Man...I remember the good old days....

Do you?

I was born in 1950 and grew up on the southwest side of Chicago. It was called Little Village. I can remember the house as it was then. A typical 2 story brick bungalo. I think back then my parents paid something like $8000.00! It actually had one apartment upstairs in which we lived,  and two downstairs. I remember one of my older brothers (passed away now) lived in one of the downstairs flats when he first married. He used to have to chase me away from the gangway because I'd listen in thru the windows and generally be a pest (I was about 9 yrs old).

I remember the Rags and Iron guy coming thru the alleys once a week on a horse drawn wagon. I swear that wagon was going to fall apart some day.

I remember the "Watermelon Guy" that came thru the neighborhood a few times a week. You can hear him a block away yelliing "Watermelooooon" in some foreign accent. He was cool. He'd give us kids a free sample every now and then.

I remember this guy who used to come through the neighborhood pushing a cart. He sold these waffle thingies that were used to sandwich a layer of carmel. I think they were a dime. I can still taste them.

I remember another guy pushing a cart. Only he sharpened scissors and knives.

Then there was the Fuller Brush man, with this  old piece of luggage. I don't know why but I could not wait till he opened it up each time he came by.  I always smelled moth balls for some reason.

I remember one of our favorite things to do during the hot summer...."The Pump"! That's what we called our corner fire hydrant. We'd stand on one corner yelling to the older kids to "Turn on the Pump"!!!! Most of the time they would turn it on. We went from just the hydrant spitting water, to prying a wooden board under it so as to make a fountain. Someone finally tried to cut a "V" shape into the hydrant cover then tuning it on. That idea worked great. It sprayed the water to just about the other building kiddy corner.

We had a railroad line that ran just behind our house and across 26th street.  We would watch for a train approaching. When it got near enough, we would yell out: Chaulk, Chaulk and the engineers on the train would throw us these really big pieces of chalk that they used to mark the train cars. Then we'd mark up every sidewalk we can get to.

And just next to that railroad line was a tall concrete wall, about 25 fee tall. Beyond that wall was the Cook County Jail. Friends and family of the incarcerated used to talk to them from the same spot we called for chaulk! Every once in awhile the cops would shoo them away. I remember at night, laying in my bed an listening to those same jailbirds singing. They were pretty good.

I remember the corner grocery store which was two doors down.  Being 8-10 years old I was amazed at how fast they can calculate the price of a bag of groceries without a calculator or register of any kind. They used the bag and a pencil. They gave my mother credit with no questions asked.

I remember the yearly carnival that set up on the same street as the corner store. They used to have a game where you could win packs of cigarettes.

Across from the corner store was.....the corner bar! I remember this very old couple ran it. They used to have a take out menu. Their deep fried chicken was out of this world. We used to order it once or twice a month. They had a sign behind the bar that said: I'm not a fast bartender, and I'm not a slow bartender. I'm just a half fast bartender..... He was right!

I remember playing a game called Relievio. Kinda like hide and seek and king of the mountain combined.

I remember playing 16 inch softball. We would use the sewer covers on each corner as the bases and the center one as the pitchers mound.

You know....I remember a lot from those days.........

But today.....everything I remember is long gone... 

The last time I went through the "old" neighborhood, someone was butchering a pig right on the corner of the "corner bar".

The front door of my old house was painted a bright green.

There were cars parked everywhere, even double parked on a tight street.

You could hear mariachi music from one end of the street to the other.

Filth was abundant.

And then I get this in my email:

From http://www.fairus.org

ICE Conducts Immigration Raid In the Chicago Area

Last week, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officers conducted a sweep of the Little Village neighborhood in Chicago, targeting a major document fraud ring that catered to illegal aliens. The raid took place Tuesday, April 23, 2007 when ICE officials received search warrants for four locations and apprehended 22 individuals for producing counterfeit documents—ten of whom were already fugitives. In doing so, ICE put an end to a multi-million dollar business.

According to the complaint filed, the fraudulent document organization originated in Mexico and sources have indicated that the ring may be based in other U.S. cities. "These ICE arrests represent a significant setback to one of the largest and most sophisticated illegal document fraud rings in the United States," said Elissa Brown, special agent in charge of the ICE Office of Investigations in Chicago to The Courier News. Of particular concern to ICE, she added, was that these fraudulent documents assist terrorists and criminals blend into society.

Despite the agency's success, ICE's tactics have come under fire from officials who believe that the federal law enforcement agency is using excessive force while conducting immigration sweeps. "I support our government's efforts to crack down on violence and document fraud," said Judiciary Chairman John Conyers (D-MI) in a release. "But the 'round-up' fashion in which this raid was conducted is of great concern." Congressman Luis Gutierrez - sponsor of the Flake-Gutierrez guest worker amnesty legislation - added, "Constituents we talked to described a war zone…." Both Gutierrez and Conyers are seeking meetings with ICE officials to discuss the matter further.

