Yesterday, we looked at 1950 grocery prices, and today we move to 1960. Here’s a snapshot of what grocery prices looked like sixty years ago, with an emphasis on Thanksgiving fixings, from the November 21, 1960 issue of the Pittsburgh Press.
The turkey itself would set you back 39 cents per pound. If you were a non-traditionalist, hams started for about 69 cents per pound.
The cranberry sauce was two cans for 45 cents. If you were going to make your own cranberry sauce, the berries were 19 cents per pound. And if you were making your own pie (which you probably did), the pumpkin was two cans for 39 cents.
Mayonnaise was 69 cents for a quart, and you could get 8 one-pound cans of Van Camp Pork and Beans for a dollar. Jello was 12 boxes for a dollar, and cake mixes were three for a dollar.
In the produce department, oranges were two dozen for 79 cents, and lettuce was 2 for 35 cents.
Like most new professionals, I had a vague acquaintance and a decent vocabulary my first day on the job. The hospital educator took me for coffee first thing, a promising start. In less than five minutes, she’d dumped a cup of coffee on my lap, not such a good look for my pristine white uniform. It looked like I’d peed myself. It was a terrible, though perhaps apropos look for the confidence I brought to the job that day.
I dreaded starting work. Unlike the nurses I’d graduated with who bragged of their vast knowledge and heroic saves, I understood I knew next to nothing. Fortunately, I was never unmonitored. My nursing preceptor fully understood my capabilities and made sure I didn’t get in over my head. After all, she was responsible for me. She made sure I’d mastered simple tasks before moving me on. She was a Godsend. Even so, I managed to bungle things often enough. Many, many days I drove home swearing, “I can’t go back. I’ll never get it!” Finally, I started having a few good days. The work was hard, but the finest I could have chosen.
Over my long career, I trained and mentored many wonderful nurses. I recruited many of my family and friends into nurses., including my husband, sister, and numerous nieces. I also made it a point to recognize and recruit talented nursing assistants and other healthcare workers into nursing. So many people have no idea they qualify for tuition assistance from their healthcare institutions or of the wide range of scholarships available. Not only that, many don’t know hard work and drive go a long way toward becoming a nurse.
I will always admire to my nursing mentor and be grateful for her knowledge, kindness, and patience. We are still friends today, forty years later.
The old school bus camper had lived a rich life before falling into our family’s lap. After spending years transporting kids safely to school, it had been relieved of most functional parts and converted into a rustic camper. Some intrepid do-it-yourselfer had gutted it till nothing but the shell remained. Two shelves graced by full size mattresses stretched across the back. Stacked army cots flanked both sides. An ancient stove was wedged near the door. A wildly patterned floral vinyl rug completed the decor. I thought it charming.
Immediately before coming to us, it sheltered a destitute family of four, on the banks of Dorcheat Creek, all that stood between them and homelessness. Unheated, except for the death-trap of a leaky stove, they had to leave the windows open should they get desperate enough to use it. They cooked outside, unless it rained too hard.
Akins, a decrepit old geezer had courted and won the heart of Mary, an pathetic child of fifteen. It’s hard to imagine the life she’d hoped to escape if she imagined that sickly, wheezing old man was the answer to a prayer. Only eighteen, she hugely pregnant and mother to two wormy-looking babies when Daddy met the family. Upon Loy’s desperate plea, He purchased their battered home for fifty dollars, allowing Loy to buy a battered station wagon. Loading his family into the ancient vehicle, he moved them into an unpainted shotgun house some charitable soul had offered up rent-free out of pity for Mary and her growing family. With all its flaws, it was a much better home for the desolate little family. Mother was furious when Daddy blew fifty bucks on a useless piece of junk when she needed groceries.
Shotgun houses are three-room dwellings peculiar to the South. Built with three or four adjacent rooms with aligned doors, in theory, one could fire a shotgun through the front door with the bullet emerge through back unscathed. I never heard why anyone would want to shoot through a house, but this was the South after all.
Mary was grateful to move her poor little family into a house with a wood stove since they’d been living without heat. Their only luxury was electricity, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling in each room. They did have cold running water, but no bathroom. The ancient toilet stood behind the house. The local church gifted them with clothes, household goods, and groceries so their lives was vastly improved. Mary was over the moon at the gift of an ancient wringer washer. It stood proudly on the droopy back porch.
Shotgun House
Loy was unable to work, so the family scraped by on public assistance. Most of the time, Mary was able to shame him into helping her cut wood for stove when bad weather was coming. Though Mary often had to ask the church for food, both she and Loy were chain smokers.
