{"id":111656,"date":"2020-03-25T16:17:23","date_gmt":"2020-03-25T20:17:23","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/?p=111656"},"modified":"2020-03-25T16:17:23","modified_gmt":"2020-03-25T20:17:23","slug":"column-the-musings-of-a-simple-country-man-11","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/?p=111656","title":{"rendered":"COLUMN: The Musings of a Simple Country Man"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"alignright size-full\"><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"226\" height=\"287\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/madisoncountycourier.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/02\/Morris-head-new.jpg?resize=226%2C287&#038;ssl=1\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-42368\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/madisoncountycourier.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/02\/Morris-head-new.jpg?w=226&amp;ssl=1 226w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/madisoncountycourier.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/02\/Morris-head-new.jpg?resize=118%2C150&amp;ssl=1 118w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 226px) 100vw, 226px\" \/><figcaption>Hobie Morris<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n<h3 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Looking back with a smile<\/h3>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">By Hobie Morris<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThe past, the present, and the future are really one: they are today.\u201d\n&#8211; Harriet Beecher Stowe<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Although my adolescent years were spent in then hustling and bustling\nUtica, the lure of the countryside was ever present and simply irresistible as\nit has continued to be to this day. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The \u201cmusings\u201d that follow will hopefully bring smiles of nostalgia to\nthose who remember when. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Compared to those of today\u2019s young people, the passing years of my\nyouth were like the calm waters in a sheltered harbor. What ripples there were\nbarely ruffled the surface.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Before the mid-20th Century, our lives appeared to move alng at a\nprecise, predictable, and leisurely pace. There was a strong element of\nfamiliarity that seemed to characterize American life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">We knew, for example, a great deal about the lives of our next door\nneighbors, as well as the other families living on our street. These people\nwere also our good friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Families in those days often \u201cgrew up\u201d together \u2013 retaining their same\nhouses, telephone numbers, and so on year after year. There seemed to be, in\nretrospect, a permanence and stability on our street, and similar streets and\ncommunities all across America. Through the eyes of a young boy \u2013and now one in\n\u201clate adolescence\u201d \u2013 these distant years appear wonderfully happy compared to\nthe present increasingly sad, chaotic, dangerous, and dysfunctional America.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">People did know plenty about each other including the make of their car\n(people usually had just one); jobs (many people worked all their working years\nfor one employer); church attended (Catholics still religiously ate fish on\nFriday); schools (city kids had to get to school on their own &#8211; no free rides);\ntheir children (and who liked to play what and the type of comic books they\nwanted to trade); favorite wash day; and who was \u201cfriendly\u201d and whose lawn to\nstay off of (Mr. and Mrs. Piper across the street, now long dead. I still have\nlatent guilt just thinking about stepping on what will always be their \u201csacred\u201d\nlawn).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">We knew all these things and much more because we were close neighbors\nand innately curious about our surroundings, Today, sadly, people seldom know\ntheir neighbors\u2019 names or anything about them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">We cared and shared too. If my Mother needed a pinch of salt, an egg or\ntwo, some sugar or flour, one of us would scoot next door to Harriet Dickens\u2019. That\u2019s\nwhat neighbors were for. She and others were warmly welcomed to reciprocatein\ntheir time of need. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In those years, one could almost set one\u2019s watch by the exact time each\nmorning when the man of the house left for work. Men were still the\noverwhelming traditional family \u201cbread winners\u201d. One job was sufficient to\nsupport his wife and children, as well as provide for a modest home,\nautomobile, and other basic necessities and yes, even a modest savings account.\n(Plastic money and installment high-interest buying beyond one\u2019s means were\nonly red ink blips on the horizon.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The wives, like Mrs. Dickens, Mrs. Benjamin, and my mother remained at\nhome doing the countless daily tasks necessary for a smooth running household. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When their young children returned home from school they were greeted\nby Mother; not by an empty household that is all too common today when it is\nnecessary for both parents to work one or more jobs simply to keep their heads\nabove the constantly rising economic waters. After a hasty snack the children\nwere free to run out and play with their siblings and neighborhood friends.