A Question

A question occurred to me while writing the Rationing blog: What would be the reaction today to such a restriction? A reader commented along the same line.

There are great differences in the generations of the 1940's and that of today's generation lifestyle and expectations. The “Silent Generation” of those years had endured the difficulties of the depression years; in fact, the nation was not fully recovered making the citizens accustomed to continued hardships.

1932-getting ready for work >

In President Roosevelt’s efforts to remedy the problems that created the depression, had passed laws that were extremely controlling, and although there was grumbling and even a few Supreme Court reversals, there was no widespread coverage and discussions of the pros and cons. At that time, there was not a continuous media coverage of each day’s happenings, nor were our leaders' qualification continually under scrutiny.

Today, we have a society used to many comfort: Running water, light at the flip of a switch, refrigerated food, and cars that purr instead of chug. We also have almost continuous TV coverage of events and issues, compared to the meager radio and newspaper coverage of 68 years ago.

What would create such a necessity? How would we react? How would we cope? What other restrictions would be necessary under such conditions? Would someone start a “Bread Party” in protest, or would we tighten our belts and show the grit that built this nation?

Wow!!!

Like Scarlet O’Hara, in Gone With the Wind, “I’ll think about that tomorrow.”

^

1928 swimming party in water storage tank

Learning experiences

When you close your eyes and the image of a computer screen appears against the lids and when your dreams are demanding a password, it’s time to find another fun thing to do.

First, before I take a break to go on an extended shopping spree, I’ve been asked to explain to several readers why their efforts to leave a comment on either of my blogs have failed.

Me? Explain anything about computers? I do think, that from my very limited experience (1) you need to have a Google account which is free, (2) check that you are a follower (3) go to” leave a comment”. If this doesn’t work, consider the source of this information and ask someone who knows!

Naturally, I enjoy sharing a few thoughts here on Rocking_Chair and all my stored information on The_Aluminist but it’s even more fun to get your comments about your memories of fun things, and your information about your aluminum collection.

Go ahead and see what happens! I do have an email address for another kind of contact: aluminist@sbcglobal.net>

If in this sharing process you’re tempted to take a hatchet to your computer, or like the soldier in Afghanistan who became so frustrated over his attempts to get help with his printer (was being charged for assistance) that he shot the darn thing, just hang on. I’ve read that this type of thing is excellent exercise for the brain!

Wartime Rationing

Wartime Rationing

I am wondering how many of you reading this remembers those ‘good ole days’? Every thing necessary to our way of life was rationed. We accepted it. We knew it was necessary because we were at war---a different kind of war from that of today.

We had been attacked and there was no questioning who was responsible so the American people became a hornet’s nest of angry people intent on one thing: to show our enemies that no one could do this without extreme retaliation.

The American troops were in desperate straits. Our boys were drafted by the thousands and they had no supplies. Censorship kept us from knowing how desperate the situation really was, but because we were an angry and determined nation, we accepted without question, all that was necessary to support our armed forces: Censorship, shortages, and rationing.

Besides our troops’ priority on certain food items, they had to have uniforms and shoes. There were some commonplace items needed in the manufacture of munitions and guns. The list was endless.

The rationing of gasoline caused the worst inconvenience. No unnecessary cruising down Main Street, very few trips of any distance, rides were shared, and sources for black market gas were in demand and kerosene was added to the gas tanks.

Tires were also rationed. There were also places to get black market tires. There was a rationing board to take applications for new tires and if a person changed cars and needed new tires for it, the rationing board had to approve. My sailor husband traded cars so often, appearing before the board so often that they were positive he was reselling the tires. He almost didn’t talk his way out of that.

The next most critically needed items on the rationed list were sugar and meat. Recipes using tuna, salmon and a minimum amount of ground meat mixed with crackers or bread crumbs abounded. Some were even tasty enough to be used today. Cooking was definitely a challenge; even shortening and butter were rationed.

As I recall, there was a rationing book for food items and another for clothing. I don’t remember whether each family member was issued an individual book or whether family books based upon the size of the family were issued. Each book contained stamps for the allotted amount of items. It was a rather complicated system of points and time limitations.

Two pairs of shoes per year were allowed….leather for our troops’ shoes

quickly curtailed the amount available for civilians. Other clothing was rationed but I remember only one instance: That of the arrival of a shipment of white batiste, a fabric used in making baby clothes. In a town filled with sailors and their wives, most of whom were expectant mothers, the rumor of the fabric’s arrival caused a minor stampede to get the allowed amount. Remember that this was 65 years ago when baby clothes, by choice, were completely handmade and traditionally babyish.

Those are my memories of rationing. What are yours? If you have any, it definitely places you in a certain age bracket: One with lots of unique memories!