Sometimes Loy made a bit of money by repairing bicycles or lawnmowers, picking peas, or perhaps driving someone to town. Mary was known for her beautiful ironing, a bargain at five cents a piece. Mother was also pregnant with her fifth at the time, so if she could squeeze a dollar or two out of her overstretched budget, she was glad to hire Mary to do her ironing. The industrious girl had some sewing skills and sometimes got fifty cents for hemming a skirt or a nickel apiece for hand-stitching button holes. The neighbors competed for her services. The pair made a little money this way when times were hard.
It seems remarkable to work so cheaply, but in 1960, bread was $.22 a loaf and whole milk $.49 a gallon. Mary’s hard work put something in the hungry children’s stomachs.
Mother gave birth to her youngest. The baby had milk allergies. The baby’s formula was changed several times with no let up in symptoms. Finally, the doctor had mother put warm jello in her bottle instead of formula and give her supplemental baby food with cereal several times a day. The baby thrived.
Mary gave birth to twins. She claimed they were identical except one was a boy and the other a girl. Seeing the red jello in Mother’s baby’s bottle, she inferred it was Kool aid, even though Mother had explained the situation. It was probably a bit of wishful thinking as well. Kool aid was only a nickel a pack then; milk $.33 a gallon. Mary switched her babies to Kool aid. Two or three days later, she came over pleading for canned milk. The poor babies were crying incessantly and refusing their Kool aid. Horrified, Mother explained and sent her home with canned milk. The babies straightened right up. They liked milk.
Mary was a tragedy of fertility. Perpetually pregnant, she gave birth to six children in record time. Sadly, she lost several teeth. By the time they moved away, she had aged tremendously.
The couple stopped by to visit a year or so later. Not surprisingly, Mary was hugely pregnant, smoking up a storm. By this time, the older kids seemed like ferrel children, ripping madly through the house, determined to disembowel every drawer, closet, and cabinet. They ran screaming in and out of the house, doors banging in their wake.
The exception was a two-year-old- girl, Merle. Loy spoke harshly, demanding Merle sit on the sofa, while the others ran wild. She was a precious little toddler, dressed in a pretty dress. The other kids were poorly dressed and mostly shoeless. A time or two, Merle made a move as if to get down. Loy reprimanded her sharply. When she crimped up to cry, Loy raised his hand as if to smack her leg. Mother had one of her little girls bring Merle a toy and encouraged Loy to let her get down and play but she didn’t move, clearly bullied into submission. Once Loy had demonstrated his control over the child, he spent the rest of the visit praising her behavior while the other kids tried to tear the house down. It was a miserable time.
This was in the early sixties, before the time child abuse would have been reported. After they left, I remember my parents discussing the strange situation. They felt sure the purpose of the visit was so Loy could show what a good little girl Merle was. We never saw them again.
Yesterday, we looked at 1950 grocery prices, and today we move to 1960. Here’s a snapshot of what grocery prices looked like sixty years ago, with an emphasis on Thanksgiving fixings, from the November 21, 1960 issue of the Pittsburgh Press.
The turkey itself would set you back 39 cents per pound. If you were a non-traditionalist, hams started for about 69 cents per pound.
The cranberry sauce was two cans for 45 cents. If you were going to make your own cranberry sauce, the berries were 19 cents per pound. And if you were making your own pie (which you probably did), the pumpkin was two cans for 39 cents.
Mayonnaise was 69 cents for a quart, and you could get 8 one-pound cans of Van Camp Pork and Beans for a dollar. Jello was 12 boxes for a dollar, and cake mixes were three for a dollar.
In the produce department, oranges were two dozen for 79 cents, and lettuce was 2 for 35 cents.
A dog and a cat die and go to Heaven. St. Peter ushers them in together to the foot of God’s throne. God addresses the dog first. “What did you learn on your sojourn on earth, my child?”
Awed the dog bowed his head and spoke humbly. “ I learned I was man’s best friend. I was to serve him, protect him, and above all, love him unfailingly.”
“Well done,” proclaimed God, turning to the cat. “And you?”
An agitated patient was stomping around the psychiatrist’s office, running his hands through his hair, almost in tears.
“Doctor, my memory’s gone. Gone! I can’t remember my wife’s name. Can’t remember my children’s names. Can’t remember what kind of car I drive. Can’t remember where I work. It was all I could do to find my way here.”
“Calm down. How long have you been like this?”
“Like what?”
An elderly man was talking with a friend: “My wife and I tried a new Chinese restaurant the other night. It was really good. I think you and your wife would enjoy it.”
