The past is gone, but not forgotten
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Living in a community most of your life, you really appreciate stories and pictures of the past. As time has gone by, you never notice all the little things that disappear but are not forgotten.
The Observer-Reporter jolts our memory each Monday with the front page mystery photo. There’s a reminder of what happened on this date on the sports page. For those readers who have no desire to travel, there are many photos of our friends and neighbors, beaming in the sunshine at some faraway resort or town. There are pictures of current activities, to match the same activities held many years ago. With each photo published, we compare the hairstyles, clothes, vehicles, buildings and people of the past to today. You immediately ask, ?was it really like that?
Wages were low, but so was the price of food, gas, rent and utilities. Television or computers did not run up the electric bill, only mom ironing clothes once a week. A vacation was visiting Niagara Falls, N.Y. or Skyline Drive in Virginia. The highlight of any summer was a trip to the Pittsburgh Zoo or to Kennywood and West View Park. There were no backyard swimming pools, so you shared good times at community pools.
Buses, trolleys or trains were your main sources of transportation. For less than a dollar, the whole family was able to visit Pittsburgh, to see a movie at the Stanley Theater or the Ritz Theatre, where silent movies were shown. There were no fast food places with drive-through windows, only small cafes that served hot dogs or hamburgers, with a drink, for just a quarter. Walking to local entertainment or church was common. There were no exercise machines. Your dad used a hand-pushed lawnmower, crawled around the sidewalks with hand trimmers, used a spade in the garden and, in the winter, cleaned ashes from the bottom of the coal furnace to spread over his driveway on icy days. Mom climbed the basement stairs many times a day.
As an adult today, we understand our survival depended on our parents doing what they had to do. Sweet memories of the past are as good as the memories of the five-cent Hershey bar that was big enough to share with your neighborhood friends.
Joann Diesel
Washington