....Iron along with Liberace!

(Original artwork—if you can call it that!)

September 1958

....Now for some cookies and milk and some after school TV; maybe some cartoons and if I can get control of the TV knob—Liberace!

That’s right, Liberace!

My brothers laughed at me and ran outside to play, but I sat, eyes glued to the set, fascinated by this piano player; dressed in his brocade jacket, rings glittering on his hands as they danced up and down the keys of his grand piano complete with a candelabra. His smile was so broad and white it looked like another set of keys.

Today I would describe him as.... flamboyant; but to my seven -year old mind, he was spectacular!

And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Housewives across the country got out their ironing boards and ironed along with Liberace's afternoon piano concertos.
When the half hour was over, it was my turn. I would sit down and play our piano—by ear—mimicking his techniques. My mother, realizing the seeds of genius here, encouraged my father to find a piano teacher for me. And he did—my first lesson would take place on a Saturday in September and would continue, every Saturday at 1:00.

I could hardly wait to meet my piano teacher. All I knew is that he was a “Mr.” “Mr.Lipman”
Hmmm…..didn’t sound much like “Liberace”— but I was still excited.

Whether I had any intentions of impressing my new piano teacher, (after all, I’m sure Liberace would have been impressed!) or it was just a coincidence, I do not recall; but early Saturday morning before my first lesson I was playing next door and my little friends and I discovered a bottle of blue nail polish in their big sisters room. Her room was almost as fascinating as Liberace. She was boy crazy—Elvis crazy—and finally talked her parents into allowing her to have her very own telephone in her bedroom. It was a white Princess phone, a brand new model that was streamlined with a light up dial. The first thing she did when it was installed was to paint it with pink nail polish and while it was still wet, sprinkled it with silver glitter. I guess blue nail polish was her latest fad. The three of us painted our finger nails while big sister was in the shower, and I headed home to wait for my piano teacher to make his appearance.

I stood at the window watching the end of the driveway.
Would I see a great big flashy convertible with fins turn in? I had no idea. All I knew is that I had butterflies in my stomach for the first time in my life.
At exactly 1:00 on the dot, a little, tiny grey Volkswagen put-put-putted up the driveway. My piano teacher very slowly got out, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the roof of the car.
“He’s very tall and very bald” was my first impression.
Dressed in his gray herringbone jacket, tie, and navy blue pants-- glasses thick with black rims. He was scary.
“Mary, Mr.Lipman is here. Go to the door and greet him,” my mother said.

I slowly, very slowly, opened the door and let him in. My mother introduced us and walked us to the living room where our piano sat by the window.
“I’m going to put the baby down for a nap. Have a nice lesson.”

Now we were alone. Me and Mr.Lipman, my piano --and one chair.

“Oh, I forgot, our piano bench is broken! I’ll be right back.”
I walked to the dining room and retrieved a chair for him. I returned and placed the chair next to mine and sat down beside him—nervous, but ready for my first lesson. Mr.Lipman, obviously perturbed that there was no piano bench, sat down abruptly in the chair. One of the four legs immediately collapsed beneath him and Mr.Lipman fell backwards, legs extended heavenward and let out a disgruntled “…OUGH!”

This lesson was not off to a very good start.

Finally, the chair replaced, Mr.Lipman’s striped tie straightened, glasses back on his nose—we were ready to begin. He asked me to place my right hand on the keys and…oh dear. How does a seven year old little girl explain to a bald man in a herringbone jacket that it was Liberace who made her think that blue nail polish would be acceptable to wear for her first piano lesson?
It was not.

“Mamie…..” he said and then paused for what seemed like a very long time.
“ Please go into the bathroom and wash that nail polish off. I will wait.”
I guess neither of us knew that soap and water would not remove the blue nail polish. I sure tried but I returned ten minutes later, fingernails just as blue. He tolerated the disturbance—but only this time.

