When I was a young guy, many things existed that were regularly used but are now mainly extinct.
My grandmother was the only person in our family who drank tea. She didn’t like tea bags, so she used a “tea caddy,” which was a box that had compartments for tea and sugar. It also had a container where used tea leaves could be dumped before making a new cup of tea.
We had a spinet piano and its companion, the piano stool. The height of the stool could be adjusted by spinning the seat, which was mounted on a spiral pipe. The seat had four legs with rubber tips. When I was little, I had great fun spinning around on the stool, but this fun ended when I broke the seat by standing on it while trying to make it spin.
There was a wardrobe that stood against a wall in the alcove on the third floor of our home. Both of my uncles shared the bedroom on the third floor, so they also shared the wardrobe.
There wasn’t a closet in their quarters, so the free standing wardrobe with two doors was perfect. The wardrobe was made of mahogany, and two full-sized mirrors were affixed to the doors.
Mr. Alex owned a fruit and vegetable store on Marion Street just north of North Boulevard, and in warm weather, he displayed most of his produce in bins on the sidewalk in front of his store.
The apples were quite tempting, so from time to time a young man might grab one and run, but the young man would have to be certain that Officer Kidd was not nearby walking his beat. If Officer Kidd caught an apple thief, he would escort said thief to Mr. Alex and make him pay for the apple.
My grandfather shaved with a straight-edge razor even though safety razors had been in use for many years. These razors were very sharp, and even though a man could get a close shave using one, he could easily cut himself.
One day when I was 16, I decided to try out his razor on my peach-fuzz beard. The experiment failed because I cut my cheek and my chin and received a tongue-lashing from everyone in the family. I didn’t shave again for two more years, and when I did, I used a safety razor.
When I was in early elementary school, a streetcar traveled north and south on Harlem and east on Lake to Austin and back. The streetcar ran on tracks and got its power from overhead electric wires. A motorman operated the streetcar from in front while the conductor collected fares in the rear. I believe that the seats were made of wicker, and, in the summer, the cars were open. In the winter, the closed cars were heated from under the seats by a long, pipe-like radiator.
I didn’t ride the streetcar very often, but when I did, I felt that the ride was smooth but noisy, because the motorman frequently rang a bell.
Many of these things have now faded into history, but when I was young, they were a part of my life.
John Stanger is a lifelong resident of Oak Park, a 1957 graduate of OPRF High School, married with three grown children and five grandchildren, and a retired English professor (Elmhurst College). Living two miles from where he grew up, he hasn’t gotten far in 74 years.