My Home Town-Millinocket-Penny Candy

Well, as Thursday was payday we would stand in line to get our allowance.  Of course being the smallest didn't have its advantages on this day.  I got the least amount of money, however, I also knew how to save it, thus I always had money.  My piggy bank was well fed. Occasionally I would loan my brother a few coins so he could go to the dance but he would have to pay me back, not sure if that ever took place though. Anyway I'm forgetting my story.  My Mom and Dad would go out on occasion and leave us kids on Friday or Saturday night.  We would walk down to the Fruit Store on Main Street and buy penny candy.  Now of course it was extremely important to get the most you could get.  Miss Metangelo was the most patient person in the world.  She would stand at that counter and we would say, I'll have three of those, no wait, I'll have three of those as you can get three for a penny and that would be the best deal of the century.  After what must have seemed like eternity for her we would have spent our money and carry it all home so we could play Pokeno.  This is similar to beano only it is played with big cardboard cards with pictures of a deck of cards on it.  You would have a regular deck of cards which you would turn one at a time and if you had that card on your big card you would cover it with a token, or a button or what ever you had.  You could get Pokeno up or down or diagonally.  Now we would sort out all our candy lining up the ones you liked the least as those would be the ones you would anti.  We had four little bowls, one for center, one for four corners, one for diagonal and one for Pokeno.  Until you heard someone say Pokeno you continued to play, even though someone may have won center or diagonal or four corners.  When we finally had enough of the game we would quit and sort out our candy and give away some you didn't want or like and trade for some you wanted.  A good evening was had by all.

My Home Town-Millinocket-Blueberry Muffins

Ok, so here goes another memory.  Guess I'm just full of them.  My brother Leo and my two sisters, Linda and Nancy used to get up early in the morning and we would decide it would be a good time to go picking blueberries.  We each had our own container, mine of course was the smallest as I was the youngest.  My mother would give us the usual lecture-"don't go near the hobo's and Leo you make sure you watch your sisters.  and don't be long", she would say. We lived by the railroad tracks and my Mother knew there were hobo's along  the tracks as they left many signs of being there.  They had a language all their own and my mother used to tell us about them.  I think she used to feed some of them.  She was like that, very kindhearted for those who are down and out.
Well, we used to have to cross the railroad tracks and climb up the billy goat trail to find the best blueberries in town.  When we arrived we would split up a little bit but not far from each other.  We could still talk to each other and actually could see each other. We were a bit on edge as my brother said we could see a bear as they too liked the blueberries.  He said to look for poop!  Well I'll tell you mister, I wasn't looking for any poop, not me, he could if he wanted to, I was looking for blueberries.  (I never collected too many berries in my little tin bucket as somehow they didn't accumulate like they did in everyone else's bucket.) They used to give me a hard time and say you eat more than you pick.  I somehow didn't know how they knew, even though my mother would say when we returned-how many did you pick DebbieDo?  I'd say I picked a big bunch but Leo made me pour all mine in the big bucket.  She'd say, "ya, I can see that".  Well, then we would dump them all out and we would pick all the little leaves and any stems we could find before we washed them.  Then came the fun part.  I'd sit up at the kitchen table and watch my big brother take out the big yellow bowl and ingredients and begin to measure and pour and stir and all that stuff.  I wanted to get involved but I knew I was only an observer, not a participant.  I did get to grease the muffin tins with the paper from the butter and then he would measure out just the right amount to put into each muffin tin.  In the oven they would go. What seemed like an hour only was about 20-30 minutes, out came the most beautiful and delicious muffins you've ever seen.  Out came the milk, the butter and little plates and we would consume the muffins as though we were starved.  And, we accomplished this and didn't even meet up with one Hobo!