From that lesson on, I looked forward to Saturday afternoon with a great big knot in my stomach. I watched for that little gray Volkswagen, and secretly hoped I wouldn’t see it. I did learn my lessons, however, when we finally got around to them.

Oh, and he really disliked bubbles blown during my lesson---two pieces of Bazooka Joe and the bubbles were amazing; but NEVER during my piano lesson.
Never again.

One Saturday after my lesson I overheard my mother telling my father that Mr. Lipman called me a “child prodigy.” I wondered if that was something like juvenile delinquent and if my father would punish me.
Must have been the broken chair, and the blue nail polish. Whatever it was, I was in for it.

You can see pictures of Liberace and his amazing grand piano here at the Liberace Museum.

...and you can listen to Liberace's fantastic piano playing here!

No wonder I wanted to play the piano!

The Creature

 Growing up on rural James Street in Morristown NJ, we got to know the neighborhood homes and parents like our own.  Kids in the 50's and 60's had tremendous freedom to explore the surrounding wooded area-- check in for lunch and dinner. Though we were out of sight much of the time, the neighborhood  moms kept tabs on us.  "I have eyes in the back of my head!"  Mrs.McGrady often reminded us.

We got to know each mom's 'specialty.'  Any one of the neighborhood kids would agree that Mrs. McGrady made the BEST cinnamon toast. We filed to her front door one by one early in the morning just to hear those words--"Come in and have some cinnamon toast!"  Little Scotty Engleman was so smitten by her cinnamon toast that he wanted to marry Mrs. McGrady one day.



Mrs.McGrady was also a nurse.  So all accidents; skinned knees, bee stings, bleeding cuts in need of stitches--choking children were rushed to her door.  And she was always ready.  I remember one Easter a babysitter gave me my very first home permanent while my mom was in the hospital.  It was such a disaster that my dad rushed me to her door--"Marge, can you please do something!"  I'm afraid even Mrs.McGrady could not make it better!

Mrs Engelman knew everything about nature--birds and plants and animals. Her children were named appropriately Holly,Scotty, Forrest and Heather....

If we had a question relating to anything in nature, we would go to her--and she would always be interested and have an answer.  

One hot summer afternoon I was digging in the dirt to find worms for our fishing trip back at the stream.  Nancy and Sue always wanted me to dig for the worms. They were fat and plentiful that day.  As I unearthed each one I  dropped it into a can.   I poked my shovel into the dirt once more and discovered something horrifying; so shocking that I gasped and dropped my shovel.

It was a creature--but one I had never seen before. I ran in the house to find a little box but told no one about my discovery.  There was only one person I wanted to tell.  I scooped him up into the box shuddering as I closed the lid.  Mrs.Engelman was in her yard gardening-as usual.  I ran over and got down on my knees next to where she was digging. 
"Mrs. Engelman-look what I found!"  I opened the box and her eyes widened just as mine had.
"Well...what could this be?"  she said. as perplexed as I was.
She told me she would take it inside and see what she could find out.

At that time, the only resource available for researching such things was the encyclopedia.  Mrs Engelman must have searched to no avail.  From that time on though, when we saw each other we would look at each other and nod--we had a secret--an amazing discovery.  Only time would tell what I had unearthed.

 I never did find out what this creature was--and I always wondered --UNTIL  the writing of this story!
And thanks to the internet--Google search more specifically, I finally have the answer! 
(...after 65 years!)

And here it is-with that creepy eye on the top of its head!  Meet the Cyclops Worm!

If only I could tell Mrs. Engelman!

~Mamie

 

 

Five Year Old Hits the Jackpot!

 

 

That’s me in my mother’s arms—1952.  I remember many shopping trips at the 'Food Fair' during my first nine years living out on James Street in Morristown, NJ.  I grew up with six brothers, so my mom did a LOT of food shopping.  As a young child I looked forward to being given a penny  or a nickel to put in the gum ball machine on our way out of the store.  I loved bubble gum!

