Take care of all your memories. For you cannot relive them.
My good friend and Past Kiwanis International President Dr. Wil Blechman sent me a piece that brought back a lifetime of memories. I know few of you are as old as Wil and I are but what he sent says a lot about the lives we have lived.
Children of “The Greatest Generation”
Born in the 1930s and early 40s, we exist as a very special age cohort. We are the Silent Generation.
We are the smallest number of children born since the early 1900s. We are the “last ones.”
We are the last generation, climbing out of the depression, who can remember the winds of war and the impact of a world at war which rattled the structure of our daily lives for years.
We are the last to remember ration books for everything from gas to sugar to shoes to stoves.
We saved tin foil and poured fat into tin cans.
We hand mixed ’white stuff’ with ‘yellow stuff’ to make fake butter.
We saw cars up on blocks because tires weren’t available.
We can remember milk being delivered to our house early in the morning and placed in the “milk box” on the porch. [A friend’s mother delivered milk in a horse drawn cart.]
We are the last to hear Roosevelt’s radio assurances and to see gold stars in the front windows of our grieving neighbors.
We can also remember the parades on August 15, 1945; VJ Day.
We saw the ‘boys’ home from the war build their Cape Cod style houses, pouring the cellar, tar papering it over and living there until they could afford the time and money to build it out.
We are the last generation who spent childhood without television; instead we imagined what we heard on the radio. As we all like to brag, with no TV, we spent our childhood “playing outside until the street lights came on.”
We did play outside and we did play on our own. There was no little league. There was no city playground for kids. To play in the water, we turned the fire hydrants on and ran through the spray.
The lack of television in our early years meant, for most of us, that we had little real understanding of what the world was like. Our Saturday afternoons, if at the movies, gave us newsreels of the war and the holocaust sandwiched in between westerns and cartoons.
Telephones were one to a house, often shared and hung on the wall. Computer were called calculators and were hand cranked; typewriters were driven by pounding fingers, throwing the carriage, and changing the ink.
The ‘internet’ and ‘GOOGLE’ were words that didn’t exist. Newspapers and magazines were written for adults. We are the last group who had to find out for ourselves.
As we grew up, the country was exploding with growth. The G.I. Bill gave returning veterans the means to get an education and spurred colleges to grow. VA loans fanned a housing boom. Pent up demand coupled with new installment payment plans put factories to work.
New highways would bring jobs and mobility. The veterans joined civic clubs and became active in politics. In the late 40s and early 50’s the country seemed to lie in the embrace of brisk but quiet order as it gave birth to its new middle class (which became known as ‘Baby Boomers’).
The radio network expanded from 3 stations to thousands of stations. The telephone started to become a common method of communications and “Faxes” sent hard copy around the world. Our parents were suddenly free from the confines of the depression and the war and they threw themselves into exploring opportunities they had never imagined.
We weren’t neglected but we weren’t today’s all-consuming family focus. They were glad we played by ourselves ‘until the street lights came on.’ They were busy discovering the post war world.
Most of us had no life plan, but with the unexpected virtue of ignorance and an economic rising tide
we simply stepped into the world and started to find out what the world was about.
We entered a world of overflowing plenty and opportunity; a world where we were welcomed. Based on our naïve belief that there was more where this came from,
we shaped life as we went.
We enjoyed a luxury; we felt secure in our future. Of course, just as today, not all Americans shared in this experience. Depression poverty was deep rooted. Polio was still a crippler. The Korean War was a dark presage in the early 50s and by mid-decade school children were ducking under desks. Russia built the “Iron Curtin” and China became Red China. Eisenhower sent the first ‘advisors’ to Vietnam; and years later, Johnson invented a war there. Castro set up camp in Cuba and Khrushchev came to power.
We are the last generation to experience an interlude when there were no existential threats to our homeland. We came of age in the 40s and early 50s. The war was over and the cold war, terrorism, Martin Luther King, civil rights, technological upheaval, “global warming”, and perpetual economic insecurity had yet to haunt life with insistent unease.
Only our generation can remember both a time of apocalyptic war and a time when our world was secure and full of bright promise and plenty. We have lived through both. We grew up at the best possible time,
a time when the world was getting better; not worse. We are the Silent Generation; ‘the last ones.’
The last of us was born in 1942, more than 99.9% of us are either retired or dead; and all of us believe we grew up in the best of times!
Creating memories is a priceless gift. Memories will last a lifetime; things only a short-period of time.
A man feared his wife was not hearing as well as she used to, and he thought she might need a hearing aid. Not quite sure how to approach her, he called the family doctor to discuss the problem.
The doctor told him there is a simple informal test the husband could perform to give the doctor a better idea about her hearing loss. ‘Here’s what you do,’ said the doctor. ‘Stand about 40 feet away from her and in a normal conversational speaking tone see if she hears you. If not, go to 30 feet, then 20 feet, and so on until you get a response.’
That evening, the wife is in the kitchen cooking dinner, and he was in the den. He says to himself, ‘I’m about 40 feet away. Let’s see what happens.’ In a normal tone he asks, ‘Honey, what’s for dinner?’
So the husband moves closer to the kitchen, about 30 feet from his wife, and repeats, ‘Honey, what’s for dinner?’ Still no response.
Next he moves into the dining room where he is about 20 feet from his wife and asks, ‘Honey, What’s for dinner?’ Again, no response.
So, he walks up to the kitchen door, about 10 feet away. ‘Honey, What’s for dinner?’ Again, there is no response.
So he walks right up behind her. ‘Honey, what’s for dinner?’
‘Earl, for the 5th time, CHICKEN!’
Keep all special thoughts and memories for lifetimes to come. Share these keepsakes with others to inspire hope and build from the past, which can bridge to the future.
Stay well, do good work, and have fun.
Management is not responsible for duplicates from previous dailies. The editor is somewhat senile.
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