My Home Town-Millinocket-Music

As indicated in a previous blog, there was always music in our house. My Dad, Lewis Cyr, played a mean fiddle and played with a group of friends at parties, halls, weddings, etc.  My mother played the piano. Many at Friday night, whether at home or at camp, after supper would come a knock on the door and in would come a friend of the family carrying a guitar, mandolin, accordion, or some kind of instrument.  Some times the wives and children came also.   Dad would break out the fiddle, Mom would ditch the dishpan for the piano, and let the music begin.  They would occasionally stop for a breather and a little glass of the clearest home brew that was ever made.  (I know I used to help put the caps on the bottles)
We kids used to dance around either in the living room or on the screened in porch.  If  not to many of us we would climb up the ladder to the loft and we could peer down on the festivities without being under foot.  This was such a ritual that it seemed that these people were just an extension of our family.  Some played music and some just came for the entertainment, which there was plenty of.  Maurice and Gladys Levesque, his younger brother Petite (John) and Doris Levesque, Gordon Olin, Victor Cyr, Eddie Sensic, Ethel and Orman Shedd, Tilly and Dave Pelkey, Frances and Tiny Batchelder,  just to name a few.  Sometimes these evenings would promote a late night spaghetti feed, which was certainly better than a Great Northern Snack (bologna sandwich), a local joke.  A great time was had by all and the music was absolutely wonderful.  My whole family is musically inclined, some sisters play the piano, the ukulele, the accordion, one brother played the fiddle the other played the drums, however, I missed out on that talent.  I can't even play the spoons in the key of T.  But that doesn't stop my love of music, as it is in the soul.  You didn't have much by way of money, but you sure knew how to have fun back in those days!!!  Guess we should learn something from this, but will we?  We always want more than what we had but is that necessarily better?  I think not!  We were rich in another sense, we had a roof over our heads, food on the table, and plenty of love, what more could anyone ask for?

My Home Town-Millinocket-My Mother

MY_Home_Town-Millinocket-MOM.docx Anyone on this site My Mother My mother, the dear soul, didn't frequent the out of doors much as she was possessed by her house and the cleaning that she thought needed to take place.  God forbid that a speck of dust, or a finger print show up she would have had a conniption.  She was persnickety about  what she perceived as her job.  On Saturday mornings she would solicit my  two older sisters for their early morning chores.  I was not included as I was to young to be of  help, therefore, I was banished to the downstairs so as not to be in the way.  Well, I was not in the way of my mother and my sisters, however, I was in the way of my brother who was transfixed to the old Sylvania with the halo light around it. (For those of you who are too young to know what I'm talking about, that would be the T.V.) I can't remember the names of the cartoons we watched except Mighty Mouse (which I loved as he always rescued the damsel in distress  just in the nick of time)  Later in the morning my brother would watch Sky King and I didn't really like that show but I didn't say anything  as I knew he wouldn't let me help him on our Saturday ritual.  Let me preface this by telling you that my mother's black cast iron cook stove was so clean that it would shine.  She took pride in putting some kind of smelly stuff on it occasionally, rubbed it for what seemed like hours and boy it did look nice.  Well, our ritual was to take some potatoes out of the bag, slice them paper thin and place them on the top burner. They would cook up nice and crisp, almost like home made potato chips.  Well, when you removed them from the burner they would leave a white tell tale starch mark of being there.  That is about the time Sky King would come on and we'd retire to the same spots in from of the Sylvania and continue with our lazy Saturday morning.  Now, let me tell you mister when my Mother would come down over those stairs and see her stove she would me madder than a hornet.  We'd listen for the next several minutes of how hard she worked on that stove to make it look nice only to find someone who didn't have enough respect to appreciate how hard she works.  My brother would say he was sorry and my sisters would be fighting over the left over chips they had missed out on.  Later on I pursued that memory a little closer and now know that she wasn't as mad as she let on she was.  She knew it needed to be said for our benefit but there was always a little twinkle in her eye and I think my brother knew that. As I indicated my Mom was always working on cleaning something and thus didn't have time to play with me like I thought she should.  So, she came up with a game of Mrs. Hotdog and Mrs. Bologna.  I was skinny and she was menopausal porky so that is how the names came into  play.  She would go about her business of doing her chores and would tell me I had to do mine and when she was finished she would invite me over to her house to have coffee, tea and some goodies.  Needless to say whatever she did, I did. If she cooked a cake I cooked a little cake, if she baked a pie, I baked a little pie.  (Probably where my love for miniature anything comes into play) I had all the same cooking utensils she had, rolling pin, bowls, egg beater, cupcake tins. etc.  If she ironed than I got out my iron and I ironed also.  She let me do the washcloths.  Then when it was time for lunch she would come to where I was in the house and knock on the door and as if I'd like to join her for lunch.  Of course I'd play right along with her and we would pretend to be neighbors just visiting. You see, I was much younger than my siblings and so at times it was almost like being an only child.  They would all be somewhere playing, but either didn't want a younger sibling hanging around that they'd have to watch or I couldn't go where they were going because I wasn't old enough.  Didn't matter to me at the time, but later it did. That will have to wait for one of my next blogs!!! 'Til then, have a great one!

