An old coot's throwback Saturday

 The Old Coot visited the 1950’s

By Merlin Lessler

 I had a throwback Saturday this past weekend. 1950’s style.  Saturday chores for a working father; mow the lawn, make household repairs, empty mouse traps, wash the car. Those sorts of things. I started by washing the cars (plural). That was a rarity back in the 50’s. Most households were “nuclear” with working dads, stay at home moms, 2.5 kids. The car was the “family” car. I started by taking out the rubber mats, revealing pristine carpeted floors. It wasn’t like that back in the 1950’s. Most cars came with a cheap, black, rubber floor covering. A carpeted floor was rare, a luxury, something to be bragged about. Most car floors today are carpeted, but usually hidden and protected beneath rubber mats, preserved for the next owner, just like those living room sofas that once were protected by fitted, clear plastic coverings.  

 Washing a car in the 50’s was finished off by shining the chromed, steel bumpers. No more – ours are plastic and don’t shine and can hardly withstand a bump in a parking lot, costing anywhere from $1,500 to $5,000 to repair or replace. Those old steel bumpers could withstand a substantial bump and could also be used to brag about where the vehicle had been. A bumper sticker that said, “This car climbed Mt, Washington,” for example,

 Lawn mowing, the second chore I undertook on my throwback Saturday, was done with a power mower. In the 1950’s a hand-powered reel mower did the job. The edge trimming, that finished off the chore was done using hand powered clippers. Sidewalks were rid of clippings with a broom, not a noisy leaf blower. It was an era when you got your exercise without going to a gym.

 Saturday was also a day for haircuts, grocery shopping and trips to department and specialty stores for shoes, clothes and lunch in the store’s cafeteria. Most stores stayed open late on Thursday evenings in many communities, with special sales to lure shoppers into town. It took the pressure off people’s Saturday agenda because Sunday shopping was out of the question. It took the pressure off people’s Saturday agenda. Only pharmacies and an odd gas station or two were open for business on a Sunday. It was a day of rest, a break from the hassle, reserved for church, family dinners, relative visits and Sunday drives, which are frowned on today, considered bad for the planet. People dressed up on Sundays and young boys like me, got in trouble for the grass stains on our pants from skidding into second base in a sandlot game of baseball.

 Yes, it was a different world in those days, but my throwback Saturday was a delight. Try it sometime.

Old Coot and a 1953 Ford - A Tioga County Courier Article of 6/15/2022

 The Old Coot’s first car was a beauty.

By Merlin Lessler (A south side kid, now an old coot)

 I bought my first car in May, 1962 from Jack Tyler, a classmate in the Electrical Technology class at Broome Tech (now SUNY Broome). The campus consisted of four classroom buildings and a combination cafeteria – gymnasium-hang-out area and a quad.  

 The car was a 1953 Ford convertible. Jack couldn’t get it started and left it in the parking lot at Cloverdale Dairy on Conklin Ave., one block to the east of Telegraph Street. It sat there all winter, buried under a pile of snow.  Jack couldn’t get any takers, so he let me have it for $60, taking a loss from the $350 he’d paid for it a year earlier.

 My friend, Jimmy Wilson, and I dug it out, jumpered it from his car and twisted the ignition wires together in the Ford, since there were no keys to this beauty. It didn’t start. Out of gas? No, the gauge read half full. We had a brainstorm, try some dry gas. It did the trick; the car started right up; I backed it out onto Conklin Avenue and it quit. I added another can of dry gas and I drove one block to the gas station at the bottom of Telegraph Street, pulled to the pump and added 10 gallons to the tank. At 26 cents a gallon it nearly emptied my wallet of the three dollars I had left after buying the dry gas. The gauge still read half full, yet another of the imperfections of this, my greatest treasure, a 1953 Ford convertible. No Keys to the ignition or the trunk -a non-functioning gas gauge a heater that didn’t work and the motor to lift the convertible top was missing. “Why,” you ask? “Would you buy such a beast?” Did I mention it was a convertible?

 I solved the trunk key problem by taking out the back seat, crawling into the trunk and fastening a cord to the lock so I could open it from inside the car. The Ford had one other problem – a bad spot in the starter motor. If it landed on that spot when I turned it off, it wouldn’t start; I had to get a push, or if I’d parked on a hill, pop the clutch and get it going. It was a game of Russian Roulette, except with a starter motor, not with a gun.

