POOCH SAYS

       Was it always summer when I was a youngster? Oh, I can well remember winter days as an adolescent, but I have few memories of days not filled with warmth, sunshine, and the freedom to spend endless hours outdoors.

       (I'll admit that Frankie E. impressed me greatly when he showed me one winter day on the way home from first grade how easy it was for him to turn snow yellow. I do recall gathering shiny buckeyes in the fall from a nearby yard because they would bring good luck.)

       The WPA chose to pave the alley that ran alongside my home when I was perhaps 5 years old. The men employed in laying the bricks didn't seem to mind a little girl sitting quietly by, watching them for hours.

   

       One day a gentleman sat down beside me and carefully fashioned a tiny cup and saucer from tin foil and presented it to me with great gallantry. I cherished that gift for a long time until it lost its shape from too much handling.

       Another man once said a rather grown up thing to me. "Girlie, don't ever cut your hair. A woman's hair is her crowning glory." That has stuck with me all these years because I detested the pigtails I had!

       The WPA workers let me share their salt pills. My mother put a stop to that when she discovered why I was going to the bathroom so much.

       Our front sidewalk had a big white "X" marked on it. I learned that this was the signal for hoboes to come to the back door and ask for food. My mother would share a plate of whatever we had and the men would sit on the back step and quietly nourish themselves. I never once heard my mother complain so I assume that the homeless, hungry men expressed their gratitude.

       I recall my father asking me one day if I would like to go for a ride. Of course! He drove the two of us downtown and parked the car. Then he said, "Let's walk back home." I must have been an adult before I realized that he could not face the shame of having anyone see the family car repossessed.

       Who can remember itinerant photographers with their ponies knocking on doors to take children's pictures astride their animals? It must have been loving parents who parted with precious coins to provide memories for the future. I still have my framed photo of a tiny little girl looking scared to death!

       I remember my mother making up batches of different flavored extracts for home bakers and gluing on the labels. My grandfather, a dear old horse-trader sort of fellow, would then peddle the extract throughout the countryside in exchange for money, a chicken, a bushel of apples, a side of bacon, or whatever we could eat or he could sell. His "Apple House" was simply a roofed-over empty space about 5' wide between 2 brick buildings!

   

       What will today's youngsters remember?