Specific Memories

One of the downsides to getting older is that I am running out of people who share specific memories with me. For instance, I found it very exciting a few weeks ago when in casual conversation I discovered that my boss stood on the sidewalk across the street when the Esquire Theater burned down in Enid in 1969. Here was a specific memory that two people shared. I share this memory with my boss because I too watched the Esquire burn down, sitting across the street from it in the back seat of my Dad's old Chevy II. Do you remember our old Chevy II? What a great old car. It was white and was the 4-door variety. I don't remember what year model it was - probably a '64 or '65. It was when they were still kind of flat looking, before they became the curvy Nova of the '70s.

I remember going out to Meno in the Chevy II and visiting Grandma and Pa LeCrone. We would fill up the car at Pa's Texaco station. This was back when gas was 28 cents a gallon and the gas station was full service. Pa would wash your windshield and check your oil and tire pressure. He could fix a flat or install a fan belt or a muffler in the shop. That kind of service station is almost a thing of the past. In the station there was a pop machine. Sodas were 15 cents a bottle. There was also a cigarette machine (40 cents a pack) and a pool table. Pa sold chewing tobacco, cigars, candy bars and gum, too. Candy bars were a dime. There were bags of Redman and Beechnut chew as well as plugs of tobacco like Workhorse. He sold King Edwards, Swisher Sweets and Roi-Tan cigars. Then there was all the Wrigley gum: Juicy Fruit, Spearmint and Doublemint. Pa always chewed Doublemint gum. I think that's why it's still my favorite to this day.

Cindy probably shares more specific memories with me than anyone else, although Cindy's too young to remember some of my earlier ones. I'm sure she remembers us pretending that Pa's stock rack was a jail. That stock rack was kept behind the old garage when it wasn't on Pa's truck. I could climb it like a ladder and get up on the roof of the garage.

Can you remember the well house that used to be behind Grandma and Pa's? How about the huge propane tank that used to sit in the front yard? We'd pretend it was a horse and ride it. Then Mom would yell at us because the silver paint would get all over us. Can you remember burning the trash? Or Pa feeding the stray cats that lived in the old garage? Do you remember when the north side of the garage seemed like a place of buried treasure?

Church is the same way. There is a distinct smell about the churches of my childhood. It's that "old church" smell that is absolutely unique. Every time I encounter it, memories are automatically evoked. I remember falling down the stairs at the church in Woodward when I was 5. Didn't hurt me a bit. I remember visiting the church in Moreland when I was 5 or 6 and asking the preacher before the service started if we could sing "Blessed Assurance." And we did sing it. I remember my Grandma teaching Sunday School at the Wesleyan Methodist Church in Ringwood. Pa was the Sunday School Superintendent. I also remember going to a Halloween party there. It was held in the basement (which was also the fellowship hall). Grandma dressed up as a witch, complete with pointy black hat. I was a hobo. I recited this poem (which I still clearly remember) for the enjoyment of all:

The night was dark, the moon was blue
Around the corner a hobo flew
And from his belt a knife he drew
And cut a banana half in two.