I remember one particular shopping trip when I was perhaps four or five—it was like a dream come true!
One of my brothers and I were bored so we walked ahead of my mom collecting little cardboard circle cutouts we found on the floor throughout the store that had come out of boxes being unloaded.   Well it suddenly occurred to me that this little circle was the size of a coin.  (I was not a naughty little girl-just curious and inventive)  While my mom was checking out the groceries I walked out and slipped the cardboard circle into the gum ball machine and turned the crank—to my utter shock and delight….the ENTIRE gum ball machine emptied out onto the floor!  Talk about a jackpot! 

I’m sure my mom was embarrassed and I’m quite sure I did not get to take my ‘winnings’ home….but it sure was fun to imagine that I did!

Remember when permanents were....PERMANENT?

Home permanents had come a long way by the 50's. But not quite far enough!

This ad promotion from the 50's featured identical twins, with identical looking hair styles. One was done professionally, the other was done at home.

In his role as radio announcer for the long-running mystery series, Casey, Crime Photographer, sponsored by Toni, Bill Cullen would often deliver the commercial as if he was a character in the program. He would ask his radio audience..

"...which girl has the Toni?"

From my one experience as a child, I don't think either one of them did!
But before I take you back to the first time I saw my father cry— lets go back to 1909 and the day Karl Nessler's wife Katharine Laible had her very first home permanent. Her husband Karl had been working several years perfecting a method to curl hair using chemical treatments, electrical heating devices and brass rollers each weighing about two pounds. It was a complex system, using countering weights suspended from an overhead chandelier and mounted on a stand to prevent the hot rollers from touching the scalp. The process took at least six hours. History records him using a mixture of cow urine and water.
(urban legend? Perhaps!) Now it's hard for me to imagine Katharine willingly subjecting herself to this process. But it is even more unbelievable that she allowed her husband to give her a second permanent after the first one completely burned her hair off, scalding her scalp.
.....He didn't quite have it down the second time either–she lost all of her hair again.

He did eventually perfect the method and his electric permanent wave machine was patented in London in 1909 and went into widespread use.

Unlike Karl Nessler's wife, I had only one permanent as a young girl.

By the time it was my turn, Toni had produced a product that women could use at home for $2 (compared to $15 if done professionally at a hair salon)
The cow urine was gone-but it had its own distinct smell—not a big improvement.

In April of 1957 my mother was in the hospital after delivering her seventh child, my brother Chris—son #6. At that time mothers were kept in the hospital for at least a week following the delivery of a baby. A live-in baby sitter was hired to help take care of the other six children at home. My Dad thought it would be nice to surprise my mom on Easter Sunday morning with a visit from all of her children. We were not allowed in the hospital, but we could stand outside on the lawn and wave up to her at her window.
The babysitter, a very capable elderly woman, thought it would be nice to surprise my dad and give his little girl her very first home permanent. Wouldn't she look nice waving up at the window with all those curls? The picture was not quite as dreamy as she envisioned. When the curlers were removed my head was covered with a mass of frizz and gnarled, kinky curls. When my dad arrived home he took one look at me, covered my head with a towel and escorted me next door. Mrs. McGrady was a nurse and she could fix just about anything.

"Marge! Can you do something?!

"I'll try Wally! I'll try!"

She did try. I remember standing in front of her full length mirror and watching her brush, and brush, and brush— and watching those PERMANENT curls pop right back up to where they were, springing about six inches off the top of my head.

My dad waited outside the door. But sorry to say I looked exactly the same when I walked out.

(ok...it's not an actual photo. There were no pictures taken of me that day)

I'm sure I'm not the only 50's Baby Boomer who had a bad perm experience!
We learned to do one thing when we caught a whiff of that pungent Toni solution—

.....RUN!

Update:  May 21, 2013
I have never seen this photo before today.  It is a photo from that day.  I think that my Easter hat is covering the rest of the FRIZZ!