"Victory Spread" and "Cup of Joe"

 "The Victory Spread"

Walking through supermarkets and big box stores today it’s hard for me to imagine the dire food shortages of my youth.  I was really too young to comprehend the sacrifices my parents, neighbors, and other Patriotic Citizens of America were making.  They banded together to sacrifice everyday essentials in order to provided food and clothing for our troops who were  fighting in  bloody hand-to-hand combat in order to preserve  this countries freedom 

  The reality of that war insured the freedom this younger generation takes for granted today.

Since the bulk of food was being shipped overseas to the men and women fighting the war, the Federal Government initiated food rationing to American citizens in 1942.  Each family was issued books of stamps based on the number of people in the family and their specific needs.   These stamps were then redeemed for certain food commodities.  Red colored stamps could be redeemed for meat, fat, oil, cheese, and butter.  Blue colored stamps were used to purchase dry, packaged, frozen, and canned goods, such as baby food, beans etc.    Other stamps were issued for gasoline, tires and other commodities.

 Having the correct  number and color of stamps in one’s possession did not necessarily mean the items they  could purchase would be in stock on the grocers shelves.   Butter was one such item.  It was scarcely available and when it was, it expensive and required too many red stamps to make it feasible to purchase.   That is when Oleomargerine, also known as “The Victory Spread” gained popularity.  Oleo is short for the Latin word Olium meaning oil and margarine is taken from the Greek word  margarites meaning pearl. 

Although margarine had been invented by a French chemist  in 1869, as a cheap substitute for Butter and introduced to America in the early 1900’s most housewives turned up their noses at it.  It also sparked a deep seeded conflict between its manufacturers and the American dairymen.  The dairymen wanted the white margarine to be colored with something other than yellow, because it was often mistaken for real butter.  They suggested the color capsules  contain black, pink or green dye. This sparked "The Great Margarine War."

The white (pearl colored) Oleomargarine came in a plastic bag with a yellow food dye capsule tucked in the middle.  After letting the bag come up to room temperature, you had to squeeze the yellow capsule to release the coloring. Next came hours of kneading the bag to create a uniform yellow color.  As the youngest child, this was often my frustrating duty.  It seemed my hands always wore out before the margarine was well mixed.  My sister sometimes pitched in to help with the process and sometimes if we were in a great hurry the Oleo was squeezed out of the bag into a bowl where we kneaded it with our bare hands.  Oh how I remember the unpleasant feel of the greasy margarine squishing between my fingers.   I remember once out of frustration I set the bag on the floor and tried to kneed it with my feet.  The result was disastrous. The  oleo  spurted from the plastic bag all over the kitchen floor, and I got a swift swat on my bottom.   Oh the sacrifices we made for the war effort.

 "A Cup of Joe"

Coffee drinking has always been a way of life in America.  Today there is a coffee shop on most every corner of every city in the U.S. It's not unheard of to pay $5.00 or more for a cup of specialty coffee.

Not so during the early stages of the war.  Coffee joined the list of commodities being rationed so that the men and women of the military could have their coffee.  

The problem with ground coffee was that it wasn't always feasible  to brew on the battlefield. That's when the concept of instant and substitute coffee became popular.  Water could be boiled in a helmet if necessary and instant coffee added to it.

On the home front many  gave up the real dehydrated coffee and ground coffee for coffee substitutes such as Postum.  Postum was manufactured by the Postum Cereal Company and was made up of roasted grains such as wheat bran, wheat, and corn malt, with a little molasses added for flavor.  Other companies used chicory, roasted grains and even ground acorns to make their substitute coffee.

The term referring to a cup of coffee as a  "Cup of Joe" became popular during World War II however the origin of the term is a bit obscured.  Some say it was because the war ran on coffee consumed by  American Soldiers known as "G.I. Joes"  hence "Cup of Joe." There are other explanations, but that is the one I favor. 

I hope you have enjoyed this post with steaming hot "Cup of Joe"

The Political Dance Seven Decades Ago

A man by the name of Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president of the United States back when I was very young. All I knew about the man was that he was a Democrat and that he had Polio.  I also knew that some people praised him while others disliked him.  Some said he was trying to save the world from the horrors of war II.   There were also those argued that  he started the war when he cut off the flow of metal, airplane fuel, and other commodities  to Japan.

Folks also said that Mr. Roosevelt's car, a four-door Lincoln convertible was the first presidential car to take on it's own personification.  The Roosevelt's called it 'Old 99'  because that was the number on the original license plate.  Later they took to calling it the 'Sunshine Special' because the president liked to ride in it with the top down as often as was feasible.  Because of his Polio he was confined to a wheelchair, but while riding in the 'Sunshine Special' with the top down he was able to appear in person without the aid of the chair.

