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Box Tops

–> Wheaties were not my favorite cereal, but Jack Armstrong was my favorite radio person, “The All American Boy.” Oh how I wished I too could have been an All American Boy. Listening to his adventures made me feel like a different kid. However, after finishing a soggy bowl of Jack Armstrong’s Wheaties, “The All American Breakfast,” hardly made me feel like a different kid.

I remember, it was the summer of 1944, I was almost 10. Wheaties was offering two WW-2 war plane models for two box tops and a nickel. An offer I couldn’t resist, [but should have]. The first offered was the P-40 Flying Tiger, my favorite fighter. The other was a Japanese Zero, not a favorite! I really had to stuff down the first box of Wheaties. My dog Skippy never let on that there was more in that bowl than leftover milk and sugar.

Then there was a delay for the second box of Wheaties. Mom said I had Cheerioats to finish before they get stale! Oh no, another setback!

I finally got the second box of Wheaties, a nickel, and three pennies for a stamp.
Now, a three to four week wait for them to arrive — eternity for a 10 year old! The rest of school vacation passed, school started and no model planes!

The school bus let me off a few steps from our mailbox. I would run over, wing the lid down and only find no mail for me. More days passed, still an empty mailbox. Now I was pretty mad at Jack Armstrong! In fact, I was so mad I could have kicked the cat, only we didn’t have a cat!

Into the kitchen I went. I threw my lunch box onto the table, scattering the mail my Mom brought in earlier. There it was, a manila envelope with my name and address, and most important, P-40 and Zero stamped on front. A few seconds later, the contents were spread out in front of me. Where to start? Reading instructions was not something I was good at.

Mom convinced me to wait for Dad to help. After supper, Dad and I spread newspapers and an old sheet on the dining table. There would be hell-to-pay should anything spoil that table. Out came the two cardboard sheets. Each plane was printed in color. Dad picked up the instruction sheet and started reading. I had the P-40 sheet in my hands.    
“Come-on Dad,” I urged, “Let’s cut ’em out!”
Finally we got cutting. I was having a hard time cutting that cardboard. Oops, I cut a tab right off! Every tab was important to hold the parts together. We worked on those two models until past my bedtime.
The next night was glue together time.

The only glue we had was a bell shaped bottle with a rubber, pig-looking nose, with a slot for applying the glue [Le Pages glue]. A dab on this tab, then on that one, then a glob spurts all over the place! Glue all over my fingers. What a mess!

The instructions said to place a penny in the nose and glue it to the tabs. Well this smart kid of 10 thought two pennies would work better. Dad glued the recommended one penny in the Zero. What I thought was going to take a few hours took a week!

The next Saturday came. I was right on time having breakfast with the two finished planes sitting in front of me. My mind was flying with my P-40 Flying Tiger. I was going to dogfight with that Zero and blow him to smithereens!

Title, My P 40.
Title, Dads Zero.
 “Come-on-Dad, lets go and dog fight.”
We went out front where there were no trees. I faced into the wind as the instructions said, and threw my P-40 as hard as I could.
Up, up, up it went. It nearly stopped, then nosed straight down, crashing into the wet grass.
I ran to it, picked it up, shook it off, and set it on the front step. Now Dad’s trial flight.
Up, up, up the Zero went, nosed over, and glided softly down into the grass.
I was not happy. I went and picked up my P-40. It was soggy and soft! Dad said the Zero was getting soft too. The water from the wet grass had softened the cardboard and melted the glue!

Into the house I ran. I set my P-40 on the table, and Dad set the Zero down beside it. I looked up at Dad, my eyes full of tears. I broke into a cry as he held me. My dreams shattered — no dogfights, no blasting that Zero out of the sky!

Well, in a few days, I got over that disaster. I will never forget the sight of those two limp planes sitting on the kitchen table! Never again did I mail away for any other box top offer!
W. Ray Freden    Seaview/ Marshfield
Sad things happen—they do—
but we don’t need to live sad forever.
Mattle Stepanek.
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What’s For Breakfast

Hey,CAPT CRUNCH, take a look. DIG ‘EM FROG and FREAKIES are harassing GUMMY YUMMY and COLD MONKEY. Send FRUIT BRUTE and FRANKEN BERRY over and shoo-em away!

Yes, if you take a look at the cereals available at today’s market, you will find names like this! I can’t imagine (when I was young) my Mom bringing home a box of COLD MONKEY or CRAZY COW! I would never have known what a breakfast cereal was!

As it was, I do remember, behind that grey cupboard door with the clear glass knob, were: a box of Shredded Wheat, Corn Flakes or Pep, and Rice Krispies. These were the dry cereals to which warm water or milk was added, along with sugar and fruit. During WW2, sugar and milk were scarce. Only the basics could be found in those cupboards.

My Dad’s favorite was two Shredded Wheat biscuits. He called them ” hay bales.” Softened with warm water, some milk, then topped with brown sugar. In season, sliced strawberries, peaches or raspberries
would be a welcome topping.