 

 

Yea...I remember the good old days......

Do you?

 

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Yes I remember the good ole days no electricity, no running water, outhouses, wood stove to cook on, wash your clothes in a wash pot in the back yard with a rub board, take a bath once a week, the rest of the days you washed off with a rag in a foot tub of water all faces first then bodies and last but not least the dirty feet from not having any shoes to wear. Yes sir hook up the mules to the wagon and go 25 miles to town once a month. No money, grew your own food and meat. Truck was parked because there was no fuel or tires to  propel the ole 37 chevy 1 1/2 ton truck. And you know there was not one damn Illegal to pick those crops that we raised on our 300 acres in the piney woods of Louisiana. In fact there was just my dad mom and me, sometimes some of our relatives would come help  cause we all threw into a coop with the food. We shared did not lock our doors Went fox hunting, rabbit hunting and them pesky little squirrels made real good dumplings. Did not get eletricity until 1956 and then only one light bulb in the house. And all this without an Illegal. We plowed with two ornary mules from daylight till dark every day except Sunday. Then we hooked up the mules and drove 5 miles to church. My family all lived in the area so every sunday we had lunch somewhere or they came to our house. wasn't enough room in the house for everyone so we all ate outside on a big picnic table about 20 feet long. And we did not have an Illegal to serve or cook the meal. I set my clothes on fire when I was about 6 years old and was burned severely on my back there was no hospital and the ole country doc would come to the house and treat you for a total cost of 2 dollars. Man that was a lot of money back then. God was everywhere.

Yes I remember the good ole days, and I really think it was a much simpler life and we did not have one Illegal. In fact I did not know what the word illegal meant because there were not many laws back then long as you did not kill somebody no one messed with you. I could hunt, fish, drive the wagon as fast as i wanted to, carry a gun and a knife to school because when we got out of school we would go kill supper sometimes. Guns were always loaded because you never knew when a fox or possum would get in the hen house I was real familiar with a 12 guage by the time I was six year old. We did not have to worry about someone stealing from us because there were no Illegals. Girls were safe my aunts would walk up and down the road and never had any problems. Oh yes I remember.

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Looks like you go back a little farther then I do Blaze. My mother used to tell me similar stories as yours. My whole point to my post was, to me anyway, was that there will never be another yesterday. We used to be free to roam the neighborhoods without worrying about drive bys. Most if not all of the neighbors got along. And even in my younger day, the words "illegal aliens" were never heard. Oh, we had hispanics for sure, but for some reason, their legality was never an issue. I guess if we have 12-15 million illegals now, we probably had 50-100,000 illegals 50 years ago. Now I'm not the gushy type or emotional, but....it's just sad....

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Thank you both for sharing your stories! It cheered me up a little today - considering i have had a rotten day thanks to the illegals on May Day marching in our streets with a list of "DEMANDS". That of course they are not entitled, too! Makes me ill.

However, your stories allowed me to take a break from all of this and I was able to remember what my life was like growing up and it was pretty darn good! Man I miss those days too. I do not go back as far as you guys though, I was born after the Viet Nam war.

However, half of the time I grew up on a huge farm in a small town - sort of the Mayberry - to this day I love that show! And the other half of time I spent growing up on the reservation at Cherokee Nation! I can say not a whole lot has changed their and its great to go home when I can and escape this hell whole that our imperial elites have turned America into with massive increases in immigration - illegal and legal. That will be the death of us all!  

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I was hatched December 31 1941. All of my uncles were off to war, 11 in fact and all came home.

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Thanks for those vivid memories .. you all brought back a few of my own and they make me smile.

Let's hope they never fade 'til the day we die.  Like Simon and Garfunkel said in 1972:

"Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you"

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At least 2 Mexican families have suddenly appeared here in the little town where I live in North Texas. 

They both are driving vehicles with Illinois license plates. 

Wonder why they suddenly came here?

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I still remember the good old days myself, if you can call them good.

I was born in 1949, in Chattanooga, TN., and lived in Rossville, Ga. untill I was 8 years old, when we moved to Chickamauga, GA. My stepdad went to work at the Crystal Springs Bleachery and Cotton Mill. We lived in the Mill Village, in a 3 room duplex. The bathroom was on the back porch, and you would freeze your parts when you went to the toilet or took a bath in the winter. The only heat was from back-to-back fireplaces in the LivingRoom and Bedroom. The only way you could live there was for at least one family member to work in the mill. I still have a pay stub from one of my Dad's paychecks from 1958. I think he took home about $48.00 for that 40 hour week.