 That car took me through the summer of 1962. Many trips to Quaker Lake with the top down and the wind rushing over me. To my first real job, at Compton Industries on the Vestal Parkway and into marriage in January, 1963. It was parked on the hill outside my parent’s house, waiting for us in six inches of snow when we came out the door after a small in-house reception. Off we went on our honeymoon, only fifty dollars to our name, a car with no heat, no keys, a top that had to be yanked up by hand and a bad starter. But for us, at that age, it was, “No Problem!” We were living the dream. I sold it in the fall for $100 and bought my first of five VW Beetles. Brand new with a thirty-seven-dollar monthly payment. It seemed the mature thing to do since we were expecting our first child in December and needed to become real grown-ups.

 Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

Old Coot loves blisters! A Tioga County Courier Article of June 8, 2022

 The Old Coot walks in style

By Merlin Lessler

 I broke in a new pair of sandals the other day. Without socks! Young guys often wear socks with sandals. Black crew socks. It used to be the old fogies who did that – now, it’s sort of nuevo chic. But old guys don’t want to look like those old fogies we laughed at when we were the young guys. So we don’t wear the black socks. Like that’s going to fool anyone.  

 Anyhow, I had these new sandals on my bare feet, all day. Walking around; riding my bike, mowing the lawn. I ended up with blisters! – “Great!” I said to myself. Now I have something to complain about on Tuesday, complaint day for the old guys I hang around with. We got tired of listening to each other’s belly-aching every day, so we restrict it to one day a week. Sometimes on the off days, we have nothing to talk about.

 Those sandal blisters would be perfect for my turn. It’s a double complaint. First, I can discuss the issue of frailty, how my whole darn body is falling apart. It isn’t quite there yet, but it sure feels that way sometimes. The blisters will allow me to complain about the thin skin, something that happens to you as you age. An innocent bump into a sharp edge gets us scampering for a tissue to blot up the blood and a band aid to stop the flow.

Then, I could shift my complaint to the sandals. “They don’t make them like they used to,” sort of thing, and then move on to other poorly made things. Grocery bags, for instance, that I have to purchase when I forget to bring my own (which is usually the case). If you grab one of today’s bags by the top edge, to heft it up so you can get your hand under the bottom, the chances are pretty good that it will tear open, causing contents to spill all over the checkout lane. I’ve been that guy, holding up the line. It isn’t fun! Anyhow, those blisters from my new sandals, made my day.

 Comments? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot remembers old cars. A Tioga County NY Courier Article of June 1, 2022

 The Old Coot and old cars.

By Merlin Lesssler

 Could you drive your car if it didn’t have power steering, power brakes, power windows? A windshield washer, air conditioning and wipers that don’t slow down when you step on the gas to pass a car or go up a hill. Not to mention those frill items: power seats, heated seats, heated steering wheels, GPS, FM radios and high beam headlights you turn on and off with a switch on the steering wheel, not a foot pedal to the left of the brake pedal. You could do it, but the difficulty and inconvenience would surprise you. Yet, that’s the way cars were in the 30’s 40’s 50’s and into the 60’s.

 Some people, most people living today, never rolled down a car window using a hand crank. Or experienced that long lean to the right, to reach over and roll down the passenger window or to get out of the car and into the back seat to crank down those windows. At least back then, there were vent windows in the front that would send a blast of air across the driver and passengers. It was better than nothing.  

 I walk around looking at those beauties from the 40’s and 50’s at car shows every year. Longing for those good old days, until I get in and take a spin. They aren’t the same as today’s cars. It feels like you are driving a big old dump truck. You almost need to learn to drive all over again. Gas prices weren’t an issue back then, even with cars getting less than ten miles a gallon. Not with a gallon of gas costing 26 cents.  

 Everything is so different now. Back then, trucks had a hard time getting up to the speed limit, and on a hill, they struggled all the way to the top. You didn’t have to worry about a speeding behemoth barreling by, blowing you off the road like you do today. You did have to be patient, waiting to come to a long straight stretch of road so you could pass one of those slow-moving commercial vehicles. The roads had only two-lanes. The four-lane highways had yet to be constructed. That change started during the Eisenhower Era in the late 1950’s.    

 We buzzed along at the 50-mph speed limit, with all the windows down on a hot day, and only the three people in the front seat benefiting from the blast from the vent windows. We had to hop out and clear the windshield of slush splatters in the winter and install metal chains on the back tires. Turn signals? Back then you signaled by sticking your arm out the window to indicate you were turning to the right or left. It’s hard to imagine driving in those “good old days.” Even for me! And I was there! 

 Comments? – mlessler7@gmail.com