Corn Flakes or Pep worked for me until Cheerioats came along during WW2. I had to trade off the Pep, but that was easy. Cheerioats floated on top of the milk and stayed crispy much longer. The powered sugar I liked stayed on top much better. They stuck to the side of the bowl and had to be picked up with my fingers . . . not a bad thing until I got caught!

At the end of WW2, they discontinued the name ”Cheerioats,” and renamed them ”Cheerios.” A new name, a new box — I was devastated. I couldn’t be convinced they were the same.

Do you remember when you couldn’t wait to find the prize in the cereal box? Many times the box would get opened in the car and the contents rummaged through until the prize was found. My Mom would go bananas if she found out!

I think I was about 10, I discovered the variety packs of 10 single serving boxes. Kellogg’s offered: three Corn Flakes, two each of Rice Krispies and Pep, one each of Shredded Wheat, Bran Flakes, and Kellogg Krumbles.

Many of our old favorites have come and gone. It seems everything I really liked got discontinued. After WW2, there were so many more to choose from. Lots of sugar coated stuff with goofy names. As I left my teen years behind, so did my desire for any cold, soggy breakfast cereal.

Names like Quaker Oats, Kellogg’s, General Mills, Post Foods will remain in our lives forever.

by Ray Freden.  Seaview, 60 years. Marshfield 70 Years.

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The Hurdy Gurdy Man and his Monkey

I don’t remember the first visit of the Hurdy Gurdy Man and his monkey, however it was before school age. Maybe 1938 or 9.

During those early visits, my Mom would be with me on our Summer Street driveway. Mom would hand me a penny and I, in turn, would hold it out for the monkey. Those first years I remember of being timid of this dressed-up animal.

These summertime visits became an event to look forward to. Most of my days were spent out in the yard.   Being outside, I was aware of the noises of goings-on in the neighborhood.  This was during WW2, so the cars and trucks going by were few and far between.  It was quiet.

The faint melody of an organ playing just atop the hill, up past the Seaview Garage, got my attention. I would drop everything, run to the edge of Summer Street and look up the hill  as far as I could see at Banner’s house, where I would see the Hurdy Gurdy man grinding his organ,  his monkey would be  collecting coins from the kids.

His next stop would be the Seaview Garage. Pansy, the book keeper, and Eula, the owner’s daughter, had a weakness for that cute little monkey. I could see the monkey crawling all over them. How envious I was! How in the world could I get him to do that with me?

The stop at the garage gave me time to run into the house and shake pennies out of my tin bank. It didn’t take me long to learn to use a knife to jimmy out the coins. I now was armed with five or six pennies & waiting for the Hurdy Gurdy man to stop at my house.

”Hey kid”,  ”where- da pennies?”

Every time I handed out a penny, the monkey would look at his master.  Little did I know, he was looking for a command. After the fifth penny, the monkey got a command to hold my finger.  It was Later and older, that  I learned  silver coins were the secret to the monkey’s bag of tricks!

I remember so vividly the monkey’s outfits. During the hot summer months, the monkey wore a red and black vest with gold trim and gold-looking buttons; and a pair of black shorts with red side stripes and gold trim. Three brass buttons were on the sides of the shorts. It also wore a red fez-shape hat with a chin strap, and a gold tassel on top that flopped around. The monkey had a leash and collar that had worn away its neck hair.

The Hurdy Gurdy Man wore an outfit as a worn as the monkey’s was: a black shirt, sometimes white, and a black bow tie; a black vest with red and gold trim. Black trousers, sometimes knickers; black socks and shoes. His hat was a very worn fedora (maybe) with a gold and black feather, also very worn.

The Organ Grinder had black hair, sharp features and some gold teeth. He always wore a smile and my Mom said, “He had a twinkle in his eye,” whatever that meant.

Girls on Summer St. enjoying the Hurdy Gurdy man & his Monkey.

The organ was a square box with a crank handle, a leather strap, and a grille in front; it was supported with one leg.

On my Dad’s way home from the Greenbush railroad station, he would pass the Hurdy Gurdy man hiking up the long Summer Street hill. The monkey would be hanging on top of the organ that was strapped to the Hurdy Gurdy’s back. I know the organ grinder man and his monkey were still making the Summer Street trip in 1951.

I got my driver’s license in May of ’51 and sometimes would make the Greenbush railroad station trip to pick up my Dad. I too would pass the Hurdy Gurdy man somewhere on Summer Street, headed back to his car, which was parked on the old road at Stoddard’s Corner. I wondered many times how an organ grinder could afford that new, big, black Cadillac sedan, just collecting pennies.

The Hurdy Gurdy man’s Caddy parked beside a barn on Summer St.

For over 10 years, before 1940 to after 1951, Summer Street, Seaview,  Elm Street and Humarock were so fortunate to be entertained by some wonderful characters. I can find no record of the Man & his Monkey, who he was or where he was from.

by Ray Freden, Remembering the Village of Sea View.