pumpkin Spice? I still prefer the intoxicating aroma of coconut and pina colada-scented sunscreen.

My love of the beach goes back to my Kodachrome days when cropping off the top of a head was my father’s snapshot trademark. 1961

I will never need a quiz on Buzzfeed to tell me what season I am or a color analyst to unlock my inner season palette. Nor do I need 23andMe to know that a deep-seated fondness for summertime runs in my family DNA.

My maternal grandparents Sadie and Arthur Joseph Atlantic Beach 1921

My beach-loving genes go back generations of summer sun-loving folks.

Though I can’t say for certain that any of my Eastern European great grandparents ever schlepped from their shtetls in the steamy summertime to frolic in the sand and the Black Sea surf along the beaches of Odesa.

I do know that once they got to America in the 1880s they heartily embraced the white sandy ocean beaches of Long Island and summered in the bucolic Adirondacks dotted with beautiful lakes.

My mother Betty’s family enjoyed summer 1937

My grandparents Sadie and Arthur Joseph and my Uncle Jay, Atlantic Beach, NY 1938

Long Beach, NY 1930’s My father’s family Rose and Morris Edelstein, and my Uncle Sandy

Later their progeny would be in possession of prime beach club real estate, owning much-coveted corner cabanas in the multiple beach clubs that developed on the narrow spit of the south shore of Long Island.

My love of the beach runs through my blood. My lovebird grandparents Sadie and Arthur Joseph Atlantic Beach, NY 1945

A passion for summer that was passed down to me.

My first outing at the beach albeit in my pregnant mother’s belly. Summer 1954 My mother Betty and brother Andy

Conceived as I was on a sweltering night in June of 1954 in a Far Rockaway garden apartment cooled by the briny ocean breeze just a few blocks away, I am certain my beach-loving pregnant mother exposed me to the sand and surf that summer.

Even from inside her womb, I certainly soaked up the primal salty ocean mist and sound of the breaking waves as I floated blissfully in the warm amniotic fluid.

A beach bum was born.

So for now, my woolens remain sequestered away in the cedar closets.

Phooey to faux fall.

I’m not ready to pack summer up in mothballs just yet.

 © Sally Edelstein and Envisioning The American Dream, 2022 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.