Memoirs of Norbert E. Gnadinger, Sr. Volume 1

1926

This is the year that Mom and Pop bought the Dodge Touring Car. That’s what this model was called-touring. It was long and wide and tough. Probably a straight-eight engine. It was painted black as all automobiles were at that time except the luxury cars. It was not enclosed and you had to attach curtains. It was a four-door with running boards and the spare wheel and tire were attached at the back. This was the car that Robert tried to run into the Ohio River at the Fourth Street landing(showing off). I don’t remember Pop ever smoking but he did chew tobacco. This was fairly common and we did have a cuspidor in the house. All of us kids then and the kids even now wanted to have the seats next to the windows while in the car. I found out at a young age why everyone in the family would let me sit in the seat behind the driver by the window. With the open windows and Pop chewing tobacco, Pop sooner or later had to spit. If you weren’t alert at spitting time, you got a face full of tobacco spray. It burned your eyes and everyone laughed at you. I have a lot of memories of this car.

Every summer, St. Vincent de Paul had a church picnic which helped cover the expenses of keeping the church and school running. This picnic had to be advertised so that everyone in Germantown and Snitzelburg would know where and when to spend their money. The way they did this in those days was with a parade. Most all of those who owned cars would decorate them with signs and in other ways and we would ride up and down all the streets in the parish. This was quite exciting with all the blowing of horns and all us kids yelling ourselves hoarse. There were always two or three cars which would break down, have a flat tire or their engine would overheat. They were pushed to the side and the parade would continue. They weren’t completely abandoned for the neighbors would help them get going again.(Jiggs’s(Allen) wife, Germaine Inez[Hutchins]Buchter, born, 3/13/1926)

I mentioned how tough these old cars were before. The entire body was made from thick steel plate. They weighed about two tons or more. This episode involves Stanley, Ky. again. One summer, maybe in this year because I was very young, we were on our way to visit Aunt Rose. The road we were traveling was being rebuilt and had deep gullies on each side. As Pop drove around a curve in the road he was confronted with a small herd of cattle which the farmer was driving from one field to another on the other side of the road. Pop didn’t want to tear up the car by hitting and paying for a large cow so he braked and went for the ditch(gully). We missed the cows and no one was hurt probably because there were so many of us packed in the car. We bounced off each other. The farmer continued moving his cattle and then came back to check on us. We were stuck in the ditch. He apologized and said the least he could do was get us out of there. He hitched up a team of mules and hooked on to the front of the car and soon had us back on the roadway. The engine ran alright and Pop and the farmer checked over the whole car. Nothing was dented or broken and there were hardly any scratches. In a short while we were on our way again. This could have been the year we took the Indiana route for they had better roads than Kentucky and had the money to improve them. Evidently Mom had friends or relatives in Evansville, Indiana and there was a suggestion that we visited with some Von Bossums, Determanns or Schraders on the way(?). We are still checking this out.

Everyone was energetic and worked hard for a living. I wish I could think of this man’s name but it escapes me. He owned a tank truck which he used in buying bulk gasoline and delivering to private “filling” stations and to homes. We had two, five gallon, fuel cans which we kept just inside the garage doors in the basement(dangerous). Once a week this man would stop by our house, honk his horn, raise the garage door and begin filling the gasoline cans. By the time he finished, we would be down there with the money to pay him(roughly, about fifteen cents a gallon wholesale). I expect that more than a few houses and sheds burned down because of the method we used to store gasoline. (10-17-2000)

You have probably guessed that I was now five years old and very impressionable. Naturally, Christmas, Easter and my birthday were very special because they involved food and gifts. What more would a young fellow want. Even during the depression, Mom would find ways to fill the belly of a child. Mom was a very good cook and she had exceptional skills as a baker. Everyone had a five gallon size lard can. Most food products were shipped in bulk, not the neat little packages you can buy today. And nothing was wasted. That was why we owned a lard can which Mom filled with baked cookies such as springerlies, sugar, walnut, chocolate, etc., etc. at Christmas. As you might have guessed, I got sick more than one time from stuffing myself on cookies. No one bought five gallons of lard at one time. The grocer would dip it out into a container and you paid for the exact weight.

While speaking of lard, there was a lard-type product just coming on the market, Oleo-margarine. It was an inexpensive, non-fat, substitute for butter and was used as a cooking fat. It did come packaged in one pound cubes, was a natural color and was packed with a small envelope of butter colored powder. Even at my young age I was given the job of spreading the powder over the margarine and, using a spoon, mix in the coloring until it was consistently mixed all through the vegetable fat and looked exactly like butter. It was still margarine but now it tasted better because your imagination told you it was butter.