The 'Sunshine Special' was considered pretty high-tech for the day.  It had a siren, flashing lights, a two-way radio and grab bars on the sides so Secret Servicemen could ride on the large running-boards outside the vehicle to protect the president.  With all that, the one thing it lacked was bullet proofing, and that  concerned the Secret Service since there had been a previous assassination attempt on Roosevelt.

When Pearl Harbor was attacked by Japan in 1941 the concern for a more secure car was heightened.  The problem was there was no money in the immediate budget to have an armored car built and time was of the essence, so the Secret Service came up with a unique plan.

On December 8th, 1941 President Roosevelt was driven to the capital to give his famous "Day of Infamy" speech in a heavily armored 1928 Cadillac 341A Town Sedan .  The Cadillac had previously been owned by the infamous gangster Al Capone and confiscated by the Treasury Department when Capone was arrested.

Mr. Roosevelt used Capone's Town Sedan until the 'Sunshine Special' could be retrofitted with bullet proof tires, iron plated doors, inch thick windows and plenty of storage space for machine guns and pistols.   The modifications increased the weight of the 'Sunshine Special' to  9,300 pounds.  In spite of all the armament, Mr. Roosevelt still preferred to ride with the top down.

Well, all that was a bit before my time, but I heard the stories over and over while sitting in my mothers lap. It didn't mean much to me then.  My sister and I couldn't have cared less about the political state at that time.  Our home was safe and secure and our family close and happy. Isn't that really all that matters to young children?

I remember the warmth and rich aroma  of my mothers kitchen where she spent hours preparing meals from scratch.  There was really very little to cook back then but somehow she always managed to prepare enough to feed  our family and the hordes of hungry people that always stopped by at mealtime.

During the war you couldn't just walk into a grocery store and buy what ever you wanted like you can today.   Everyone was issued war stamps and tokens.  Food was rationed and you could only get as much food as you had tokens or stamps for.  Sugar, and milk were always in high demand but in short supply. There were times when paper products couldn't be found. Gasoline was also rationed and the national "Victory Speed" was 35 mph.    But you know.. people all pulled together.  I can't remember anyone whining or complaining at least with any sincerity.   Everyone considered it their Patriotic  Duty to comply and help because they had been raised with a sense of loyalty and values.  They respected and appreciated their life in America and were willing to sacrifice everything they had for it; and so many did with their lives.

Friends, family and many strangers took their meals with us.  People in the armed forces were especially welcome.   I remember often sitting wedged in elbow to elbow around our kitchen  table with barely enough room to raise our forks to our mouths. I remember also in those difficult times, much laughter and merriment at that table.

Our home was open to  everyone.  The doors were never locked.  There was  no need to lock them. We slept with our windows open and the screen doors unlatched.  That is  not to say there wasn't crime in those days.   Of course there was, but somehow it always passed over us and never touched us or anyone in our community, maybe it was  because we all watched out for each other. People, it seemed, were more compassionate toward their fellow countrymen back then.

We'd often find chalk mark drawings left by hobos on our fence.  A crudely drawn cat meant that the lady of the house was kind and that there was a good chance she would give you food if she had any to spare.   We always offered food and water to hobos when we could.

 For those of you who just turned up your  noses at the use of the word "hobo", that is what  they were called back then..hobos, tramps, bums. No one took exception to being called those names, words had little impact. It was respectful the way people treated people that counted. Political correctness was not an issue. People were just people that's all,  Kindness begot kindness.  There was something called The Golden Rule back then.  My grandparents lived by it. My parents lived by it and I grew up with it. "Do on to others the way you would have them do onto you."  It was such a different way of life then.  It meant so  much more to be a part of a community, a city, a state, a  nation.  It was a kinder, less selfish time.

Growing Up Me

If you are under 50 years old this blog is going to seem totally foreign to you, so you are likely to just skip ahead to  another  blogger's post. But wait!  This blog is especially written just for you.  I'd like to share some things with you that you've never experienced, nor will you be likely to ever experience in your lifetime. Try to think of this as Time Travel.  A trip back to an incredibly different time and way of life than you are familiar with.   Go ahead, take a peek.  No harm will come to you.  Who knows, maybe even something magical will happen as you follow me through my life as me.  Think of it as fiction if you like, but it's all true to the best of my recollection.

