A Cold War Christmas

I invite you to take a step back in time with me, to a pre-internet era, before mobile phones existed, and when TV's were big, bulky wooden boxes with knobs and dials.  We never had a color TV until well into the 70's, and it was defective, so the only color we had was green!  My uncle had bought the TV for us...used.  But, still, it was functional, and we could enjoy our Saturday morning cartoons, and the Wonderful World of Disney every Sunday night.

 It was a time of Watergate hearings, the first Earth Day celebrations, the Cold War Era, The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family. Pop came in glass bottles (that could be returned for money!), there were no drive thru restaurants, and candy bars cost fifteen cents. TV dinners were a new invention, kitchen tables were made of chrome and formica, and I was vaguely aware of "hippies" and protests, but didn't really understand a lot about any of that. 

 My afternoon first grade teacher wore mini skirts and go go boots, her long hair parted straight down the middle of her head.  My morning teacher was my great-aunt, Sr. Annella Fitzgerald, who wore a full black nun's habit, complete with a wimple on her head.  Sr. Annella suffered from  progressive and crippling Rheumatoid Arthritis, so she was limited to teaching half days. The two women couldn't be more different, indicative of the times we were living in.

Local shopping was restricted to Monday through Saturday, and all stores were closed by early evening at the very latest. (Oftentimes, 5:00)  Almost everything was closed on Sundays. Downtown Sharon was still hanging on to its last hurrah, as the plazas and new mall were drawing crowds.  Mom and Dad liked to take us to some of the places in town, between the East and West Hills.  G.C. Murphy, an old time Five and Dime, with creaky wooden floors, and the smell of fresh popcorn, to Strouss' Department store, the tallest building in Sharon.  It was much like the stores featured in the old classic movies from the 1940's, with several floors, departments galore, and elevators.  The revolving glass front doors fascinated me and my brothers!  Strouss' was high class, with gleaming  display cases, women workers clothed in classy dresses with pumps, Men with shined shoes and suit coats, beautiful Christmas decor, and prices to match.  

On those yearly shopping excursions, my parents would usually splurge by buying us a soda (pop with a scoop of ice cream) at the Columbia Restaurant.  (The Columbia was owned and run by my aunt's sister in law and family.)  I always ordered a cherry soda, which was delicious, but a little cold for a December day.

At the Hickory Plaza, Mom picked up our groceries at Kroger, her meat at the Plaza Meat Market and baked goods at Max-Ann Bakery.  If Dad and my brothers needed a haircut, there was a barber shop right there in that same area.  Around the corner, Mason's was a discount department store that was more in line with our budget than Strouss', so most of our purchases came from there...or Treasure Island.  Treasure Island was at the other Hermitage (Hickory at the time) plaza, where our bank was located.  We kids liked bank day (pay day), because the teller always gave us a sucker.  

As a small kid, our brand new mall featured JCPenneys, Sears, and Grants department stores.  We ventured there before the holidays, so Mom and Dad could get after shave for Uncle Jim, and a new change purse for Aunt Maggie, as well as other gifts for family.  Grants had a small family restaurant attached, The Bradford House, which was a favorite for my parents.  They took us there pretty often, and my main memory is that kids got plastic hand puppets with our meals.  You have to stick with your priorities -- the food was fine, but a free cheapo "toy" of any kind was the main attraction for us little ones!

The holidays of my childhood were centered on family and traditions.  Most families were intact; divorce was rare; moms almost exclusively stayed home to tend to the children and to the house, while dads worked to provide for their families. In the Shenango Valley, the most common places of employment were Sharon Steel, and The Westinghouse.  Many fathers worked blue collar jobs, where they toiled in hot and challenging conditions.  Often, they had the additional burden of working shifts.  Both my grandfathers came from generations of men who went to work in steel mills or similar places of employment.

My family was no different, although my dad was college educated, so he didn't go to the mill every day.  Dad was a schoolteacher, so every morning, he was up before dawn, showering, shaving, and putting on his suit and tie.  I remember that he carried a briefcase. That's how professional men dressed in the 60's and 70's.  Teachers didn't have dress down Fridays.  The most casual part of his ensemble was the Hush Puppies shoes on his feet.  These dress shoes were made for comfort and long periods of standing.