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Eventually Dad would arrive home from work, and soon it was suppertime.\nA loud call from the front porch, or back yard brought the now \u201cstarving\u201d\nplaying children in. After quickly washing hands and face, it was time to sit\ndown and \u201cdig in\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Supper usually united the entire family. As the dishes were passed and\neating began, the day\u2019s experiences were eagerly shared and discussed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">After the meal time, it was time to settle down and do homework, or\nread a newspaper or book. If time permitted, we\u2019d sit down in front of the\nradio and listen to a favorite program before bed time. This \u201cno-nonsense\u201d\nschool week routine was vigorously enforced by concerned parents. Weekends,\nhowever, were much more flexible and generally more fun for the entire family.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">For years the large cabinet size radio standing in our living room was\nour family\u2019s sole \u201centertainment center\u201d. Eventually it was rivaled by a 12 and\n\u00bd inch Emerson black and white television set, one of the first sets on our\nstreet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Familiarity was evidenced in many other ways in American life a half\ncentury ago. If we pedaled our fat tired bike over to the corner drugstore,\nalways popular candy shop, 5 and 10 cent store, movie theater, or mom and pop\ngrocery store \u2013 even the full service Sear\u2019s gasoline station (4 gallons for a\ndollar)- we usually knew the men (and occasionally women) who worked in these\nestablishments. They, in turn, would recognize our faces \u2013 if not our names. Many\nof these faces, voices, sights, and sounds remained largely the same throughout\nmy adolescent years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Other examples of a much more permanent and stable society come to\nmind. For years \u201cMax\u201d was our milkman. (Dairies delivered their products to\ncustomers\u2019 homes in those times.) I can still hear the clinking of glass\nbottles rattling in his metal carrier as he briskly walked along our side\ndriveway and opened the back door where he entered with a friendly announcement\nof \u201cmilkman.\u201d He left his delivery on the steps outside the kitchen door \u2013\nwonderfully rich and tasty Jersey milk \u2013 the neck of each bottle containing\nseveral inches of the thickest most delicious cream imaginable. (Calorie\ncounters were a tiny minority of the population in those more physically active\nyears).<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cBert\u201d was another familiar face in my safe harbor. My mother would\ntelephone in a grocery order to Bert\u2019s parents\u2019 tiny grocery store located on a\npie shaped piece of ground next to their small modest home on Seward Avenue in\na quiet residential area of my native city of Utica. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A short time later, Bert\u2019s car pulled up our driveway. Up went the\ntrunk and out came a cardboard box containing our order. In lean times, unpaid\ngrocery bills were gladly carried over to the next month or two without\ninterest. Today Bert, his parents, and their store are all long gone. Only the\ntiny pie shaped piece of mowed lawn remains.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Business practices were considerably less formal and much more personal\nin those days. There was a greater element of trust and flexibility. A firm\nhandshake was considered as valid as any contractual paper. One\u2019s good\nreputation in the community was something to be protected as carefully as the\ncrown jewels of a Head of State.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Other once familiar faces, sights, smells, and sounds are still vivid\nin my memory over a half century later. The ice man; knife and lawn mower\nsharpener (no affordable power mower existed in those days, just the hand\npushed reel that had to be occasionally sharpened); a wide variety of door to\ndoor sales people; the tinkling bell announcing the ice cream man was coming\ndown the street with his tasty treats on a hot summer\u2019s evening; the fresh\nproduce man with his truck of morning picked sweet corn, honey dew melons, and\njuicy mouth-watering vine ripened red tomatoes and much, much more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">For children with seemingly bottomless pits for stomachs, the arrival\nin front of our home of the Hathaway Bakery truck with its friendly uniformed\ndriver mightily challenged our already weakened will power. The driver would\ncome to our house with a large carrier heaping over with wonderfully fragrant\nloaves of freshly baked bread, pies, rolls, cookies, pasteries donuts, and even\nmore on pull out trays in the truck. I can still taste the incomparable red\nraspberry jelly filled, white confectionary sugar coated buns.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Times were different in other respects as well. People seldom if ever\nlocked doors \u2013 either houses, autos, or much of anything else. People were\nrobbed and lost their cars but had an overwhelming faith that these cases were\nisolated aberrations and not the rule of society as it seems to be today where\nwe fear much more than we trust. