I had an interesting conversation today with a fellow Panera cafe patron. We talked for awhile about stuff in general. Then somehow conversations turned to growing up in the 1940’s, and 1950’s. Back then on the South Side and in West Virginia (where she was from) you could leave your doors opened. No one would think of coming in. Kids played on the sidewalk and street. Moms’s and dads didn’t have to worry too much about the dangerous stranger, although I do know there were a few dubious situations I was lucky to have escaped.
On my street we had cobblestones, a wood framed house. The house had a slight rubble during the freight train passages from Jane Street. The bop shop crane would sound emmm, pusssshhhh…. , at a repeatedly rhythmic tone at night as it moved steel.
We had an out house in the yard. It had running flush, but you had to leave the house in the cold of night or winter if you needed to use it. I was so, so, so glad when my dad put a bathroom on the second floor. No more out of doors visits. The outhouse got knocked down, and the hold got covered up. Yeah.
She told me about some of her events. She had met a friend that grew up with her, went to the same school and lived a street or two over. Her friend remembers a dirt street, but not her.
We agreed that different people often have totally different recollections of the same place, event or people.