Mom would wake before us kids, and have toast, Tang, and a banana waiting for us in our places at the kitchen table.  I can still smell the vinegary aroma from the yellow mustard that Mom spread on our chipped chopped ham sandwiches, as she worked on making lunches. St. Joseph's School didn't have a full service cafeteria, so we carried brown bags to school every day.  In first grade, I proudly carried a lunch box, but most years, just a humble lunch bag. This was the exact lunch box I had: 

The weeks leading up to Christmas seemed to drag on forever, as time was so much different to me then as it is now.  I walked to and from school in every kind of weather, for we owned one car; the Pontiac sedan Dad drove to work.  Cold mornings were sometimes rough; our school's dress code didn't allow for girls to wear pants, so I would often arrive to school with bright red/chapped thighs.  They would take a good half hour to warm up!  On the most frigid days, we were permitted to wear pants under our dresses, as long as we took them off and hung them in our cloak room for the school day.  Mom safety pinned my mittens to the ends of my coat sleeves, because kids and mittens...well, you know.  

In those days, almost every kid walked to school, so the sidewalks were lined with groups of children, causing a noisy ruckus.  Each intersection was manned with a crossing guard, and snowball fights were common.  I walked to school with my brother, if he allowed it.  Most of the time, he did not, so I would trail behind him a few yards, and he would pretend he didn't know me.  One icy day, I was treading carefully on a slick sidewalk, when I slipped, and slammed down onto it, banging my knees and elbows.  I cried out to big brother, but he was aloof to my babyish behavior (I was six, afterall, I should act more dignified), so I courageously helped myself up, and I turned around and limped home, sniffling and wiping tears all the way.  When I walked through the front door, I was met with my mother's puzzled gaze, who insisted (while pointing at the front door) I get myself back through that door and off to school.  I was not only physically bruised, I was offended that Mom wasn't more sympathetic.  I cried all the way to school.  Arriving at school late was not an option, so I raced the entire way, even with skinned knees. (I did slow down on the icier patches!) I had (and still have) a neurotic fear of being tardy to anything.

The last week of school before Christmas was the most exciting time of the whole year.  School work was modified, in order to allow for some festivities.  Our naturally jolly school janitor, Mr. Kolb, would dress as Santa Claus each year and give out candy canes to each student. 

 All eight grades (probably in the neighborhood of 500 youngsters) would gather in the Josephenum, where the older boys would have already set up rows of folding wooden chairs.  Each grade walked, in lines, to the Josephenum, led by their classroom teachers.  In the hallway near the principal's office, we passed by and  admired the shiny aluminum Christmas tree that appeared as different colors, due to a colored light next to it.  The circular light spun slowly, shining red, then yellow, then green, and lastly, blue, onto the silver branches.  Once in the gym, we marched to our seats, in preparation for the program. The sound of all those feet was not unlike a stampede of wild elephants.

 The annual Christmas program was the highlight of the day.  It featured the 8th grade class, with some additional participation from younger children.  

After the program, we would be led in a school wide singing of Christmas Carols, and our principal, Sr. Evelyn, was always on hand to give us wishes for a holy and fun Christmas. Some of the songs I favored the most were "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem", and "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing", although I liked them all.

Our teachers passed out individual gifts to us, which were normally something specifically Catholic.  It may be a tiny plastic Nativity set, or a small ornament for our Christmas tree.  Whatever the trinket was, I was thankful for it, and treasured it.

In my home, the Christmas tree was never set up before Christmas.  We children would go to bed on Christmas Eve, and during the night, Saint Nicholas would bring our live tree, decorate it, then proceed to place all of our toys beneath it, on a clean white sheet, that acted as a tree skirt.  Santa didn't wrap our gifts, and we liked it that way.  We didn't wonder how Santa Claus had time to do all that, while visiting every other child in the entire world: we just accepted it.