All of you have heard the story at Christmas that you had better be good or the only present Santa Claus would bring you would be a lump of coal and some switches. I don’t remember ever receiving a lump of coal but I did receive a bundle of switches before they relented and showed me my Christmas gift. I cried quite a bit over this humor.

Another Christmas story involved “egg-nog” and me. Everyone talked about this for a long time for it was pretty funny. Mom’s egg-nog was homemade. I don’t know the ingredients she used but, taken alone, it was delicious. We had company over the holidays and the treat was egg-nog and springerles. The egg-nog, spiked with bourbon whisky, was served from a Punch-bowl into glass cups and a small amount of nut-meg was sprinkled over each cup. From what I could figure out at my young age, they were all getting a cup of cocoa and they wouldn’t give me some. I begged, and probably cried, enough so that they finally put a small amount in a cup and let me taste it. They really laughed when they saw the look on my face. At that time it tasted awful. Now, it is a very pleasant drink. During all of these family parties I would usually try to get out of the way but I would stay close and listen to all of the special things the grownups would discuss. At that time most of the entertaining of company was conducted in the kitchen around the large table. My favorite resting place was at the top of a built-in kitchen-cabinet. Yes, I would use the shelves just like a ladder. Also in the kitchen was Mom’s work table. Since everything we ate was homemade, she and most housewives had a special table where all the food preparation was done. It had a “Zinc” top which curved over the sides and was attached with screws. The surface, then, was easy to clean. Flour was spread on the top. Lard and eggs and sugar and milk and baking powder was added. The ingredients were all mixed together by hand and the result was rolled out with a rolling-pin, You cut the sheet to size and you now had biscuits or whatever ready to be baked(?). The table also had drawers and slots which stored all the utensils a housewife needed for her job as cook and baker. Everything was prepared on this table top. Vegetables were cut up, potatoes were peeled and egg whites were beaten. I watched Mom during all of her cooking. I was a growing boy and always hungry. Sooner or later she would hand me a bowl with a little bit of goody still in the bottom and my patience was rewarded

Everyone that I talked to in the family always commented on Saturday, the baking day. This was the day that Mom baked enough bread to last for a week. Later we bought bread from the bakery where they had a slicing machine. That was a marvel to see. The loaf was pushed through a line of knives evenly spaced and vibrating and out the other side came a loaf of bread with slices ready to make a sandwich. The whole loaf was expertly slid into a paper bag for carrying home. The baking of bread was a minor part of our interest in Mom’s skills. Every Saturday, at least while I lived at home, Mom would bake PIES. She surely had a sweet tooth. At least one 10 inch pie for each of us. Yes, we were spoiled. There were fruit pies in season, but our favorites were Chocolate and Butterscotch. These were not made from a pudding mix. The pie filling was all home-made using bulk, unsweetened chocolate or dark-brown sugar for the butterscotch. The pie crust was made with lard and was very crisp and tasty. I’m getting hungry just writing about it. I have never eaten a pie since which equals the taste of Mom’s homemade pie.(10-20-2000)

I’m sorry, but I still have food on my mind. Easter was always a special time. Beside going to church on Good Friday and Holy Saturday which was a given in our family, I could look forward to Sunday Mass. After mass was the extra special time for then we could get our Easter baskets. Maybe one chocolate-walnut foil wrapped egg with several Hard-boiled colored eggs and a lot of Jelly-beans. Really, that was it but it was what we expected. Even the hard-boiled eggs were a treat and they were fun because we would go around cracking the shells on each others heads. I couldn’t get sick from eating too much Easter candy because of the short supply. We were envious of some “rich” kids in the neighborhood who would show off the solid chocolate Easter bunnies and other special items they would receive.

1926 was a sad time for me, my family and the Droppelmans for this was the year that Irene Droppelman, wife of George Droppelman Jr., died. She was our next door neighbor and was only thirty nine years old. She and “Bud”, his nick-name, were especially nice and kind to me. I suppose because they had no children and I was a, cute, little boy. This was very hard on Mom because she was very close to the Droppelmans. “Bud” soon after this sold his home to Mr. W.H. Duncan and his family and he moved back with the Droppelman family at 816 Logan St. (Pop’s brother, Edward C. Gnadinger died Feb. 20, 1926)