The mill owned the Electric Co., the FireDept., the Water Co., and most of the store buildings in town. The railroad tracks seperated the Mill Village from the town and a creek ran behind the mill that split the Mill Village. Also, the owner of the mill was the Mayor of Chickamauga.

We had a Theater in town, and on Saturday mornings they ran the old serials from 9:00am unitll 1:00pm. For a dime we could spend the entire time watching the shows and the cartoons. Wild Bill Hickcock, Roy Rodgers, Gene Autry, Lash LaReau, and Hopalong Cassidy were the usual fare. If we were lucky, we would get a quarter. With that, we could get in the show, buy a coke, a bag of popcorn, and a candy bar. It was the greatest thing scince sliced bread.

My Dad eventually bought the duplex we lived in as the family started to grow. I think he paid the sum of $4500 for it. He cut a door through the middle rooms, making a 6 room house with two bathrooms. He closed in the back porches where the bathrooms were, and had a kerosene furnace installed, and we had central heat. We were the envy of the neighborhood.

Everyones backyard connected, and there were no fences or trees or garages. That was our baseball field, our football field, and any other thing we wanted to use it for. We played hide and seek, and kick the can at night during the summer months, and sometimes if there was a disagreement between two of the boys, it was our boxing ring. If two of us got in a fight, no one interfered. We fought till we were finished, wiped off the blood, and finished what ever game we were playing.

There were no Mexicans around. The only thing we knew about Mexicans was the  Battle at the Alamo. And even though we knew how the battle turned out, we still rooted for the guys in Texas. Davy Crockett was our biggest hero.

When I grew up, I always refered to Chickamauga as an Oreo Cookie. There were no black people who lived in town, but there was a black community just outside the city limits on the North and the South end of town. You rarely ever saw any blacks in town except maybe on Saturday. This was during the day of segregation and Jim Crow.

I remember the big red barn at the end of our street, and the slaughter house right behind it. This supplied the fresh meat for one of the local grocery stores. During 'hawg killin' season, the woman whose husband ran the slaughter house would stand outside over a big black pot and render the fat to lard. When it was time, she would call me down, and dip a big slotted ladle into the melted fat and fill me up a bowl of fresh cracklins. I would sit there and eat until I was nearly sick. We also bought fresh milk, butter, buttermilk, and eggs from her. Life was good.

They closed the theater in the early '60s, and the big red barn burned down. They had to close the slaughter house because of Government regulations, and the lady got to old to do any of the things I mentioned before. The neighbors started putting up fences and building garages or outbuildings. After that, the only thing that was left to do was watch the grass grow, or sit and watch the one redlight in town change.

But all in all, I guess it was the good old days. It was a lazy way of life for us kids, even though most of us had to work hard at chores. But then the Civil Rights movement started, Kennedy was assasinated, Viet Nam was getting started and all the other crap that was going on during that time, and our way of life changed forever, and not for the good.

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Great story John07. I enjoyed it...

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      The good old days had its pros and cons but  I think (looking back on it now) that one  of the greatest losses  has been the demise of the two parent family.

       In grade school, I didnt know of any single parent families and , life seemed much better all around.

      I recall large numbers of P-38's flying over in the early forties and my father said we should be glad that they are ours.

       I do miss the 15-17 cents a gallon gas there used to be- the gas hasn't improved much since but the price sure has changed.

       Things change-some get better, some don't.
 

There is rarely a day that goes by that I am not thankful I  was born when I was.  I feel sorry for anyone who missed the 50's.  I know it wasn't good for everyone, but it was for me and most of the people I knew.  It seemed like such an innocent time compared to now.  The last good time IMO.

(what are cracklins?)

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I was born in New Haven Connecticut in a little project. The elementary school was catholic and was situated between 2 projects. One on the hill was mostly black and mine was half and half. There was lots of woods for kids to run and dream in. Nature center was close by and we spent lots of time up there swimming in the rivers and catching frogs. I remember every saturday my dad would break out the old movie projector and play old cartoons for all the neighborhood kids. The house would fill up and my dad would be sitting right in the front. He was the biggest kid and loved cartoons the most. He drove truck interstate all week and played with us on the weekend. There was 8 of us kids. I was second from the youngest. Born in 51. I have to admit I think I had one of the best childhoods of anybody...lol. My mom and dad are still alive and live in Florida. Still married too. Both up in their 80s. My mom was a super woman. She could sew anything, cook anything, build anything and grow anything. She was raised in an orphanage so she learned well. My dads dad , Old Pop Sweeney, owned a soda shop with an old piano upstairs where we would listen to dad play piano. Sweet memories. It never ceases to amaze me how life becomes nothing more then memories we built one day long ago.