Christmas eve equalled jubilant anticipation.  Our normal routine was that my parents would bundle us into our winter coats and boots, and take us to each of our grandparents' homes for a brief visit.  Mom's parents resided in Sharpsville, and Dad's in Sharon, only a few minute's drive from one another.  Those visits usually consisted of some kinds of sweet treats, gifts from the grandparents, admiring their Christmas Trees, and then a hug before departing.

When Mom and Dad put us to bed, the night before Christmas, we were dressed in one piece footed pajamas.  It was much like wearing a blanket to bed, which was a smart choice, because as a child, I often kicked off my blankets during the night.

Lying in bed, I would listen for Santa, and hope my room was sufficiently clean if he decided to look in on me.  I'd surely be embarrassed for him to see my toys on the floor. I also hoped that if I was somehow still awake and I heard him approaching, I could convincingly "look" asleep, by closing my eyes. Mostly, I would lie on my bed, worrying that I would never fall asleep...but, alas, I always did. 

Christmas mornings always came before the sun did.  Sleeping in was not a thing -- at least for me and my brothers.  Mom and Dad, however, always seemed to be exhausted.  Hmmm.  What was up with that?  Santa Claus left the downstairs in complete darkness, lit only by the soft blinking colored lights of the tree, which is a memory I will always cherish. 

My parents didn't believe in spoiling children, so we never received toys throughout the year.  On rare occasions, Mom might surprise us each with a comic book or a penny to put in the gumball machine, but that was the extent of it.  Gifts were for birthdays, Christmas, and something small in our Easter baskets.  Each Christmas,we were blessed generously with a bounty of toys. Brand new toys of all kinds were beneath the fresh cut tree, and the tannenbaum's distinct sweet aroma filled the room.  

We had a tradition of placing a nativity set inside the opening of our fireplace, which we never used for a fire.  It was set up for a gas fire, and my parents didn't bother with that.  The baby Jesus, inside his manger, was surrounded by Joseph, Mary, and all the usual characters and farm animals.  Mom would string lights above the wooden creche, making the Lord the focal point.

Christmas music played for 24 hours, starting on Christmas eve (around 7 pm), commercial free, on Stereo 99-FM. 

I can recall Christmas Eve Mass some years, but usually I would attend 6:00 a.m. Mass, which was pretty darned early.  I'd have to take a break from all my new loot, and go to church, and I'm pretty sure that while I was there, all I thought about was what toy I planned on playing with first as soon as I returned home.

All morning, we sat next to the tree, admiring our reflections in the various glass bulb ornaments, like miniature fun house mirrors.  Needles from the tree would be scattered among our presents, and the dining room table was spread with fancy bowls of nuts and different candies.  Thinking back to those days, brings to mind something that is nearly extinct in today's world --  The ashtray; most homes had one (or many) in the 1960s and 70s.  Smoking was a normal part of daily life for almost half the American population, so ashtrays were functional pieces of American home decor.

It was not uncommon to have a ashtray as the centerpiece of the coffee table, and a few smaller ashtrays scattered throughout the house, for convenience.  The "main" ashtray was typically large, made of heavy glass or glazed pottery.  My dad was a smoker until the mid seventies, I can picture him sitting on the "frieze" sofa, cigarette dangling from his hand, while reading the afternoon Sharon Herald.  Every once in awhile, he would pause to tap his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, dropping the burned end into the tray.

Our grandparents would drop in to see us on Christmas Day, and aunts, uncles, and cousins did the same throughout the following week.  In turn, we visited all of their houses.  Visiting was a big part of the holiday fun.  We have a lot of cousins, so paying them a visit, and playing with them by their Christmas tree was always a special time.  We dreaded the time when our mom or dad would announce, "Okay, kids.  Its time to leave, clean up the toys, and get your coats!".  We never failed to groan and say, "Aw.  Already?".

These memories are but a few of so many.  Like a Snapchat picture; they give only a tiny glimpse into what life was like that long ago time, for a little girl who lived happily on Pearl Street, with her Mom, Dad, big brother, Shaun, and baby brother, Jim.