Friend: “Really. We’ll have to try it. What was the name of the Restaurant?”
Elderly man: “Oh, let’s see, ….what WAS the name….I just can’t quite think of it…..hmmmm…………………..uhh, what’s the name of a flower…..real popular….. long-stemmed…..thorns….?”
Friend: Rose??
Elderly man: Yes! That’s it! ……Rose, hey Rose, what was the name of that new restaurant we went to the other night?
Poor Hearing Joke:
A man goes to the doctor and complains that his wife can’t hear him.
“How bad is it?” the doctor asks.
“I have no idea”, says the husband.
“Well, please test her. Stand 20 feet away from her and say something. If she doesn’t hear you, get closer and say the same thing. Keep moving closer and repeating the comment until she does hear you. That way we’ll have an idea of her range of hearing loss.”
So the man goes home and sees his wife in the kitchen chopping up vegetables for dinner.
From 20 feet: “What are we having for dinner?” No answer. From 10 feet, same thing. From 5 feet, same thing. Finally he’s standing right behind her … “What’s for dinner?”
She turns around, looks at him and says “For the FOURTH time … BEEF STEW!!!”
Three elderly women lived together in an old house.
On a particular day, one of the women was sitting in the parlor doing her knitting.
Another one of the women was standing on the staircase landing and said, with consternation in her voice, “Now, was I going up the stairs, or was I going down the stairs?”
A few seconds later the lady who was knitting heard the other woman say, voice full of confusion, as she was standing mid-calf deep in the tub, “Was I getting into the tub or was I getting out of the tub?”
The woman in the parlor set down her knitting and said, “I sure am glad that I’m not like those two— knock on wood!” as she leaned forward and rapped her knuckles on the coffee table. Then she said, “Hey, was that the front door or was that the back door?”
A man was invited to dinner by his elderly neighbors. The old gentleman endearingly preceded every request to his wife with ‘Honey,’ ‘Darling,’ ‘Sweetheart,’ ‘Pumpkin,’ etc.
The man was impressed since the couple had been married almost 70 years. While the wife was off in the kitchen, he said to the gentleman, “I think it’s wonderful that after all the years you’ve been married, you still refer to your wife in those terms.”
The elderly husband just hung his head. “Actually, I forgot her name about 10 years ago.”
God grant me the Senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.
As a senior citizen was driving down the freeway, his car phone rang.
Answering, he heard his wife’s voice urgently warning him, “Herman, I just heard on the news that there’s a car going the wrong way on Interstate 280. Please be careful!”
Herman said, “It’s not just one car. There’s hundreds of them!”
Two old ladies have played bridge together for years. Naturally they had gotten to know each other very well. One day during a game one lady suddenly looks up at the other and says, “Now dear, I know that we’ve known each other for many years, so please don’t be angry or upset by this. But could you please tell me your name? I’m trying to remember, but I just can’t bring it to mind.”
The other lady glares at her for a full three minutes and replies, “How soon do you need to know?”
Getting to Heaven:
An 85-year-old couple, after being married for almost 60 years, died in a car crash.
They had been in good health the last ten years, mainly due to her interest in health food and exercising.
When they reached the Pearly Gates, St. Peter took them to their mansion, which was decked out with a beautiful kitchen, master bath suite and a Jacuzzi.
As they looked around, the old man asked St. Peter how much all this was going to cost. ‘It’s free,’ St. Peter replied, ‘this is Heaven.’
Next, they went out in the back yard to survey the championship-style golf course that the home was located on. They would have golfing privileges every day and each week the course changed to a new one representing the great golf courses on earth. The old man asked, ‘What are the green fees?’ St. Peter replied, ‘This is heaven, you play for free.’
Next, they went to the club house and saw the lavish buffet lunch with the cuisine’s of the World laid out. ‘How much to eat?’ asked the old man.
‘Don’t you understand yet? This is heaven, it is free!’ St. Peter replied, with some exasperation.
‘Well, where are the low fat and low cholesterol tables?’ the old man asked timidly. St. Peter lectured, ‘That’s the best part – you can eat as much as you like of whatever you like and you never get fat and you never get sick. This is Heaven.’
With that, the old man went into a fit of anger, throwing down his hat and stomping on it, and screaming wildly. St. Peter and his wife both tried to calm him down, asking him what was wrong.
The old man looked at his wife and said, ‘This is all your fault! If it weren’t for your blasted bran muffins and exercise, I could have been here ten years ago!’
