ALAN writes:
In later years, after my father died, I met a woman who grew up on the same street two blocks down from my father’s boyhood home in St. Louis. Pauline told me how she remembered the small shops, dime stores, movie houses, a saddle shop, and a tobacco store that had been there in the 1940s-‘50s.
Photographs taken there as late as the 1950s show perfectly ordinary street scenes of people walking past stores and men putting up Christmas decorations on lampposts. One little store after another stood side by side, block after block. Some sold groceries, some were dinettes, some sold Red Goose Shoes, some offered Eagle Stamps or Top Value stamps with purchases. The scenes do not suggest a “blighted” neighborhood—which was the official excuse for tearing down the whole neighborhood just a few years later.
In 2012, I wrote about the people who lived there. [“Vanishing Americans (St. Louis Chapter)“, The Thinking Housewife, May 25, 2012]
Shortly afterward, Pauline sent me a card and wrote:
“Just finished reading your essay again. It is wonderful. It brought back so many memories for me. How I wish things were like they were back then.”
I am confident she meant the moral fabric of that neighborhood, upheld in those years both by the neighborhood churches and by the city government. Her family lived in that area for a hundred years.
I miss my father terribly and I miss Pauline and others of her generation whose memories were the gossamer threads of connection to that time and place. People who lived there were incubated in down-to-earth common sense. There is no evidence that women wore tattoos or green or purple hair, or that men wore ponytails or earrings. I often think that theirs was the last generation who had grit. They never whined, complained, or expected handouts. Making excuses was alien to their character. A nationwide welfare-feeding trough would have been unthinkable to them. They could not have imagined a frame of mind that would create such a monstrosity or try to justify it. They accommodated themselves to hardness; they absorbed it into their character and frame of mind, and they became better by doing so. Because life was hard, they appreciated its occasional joys and pleasures more deeply. (more…)