The Old Coot lauds the automatic washing machine.
By Merlin Lessler
The greatest invention of all time (Wow! That’s putting
it out there) is the automatic washing machine. No one calls it an “automatic”
washer anymore. Today’s generation has no idea what the world was like when this
invention first started showing up in basements across America in the 1950’s.
It replaced the “wringer” washing machine, which was nothing more than a steel
drum with an agitator motor to slosh the clothes around and a set of rolling
pin like bars that you fed the clothes into to wring out the excess water. Even
that device was a step up from a hand cranked wringer and a stick to push the
clothes back and forth in a tub. Before that, I guess it was the “beat the
clothes on a rock by the side of the creek” process. I don’t go back quite that
far, but I was there when my mother got her “automatic” washing machine.
It was installed in the basement, a few feet from a matched
set of stationary tubs that were used to presoak clothes before they went into
the wringer washer. My mother kept up the presoak process, like many housewives
of the day, because she didn’t trust the “newfangled” machine to get clothes
clean with such little effort. Kind of like, what many of us do today, by rinsing
dishes thoroughly before stacking them in the dishwasher.
Eventually, people accepted the change and stopped the
pre-wash step. The term, “automatic” was put aside and the washer machine became
simply, the washer. So here I am, sixty some years later, using an automatic
washer, despite getting a, “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” from my wife when I do so. I
usually wait until I’m home alone, just like I do when I climb the ladder to wash
or paint our 212-year-old clapboards. I’m happiest when I’m unsupervised; I can
ignore her plea of, “Just let me do your wash.”
I do it because I don’t like her technique. I like to wash
everything in my hamper in one load. And,
get this, she thinks the clothes should be divided into piles: whites, colors,
permanent press, etc., and washed separately. I cram mine in and set the cycle
to large load. I have a two by four handy to jam them in when the lid won’t close.
I did add one step, at her insistence. I check the pockets for paper receipts
and tissues, so the washer, the dryer and the clothes don’t end up imbedded
with confetti. Oh sure, my stuff has wrinkles, some of the stains don’t come
out and a few white things have become pinkish. But, wrinkles are in these days
and “real men” wear pink. As for the stains, well, if I hold my arm in front of
them nobody notices. Trouble is, I’m getting a catch in my elbow and don’t know
how long I can continue with that technique. I might be forced to listen to her
for a change.
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