Out for a Drive
Two elderly women were out driving in a large car, both could barely see over the dashboard. As they were cruising along they came to an intersection. The stoplight was red but they just went on through. The woman in the passenger seat thought to herself, “I must be losing my mind, I swear we just went through a red light.”
After a few more minutes they came to another intersection and the light was red again, and again they went right through. This time the woman in the passenger seat was almost sure that the light had been red, but was really concerned that she was mistaken. She was getting nervous and decided to pay very close attention to the road and the next intersection to see what was going on.
At the next intersection, sure enough, the light was definitely red and they went right through. She turned to the woman driving and said, “Mildred! Did you know we just ran through three red lights in a row! You could have killed us!”
Mildred turned to her and said, “Oh, am I driving?”
Time may be a great healer; but it’s a lousy beautician!
A woman is worried about an older woman, a widow, who lives in the apartment next door. She hasn’t heard anything from her for a few days.
So she tells her son, “I want you to go next door and see how ol’ Mrs. Pierpoint is.”
A few minutes later, the boy returns.
“Well, is she all right?” the mother asks.
“She’s fine, but she’s annoyed with you,” he says.
“At me? Whatever for?”
“Well,” says her son, “Mrs. Pierpoint told me it’s none of your business how old she is.”
While working for an organization that delivers lunches to elderly shut-ins, I used to take my 4-year-old daughter on my afternoon rounds. She was unfailingly intrigued by the various appliances of old age, particularly the canes, walkers and wheelchairs. One day I found her staring at a pair of false teeth soaking in a glass. As I braced myself for the inevitable barrage of questions, she merely turned and whispered,
Daddy not only disliked reading, he was offended by it. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Put that book down and clean out your closet! Wash the woodwork! Get out there and rake the yard!” It didn’t do to let Daddy catch you reading if he was in a bad mood. It didn’t take much to stimulate a bad mood, in the unlikely event he didn’t already have one going. You could always count on getting caught with a book to do it.
Mother was a voracious reader and a casual housekeeper, a problem for Daddy. He needed an illiterate automaton. It set Daddy on fire to stomp through and find Mother reading, especially with dishes stacked in the sink or the floor needed sweeping, which frequently happened. Not to mention, she had five children, ensuring in inordinate amount of work, even for an organized person. No one ever accused Mother of being organized.
Not only that, Daddy frequently pulled Mother away to help him or sent her to town for something he needed. Both Daddy and Mother had more work than they could do. In addition to his paper mill job, Daddy was building a farm and cattle herd. Mother had to put biscuits in the oven before she went out to milk the cow and feed chickens. Neither ever had a minute to spare. Like all farm kids, we were pressed into service as early as possible. Everybody worked all the time, building fences, gardening, making hay, on and on, and on.
Mother read whenever she could steal a minute, while rocking a baby, while drinking coffee, while Daddy and the kids watched TV at night. Daddy hated that. He said “If I had time to read, I’d read the Bible.” I wondered at the time why he didn’t do that instead of watch TV, but didn’t bother to ask.
He’d only read two books in his life, Old Yeller and The Lilies of the Field, probably for school.
Naturally, several of his children did plenty of sneaky reading.
Old ranch owner John farmed a small ranch in Montana. The Montana Wage and Hour Department claimed he was not paying proper wages to his workers and sent an agent out to interview him.
“I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them,” demanded the agent.
“Well,” replied old John, “There’s my ranch hand who’s been with me for 3 years. I pay him $600 a week plus free room and board. The cook has been here for 18 months, and I pay her $500 a week plus free room and board. Then there’s the half-wit who works about 18 hours every day and does about 90 percent of all the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of bourbon every Saturday night.”
“That’s the guy I want to talk to, the half-wit,” says the agent.
“That would be me,” replied old rancher John.
A man was driving for hours through desolate country when he passed a farmhouse, and before he could react, a cat ran out in front of him and*splat* — he flattened the cat. Out of kindness and consideration, he stopped, turned around and drove back to the farmhouse to notify the occupants. When the housewife came to the door, he said, “Pardon me ma’am, but I just ran over a cat in front of your house, and assumed that it must belong to you. I know this might be hard to hear, but I wanted to let you know instead of just driving off.”
“Not so fast,” she says. “How do you know it was our cat? Could you describe him? What does he look like?”
The man promptly flopped down on the ground, and said, “He looks like this” as he gave his best shot at a dead cat impression.
“Oh no, you horrible man,” she replied. “I meant, what did he look like before you hit him?”
At that, the man got up , covered his eyes with both hands and screamed, “Agggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!
Nutsrok 