My Home Town-Millinocket-Sandwiches for Supper

Deb Randall

My Home Town-Millinocket-2nd Installment 

Sandwiches for Supper!!

     Thursday Night!!!  We got a special treat, we had sandwiches for supper.  Boy didn't we thing we were special.  Dad was the one who did the grocery shopping and that took place right after he got out of work at  Great Northern Paper Company at 4 pm. He would swing by and picked me up so I could help him ,or so I thought, later I found out it was so he could pick up the grocery list my mother had made out for him.  We went to First National which was located at the corner of Central Street and Main Street .  Oh how I loved to go into that store.  The produce was the first section and I loved the smell of citrus, the lemons especially.  They were my favorite color too.  As Dad proceeded to fill the basket I would meander over to the 8O'clock coffee section and waited for someone to come over and grind their coffee.  (not sure if they had instant coffee way back then or not, but most folks took the beans and put them in the machine and voila just like magic out would come the darkest, richest coffee with the most wonderful smell.  Of course I was too young to drink it-but when I sneaked a taste I was actually glad I couldn't drink it-it tasted awful.  How can something smell so great but taste so bitter.  When Dad was finished he would hunt me up and I would help put the stuff on the belt.  I kept moving the last few items to the back of the belt and watch them slide down only to do it again until I got the look from the cashier, Dad would pay the bill and she would give him some kind of stamps which my Mom and I would later lick and stick in this little book. 

After we returned home and carried in the groceries we promptly took a ride into the section of Millinocket called Little Italy.  I thought it was a funny name but never asked why it was called that cause I pronounced it, Little Itly.  Well, what is an Itly?  Anyway, we would go into this store called Dinardo's.  It too had wonderful smells coming from inside.  They had hanging cheese and meat.  Now that was a funny way to display your groceries.  I thought it must be  because it was a small store and they had to use all the space they could to cram their groceries in.  I used to like to look at the man's hands.  I had never seen anyone who actually had hair on his fingers.  It was long and dark and you could actually see each strand of hair. The man was a very nice man but he also had something else that was peculiar.  It looked like the sweat that was on his forehead and the sides of his neck were greasy.  Can someone sweat grease?  I didn't know and I sure knew better than to ask such a question.  (Though it was very difficult to squelch the curiosity that was looming within me).  But it really didn't matter as long as I got to go behind the counter and pick out my own penny candy which filled a little brown paper bag about 1/4 full.  That was a lot of candy to me.  I got all the 2 and 3 for a penny that I could get.  I knew I'd have to share with my older brother and two sisters so I wanted to make sure I had some left for me.

Now comes the exciting part.  When we returned we had a bottle of Olive Oil, some pepperoni, salami, provolone cheese and some other kind of cheese- and couple of big fat pickles that came out of a barrel, a bag of  King Cole potato chips and one quart of  Clique co Club soda.  What a treat!  We didn't get sandwiches chips or soda any other day but grocery day which was Thursday.  (Probably cause that was payday!)

My mother would have been embarrassed if someone had come by to visit on those nights cause she would have thought they would think of  her as a lazy wife and mother- not cooking for her family. 

I wonder if kids today are as excited as I was when I got to have a sandwich for supper?  NOT!

  

My Home Town