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Yes, the good old days- -and the bad old days- -sometimes all in the same day.  I was born in May of 1939.  I was EXACTLY two and one half when Pearl Harbor was bombed- - and I remember!  Gran and I were on the front porch.  Her friend ran up the walk crying, screaming, stumbling- - she was old and had run several blocks.  "Maggie!  The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor!"  I did not know what a Japanese was- -or a bomb- -or Pearl Harbor- - but from the way they were crying, I knew something terrible had happened and my tummy felt like it had a bowling ball in it.  Suddenly my beloved uncle and cousin were gone, one to Europe, the other to Iwo Jima.  Thankfully, both came home safely.  The boy nextdoor did not.  My cousin and I were born a month apart.  We still managed to have fun- -as children will.  It was a very hard time, so many women had to manage the tasks their husbands usually did and raise their children alone, all the while scared he would be injured or killed when he was so far away.  But, people were tough back then.  They pulled together, did without sugar and tires and gasoline and clothing, anything needed went to the war effort FIRST!  They were referred to as "OUR BOYS!"  Nothing was too much to give up for OUR BOYS!  Sure wish people felt that way today.  Now women are there fighting as hard as OUR BOYS and I appreciate them too.

We moved to Idaho from NM when I was 4, Gran and I came in September on a train that was filled with soldiers and sailors headed for California.  They all wanted to hold me.  EVERY SINGLE ONE said he had either a little sister or a little daughter or niece who LOOKED EXACTLY LIKE ME!  Some of them cried as they kissed me.  Gran cried too.  I always wondered how many got their LAST KISS EVER from me.  It was such a sad time.  But, in Idaho, we made such wonderful new friends.  I lived a FIFTIES childhood- -a time of innocence and very little pain.  I met one special little girl just my age and in a few years another joined us, and for more than 60 years we have been best friends.  One of them died  a few years ago, and we miss her terribly, but the other one and I are still best friends.  Our daughters are best friends too.  They can't remember when they met.  They were babies!  Life has been wonderful to me.  There have been sad times and mad times, but even more REALLY GLAD times!  I only wish everybody appreciated our military more, supported them more, and another group we owe as much thanks to- - our police, firemen, and THE BORDER PATROL!  If this were a perfect world, we would not need any of them.  It is not a perfect world!  We do need them.  I APPRECIATE THEM!

Firewing:

Cracklings are pork fat meat and skin that you boil the fat out of,  you only killed hogs in the cold weather and the wash pot that you used for your clothes was now the grease pot for rendering out the cracklings Hog killing time was a big deal we would all gather at my grandpas house and kill hogs for the entire family maybe 10 or 15 at the time.

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blaze77535 said: Firewing: Cracklings are pork fat meat and skin that you boil the fat out of,  you only killed hogs in the cold weather and the wash pot that you used for your clothes was now the grease pot for rendering out the cracklings Hog killing time was a big deal we would all gather at my grandpas house and kill hogs for the entire family maybe 10 or 15 at the time.

Our southern spelling is cracklins. If you've never had cracklin cornbread with the pot liqour from a mess of collards and turnip greens , or a mess of poke salit, you ain't been eatin right.

 

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http://www.brasschecktv.com/

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HarleyKitty said: http://www.brasschecktv.com/

Where did you come up with this liberal crap, and why are you posting it here?

 

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txguy1 said: At least 2 Mexican families have suddenly appeared here in the little town where I live in North Texas.  They both are driving vehicles with Illinois license plates.  Wonder why they suddenly came here?

The question is pretty simple.  There is a sanctuary city in Illinois that allows them to get a drivers license.  They probably have family in texas and has llived in Texas all along.  In Los Angeles I have done many traffic stops on illegals who have liven in LA, but have gone to the state of Washington to get a license, because no proof of citizenship is required.   Nice.  The bright side is that reward their inginutity by impounding their car. 

 

blaze77535 said: Firewing: Cracklings are pork fat meat and skin that you boil the fat out of,  you only killed hogs in the cold weather and the wash pot that you used for your clothes was now the grease pot for rendering out the cracklings Hog killing time was a big deal we would all gather at my grandpas house and kill hogs for the entire family maybe 10 or 15 at the time.

I think you have to be there, if you know what I mean! 

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John07 said:    If you've never had cracklin cornbread with the pot liqour from a mess of collards and turnip greens , or a mess of poke salit, you ain't been eatin right.

Guess I ain't been eatin' right!  I even spent time in Louisiana (my husband did some training at Fort Polk) and still missed the poke salad! 

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