(St. Louis
Chapter)
The Thinking Housewife ^ | May 25, 2012 | Laura Wood
ALAN writes:
"On a recent Sunday afternoon, I had the most incredible experience: I sat in
a roomful of 50 men and women who had lunch, talked, reminisced, and enjoyed
themselves for four hours. The incredible part was that they did all that
without cell phones, without liquor, without vulgar language, without loud
“music,” without blaring TV screens, and without wrecking the place. All of them
are white. All of them are decent and disciplined. They are, therefore, atypical
21st-century Americans. They grew up in the 1930s, ‘40s, and ‘50s. They are Old
School. They are not “cool” or trendy; if they were, I would have known I had
walked into the wrong room.
The occasion was a reunion of people who attended schools in the neighborhood
in south St. Louis where my father lived as a boy. He organized the first such
reunion in 1988. One man was so grateful for the reunions that he sent my father
a four-page handwritten letter describing his memories of schoolmates in the
1920s.
This year’s event, the 25th annual reunion was the last – because the people
who do the most work are tired and beset with health concerns, and because
younger people have no interest in such reunions.
All of those people grew up in two old, adjacent, working-class neighborhoods
that were largely self-sufficient: Grocery stores, bakeries, meat markets,
confectionaries, drug stores, a farmer’s market, clothing stores, hat shops,
jewelry stores, medical and dental offices, barber shops, beauty shops, hardware
stores, corner taverns, city parks, a swimming pool, a library, churches,
schools, movie theatres, and places of employment all stood within those
neighborhoods. Virtually everything they needed could be found within walking
distance from where they lived. Everyone walked everywhere.
It was an area of cold-water flats and breadboxes in front of corner markets;
of railroad tracks and factories near the Mississippi River; where shop-owners
lived above their shops; where saloon-keepers bounced customers who used vulgar
language; and where families went window-shopping on Saturday nights along a
street lined with stores. Many of them did not own an automobile or a telephone.
In contrast, many modern Americans are awash in excess and have little moral
fiber. The people at the reunion did it the other way around: Excess was never a
part of their lives, but they had moral fiber in abundance. None of them lived
on Easy Street. Many of them were poor in material comforts. But they were not
poor in things that matter: Imagination, self-discipline, common sense,
self-reliance, loyalty to their families, schools, churches, and neighborhood,
and a determination to pull their own weight. “It was customary not to ask for
help. You stood or fell on your own,” wrote Betty Pavlige in her book Growing Up
In Soulard (1980, pp. 24-25). She grew up there in the 1920s-‘30s and then
operated a beauty shop there for 49 years.
There was no moral relativism in their lives. Because many of them were poor,
medical care was often beyond their reach, and injuries and death were no
strangers to them. “The stern facts of life had strong influence on our moral
standards and the code of ethics that we lived by – or violated with terrible
feelings of risk,” she wrote. “Dependability was a high virtue, and we regarded
a lie, even a little white lie, as one of the serious offenses. …The lie even
became a kind of allegory of death, because it submerged truth, covered it over
and contaminated it. This was taught in our homes, and it was reinforced by
consensus among the children wherever we gathered to play – the schoolyard, the
streets, the river.” (p. 89)
They learned early in life to appreciate simple pleasures: “We believed that
one step below heaven on a hot summer day was to have the 5 cents to put in the
Coca-Cola machine and bring out that small frosty bottle…” (p. 93)
For heat in the winter, they burned coal. For air-conditioning in the summer,
they opened the windows.
For entertainment on weekends, they walked a few blocks to watch boat and
barge traffic on the river, or played softball or baseball on vacant corner
lots, or walked to any of three unpretentious movie houses to enjoy the
B-Westerns of Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, or Hopalong Cassidy, or listened every
Saturday evening to radio’s “Your Hit Parade”.
They were not perfect, but they had enough sense to uphold form, proportion,
perspective, balance, and hierarchy in their lives – which is considerably more
sense than many Americans have today.
My Aunt Helen attended a public school there a hundred years ago. Her
8th-grade graduation photo from 1915 shows her in a white dress with a serrated
hem well below the knee, a string of pearls, white dress shoes, and a white
ribbon in her hair. In one hand she holds a “Certificate of Scholarship.” Try to
imagine that degree of refinement in any public school ceremony today. In that
picture, she projects more dignity at age 14 than many women do today at age 30
or 40. In the 1920s, she worked as an elevator operator in a handsome office
building in the heart of downtown St. Louis that has now stood abandoned and
deteriorating for two decades.
I spoke with a lady at the reunion who graduated from a parochial school in
1949. She has wonderful memories of that parish and its beautiful, German Gothic
church. But she told me it has been thoroughly modernized: All the pews were
taken out and replaced with seating “in the round”, and services are now in
English, not Latin, and include hand-clapping. She did not think favorably of
those changes. I could only agree.
Attachment to a particular place is something many modern Americans will
never feel or understand. But these people understood it well, half a century
after they moved away when large portions of that neighborhood were demolished.
My father understood it: Never lured by the modern rat race, he was content to
live for 73 years within five blocks from where his boyhood home had stood.
Photos from that old neighborhood were displayed at the reunion, along with
class graduation pictures from the 1950s. The dress and demeanor of boys and
girls in those pictures are a moral universe removed from – and better than –
what is seen in schools today.
It was a bittersweet afternoon for me. I knew I was in a roomful of the best
kind of men and women: Hard-working, reliable, down-to-earth, plain-spoken,
straight-shooting men and women who never expected or asked for any special
favors from anyone, and who never imagined that anyone owed them anything. And I
knew that their code of moral standards and self-discipline are fast
disappearing from the American landscape. Such people are a glorious contrast to
the pampered, overeducated, miseducated, and ill-mannered people we see so often
today. The difference is that they were teenagers once but got over it and grew
up – whereas modern Americans prefer to remain teenagers.
In 1997, the Reunion Committee gave my father a certificate of appreciation
to express gratitude to him for his work in organizing the early school
reunions.
In 2012, I gave each member of that Committee a certificate of appreciation
to express my gratitude to them for their labor of love in continuing those
annual reunions for a quarter-century.
I knew that this last reunion marked the end of an era for those good people.
It was an honor to sit among them.
DIOGENES invites you to pull up a chair on this fine day and read posts from around the world. The writing may lean to the right...but that's the way Diogenes wants it! You may leave your opinion, but Diogenes rarely changes his! WELCOME!
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