 Now on the other hand if you are 50 years old or older this blog is likely to touch a special place deep in your  memory.  Either way,  young or old, it is a story about a way of life that I have long wanted to share. 

I started life in a small coastal community on the Oregon Coast where, in spite of the world being at war,  I was fortunate enough to feel the warmth of love from  family, neighbors, and the entire community.  Some say it was because of the second world war that every one clung to life, love, and friendship, but I think it was more than that. It was a different way of looking at life. A different way of living altogether.    The war played its part, there is no denying that, but the adults in my  life at that time had grown up with a set of values instilled in them by their parents and that lasted them their lifetime. Children pick that treasure up from their parents and so it was instilled in me. From my parents and other adults in my life I developed  a sense of values, loyalty, community, and love.

How odd it is for me now to see younger generations who  lack those values and who for the most part see those virtues as  a sign of weakness.  Odd indeed when you consider that when I came into  this world it was at war. It wasn't a high-tech war like we fight today. It was a horrific battle  fought  primarily in hand-to-hand combat that claimed  over 60 million lives, and yet through it all  there was the underlying sense of patriotism to America and  unbreakable bonds between family, friends and neighbors.

Don't get the wrong impression.  Times were tough.  The order of the day was overcoming hardship, but everyone did their part to make life easier on each other.  Most every neighbor had a patch of ground in their backyard that they turned into a "Victory Garden. "  where they grew fruits and vegetables to help relieve the food burden  created by the war.   If they didn't have a backyard they grew vegetables in barrels or other containers.  After each gardener modestly took out what they needed for the day, they put the rest out in baskets on their porch or stoop for others to enjoy.  No one expected to be paid for their harvest, but trades were readily accepted.

My  mother had a special knack for growing big plump bright red tomatoes, so that was her primary contribution.   My sister who was 7 years older than me spent many hours each day in the summer picking wild blackberries, huckleberries and licorice fern for her part. As for my contribution to the war effort, I tagged along behind either my mother or my sister and was more of a  nuisance than a help for I was still quite young at the time.  Money was scarce so trading was the accepted  method of getting by.

 Mrs. Beckham  who lived 2 doors down from us in a neatly kept white house with brilliant blue trim had several laying hens.  She often traded four or five of her precious eggs for a handful of berries or tomatoes. 

Across the way Mrs. DeHann, who lost her husband to the war  before I was born,  didn't seem to have the knack for growing anything. In fact, she was so inept at growing things that the  entire front, back, and sides of her small grey cottage was covered in rocks, shells and driftwood.  Not one shrub or flower could be found anywhere on her property even weeds were absent.    Fortunately she was an incredible baker. She baked the best breads, pies and pastries in town. She used to say "God blessed me a white flour thumb instead of a green gardening thumb."  Regardless of the weather each morning she made her rounds to each house in the neighborhood dropping off warm, sweet smelling baked goods.  About the only things she would accept as trade were  hugs, a couple of eggs, or a cup of flour.  Most of the time she'd shake her head and say "My needs are small in these times."

Most of the children in our neighborhood were being raised by their mothers alone because their fathers were off fighting the war on foreign soil, or working in another town building airplanes, boats, tanks, or other items necessary for the war.   My sister and I were fortunate to have our father at home with us. As a volunteer fireman and deputy policeman, the government decided his contribution was to protect and serve the community.

Because our town was situated on the coast, it was necessary to uphold "Blackout" conditions at night for fear an enemy submarine would fire on us . Every night the windows and doors were covered with blinds, curtains, newspapers and blankets.  Part of my fathers job was to   patrol  each house in the neighborhood  checking to see that no light shone through even the smallest crack in the barriers.  He patrolled on foot even on cold stormy nights  because even  headlights on cars were forbidden.  He carried a small flashlight but he was reluctant to use even that.

There were no televisions in homes back then, so our only source of news other than the small town weekly newspaper was the radio.  After blackout was in force for the night families gathered around a large counsel tube radio in their living rooms and listen to the evening news to learn the latest progress of the war.  Mrs. Winthrop from further down the block  didn't have a radio so she often came to our house to listen to ours.  At 8 O'clock sharp it was bedtime for my sister and me, but the adults often stayed huddled around the radio after the news to listen to Abbot and Costello or  a super scary mystery program called "The Mark of the Shadow."  Sometimes my sister and I would sneak part way down the stairs that led from our bedroom to eavesdrop. I think we were more fascinated by the catchy advertising jingles  for Camel Cigarettes and Aunt Jemima Pancakes  than the actual programs.