Independence Day

The Fourth of July is a time to turn our thoughts back to those forefathers who had so few of the comforts of today, but were fighting for what they had left their homes for, what they were willing to die for ---their FREEDOM.

On July 4, we celebrate the signing of the document declaring the colonies independence from England; we all know that---or should! It was a momentous step for a small group of people who wanted above all else, their freedom. This Declaration of Independence is the foundation of the most important and possibly most taken for granted part of our lives.

It was later, after winning the hard-fought war, that a group of very wise men met and created the Constitution, an amazing document that has successfully guided our country throughout the years. Amendments have been added; their rules have been argued about and tested time and time again, yet the United States Constitution that these wise forefathers established exists today as the oldest written constitution still in use by any nation in the world.

We have prospered under the form of government they established and fought for. Not since the Civil War has any battle been fought on our soil, but thousands of lives have been lost in other lands by our sons and daughters, who fought in the past, and are fighting today, to keep our nation free from those who would like to control or destroy us.

Celebrate the Fourth of July as a day deserving the explosion of fireworks as a symbol of our gratefulness for this freedom

Scams

How many millions of dollars have you been offered in letters from Chad or Angola or some other far away country? Some of these spoke of the desperate need to get a fortune out of the country and begged for help (in form of cash) to expedite this complicated process. Another was notifying you of your fabulous luck in winning their national lottery. Of course, the taxes were your responsibility but once the money was received to cover the tax bite, the winnings were all yours. You don’t remember entering this country’s lottery? With that much free money waiting for you, does it really matter?

This week’s scheme arrived in the form of an eight page letter personalized by my name, relating my very unique abilities and charms had been discovered by some highly placed person. That there were any rare and hidden traits was a total surprise to me, as was the fact that knowledge of these traits had popped up in some stranger’s possession.

The writer was so excited for me. He had once been destitute but now was wealthy beyond description. The eight-pages continued to tell of how he had been discovered as a person like myself, with all these yet to be developed traits that created such success. After he was given a dusty old book containing the secrets to success in all ventures, all things had become possible to him. Now he was extending an offer of a reprinted copy of this book of secrets that made all these wonders possible. Free! Instructions couldn’t have been simpler. Place a check mark by your name on a form stating that you had been made aware of your possession of special and rare traits and were willing to accept a free membership in this exclusive secret association and receive a free copy of the book of secrets. There was a 3-day deadline for responding and a warning that there would be no future offers.

I read every word, hunting for the hook and line that was going to allow me to be reeled into something costly. The warning we hear often “If it sounds too good to be true, it is” was upper most in my mind.

The good ole Internet was near at hand; the book’s name was typed into Google. A long list of messages from others who had received identical letters appeared with various remarks describing their reactions and their hopes for the sender’s future.

Of course, it was “a come-on”. The information in the 68-page booklet gave no wonderful instruction. Complainants were told that the message was there but could only be absorbed by the sub-conscience. Another book to help interpret this first one could be purchased for less than $200 dollars. The hook!

Ignore these schemes. Keep your money. Toss the offers in the trash or read them to admire the various techniques used but don’t believe a word and DO NOT SEND MONEY!

THE END OF THE ROPE

When WWII was still raging, a day off from duty was still a day to relax and putter at what ever you choose. Our best friends lived across the street in La Armada, our navy-housing complex. My sailor boy and the one across the street, were in the same squadron and had the same duty hours so on their days off they were often together tinkering on some old car.

Our friend, who was nicknamed Boob, a name that seems rather fitting according to this day’s events, was almost recovered from a broken leg, the result of a football accident, and was still under the doctor’s care.

On this day, he had a motorcycle he was trying to tune up and unfortunately; he was unable to get it started. The natural thing to do was to call upon his buddy across the street to pull him and his motor until he could get it to fire up.

So, the guys hooked the motor to whatever old jalopy we owned that time and they maneuvered their way out to some wide-open space. Then away they went until the motor fired and began to purr and then to pick up speed. That’s when the rider realized he had no brakes. His immediate thought was that he was approaching the rear end of his buddy’s car at an undesirable speed so he quickly swerved and roared pass the tow car. At that moment, their eyes met, and they both realized the unavoidable was only seconds away. 

One hit the end of the rope; the other hit his brakes.

Explaining to his fiery Creole wife why there was gravel embedded in the numerous scrapes on the not quiet healed broken leg took considerable creativity and managing to present an open honest face the next day as he told the doctor that he had fallen down the stairs fazed him not at all.

His wife, an excellent housekeeper, was a bit miffed that he had indicated her waxed and polished floor could have held such filth. Boob’s assurances that the doctor could not have believed such an absurd tale, cooled her temper only slightly.

He was in the doghouse for weeks.