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Parents, especially, didn\u2019t live in constant fear for the safety of their children as they do in many areas of America today. Kids could safely go and come from school. In school violence was unheard of. They could play on the street, in vacant lots, and up at the playground without fear. Crimes against children no doubt occurred from time to time but were never publicized as they are today.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Children got injured and sick, of course, and some would die from diseases like polio that have now been eradicated. Kids were tempted by vices like cigarettes and alcohol, but society and parental disapproval was still extremely important in molding adolescent behavior and other activities. Cursing was my worst vice and was not too gently remedied by a good mouth washing with a bar of Ivory soap. Accidents were fairly plentiful \u2013 cut fingers, scraped knees, and the sundry bumps and bruises of very active children. A young playmate tried to grab the back handle of the Hathaway Bakery truck to bum a ride to the next stop, lost his grip, fell on the pavement, and fractured his skull. The boy survived and learned a good lesson.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Medical care was easily affordable for those with or without insurance.\nSick in bed? Mom would call Dr. Pres Clark up in New Hartford. His office was\nin the basement of his home, no clinic, no specialists, just Dr. Clark and his\nmagical black bag. He was his own answering service, receptionist, and nurse. And\nhe often made house calls. Need medicine that Dr. Clark didn\u2019t carry? Place a\ncall up to Randall\u2019s Pharmacy and your order was soon ready to be picked up. Cost:\na few dollars for the pills and way less than $10 for Dr. Clark\u2019s home visit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Growing up in those years, I never knew a divorced person, an\nillegitimate child, or a couple living together outside the marriage\ninstitution. Parents knew otherwise, but did not discuss these taboo conditions\nwithin earshot of their children. Today these conditions permeate our society,\ndestroying in their wake a societal stability that at one time cemented our\nnation together. Seemingly this once accepted stricter code of behavior has\nbeen tossed in the dustbin of today\u2019s \u201cdo my own thing\u201d attitude. As we grew\nolder, of course, we grew to know more about human frailties and the problems\nthey could lead to. Compared to today\u2019s generation, we were terribly uninformed\nand na\u00efve. But in retrospect, I am thankful our parents (and society) spared us\nthe particulars of this darker side of human nature. We were allowed to grow up\nas innocent children.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Beyond our city street was the surrounding countryside. During my\nchildhood years it was the last bastion of traditionalism and conservatism in\nthis nation. Its life was still regulated by seasonal cycles, and the elements\nof water, light, sun, and temperatures, as well as the indispensable human\nelement with his time tested ways of working and living in harmony with Mother\nEarth. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As in urban America, the powerful winds of change were beginning to\ntear down the traditional ways in rural America. This process continues to this\nday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Compared to America of 50 years ago, today\u2019s country has an almost\nrevolutionary new look to it. For better or worse, these new conditions will\nchallenge all of us in innumerable ways that will test our will and resolve and\nquite possibly the very future of this nation in the 21st Century. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">However this should not prevent us from occasionally turning back the\npages of our history to a simpler and more understandable time when we were a\nfar happier and contented nation and the future was as bright as the newly\nrisen sun. But then again these are only the \u201clooking back smiles\u201d of a simple\ncountry man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Editor\u2019s note: Hobie Morris is a\nBrookfield resident and simple country man.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Looking back with a smile By Hobie Morris \u201cThe past, the present, and the future are really one: they are today.\u201d &#8211; Harriet Beecher Stowe Although my adolescent years were spent in then hustling and bustling Utica, the lure of the countryside was ever present and simply irresistible as it has continued to be to [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":42368,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[23677,23808,8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-111656","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-columns","category-opinion","category-top-story"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p43meu-t2U","jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/madisoncountycourier.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/02\/Morris-head-new.jpg?fit=226%2C287&ssl=1","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/111656","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=111656"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/111656\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/42368"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=111656"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=111656"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/madisoncountycourier.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=111656"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}