REFLECTIONS "Growing up in the 50's" CHAPTER 14- That's Cool

Nostalgia Tidbit : In the 50s there was no air conditioning in the home or car, at least none that we knew about, so you cooled off  as creatively as you could.

                                                                         Chapter 14

 That’s Cool

On a hot summer day in Central Florida in the 1950’s I

can remember how creative we tried to be in finding  

ways to cool off. With no air conditioning in the home

or in the car, it was a challenge. You couldn’t even go

to the Mall to cool down because they didn’t exist. I

don’t remember any stores even having A/C either.

Perhaps they had some big circulating fans that stirred

the hot air.

Still, hot is hot!

Luckily, we had a lake about a mile away, so we often

walked or rode our bikes over to take a dip.

 Back then, you actually felt comfortable swimming in

a fresh water lake with never a thought of gators,

snakes, amoebas and slime. I’m sure they were present

but it never crossed our minds.

.

We were too busy “cooling off”. Some creative ways

to cool off were to ride in the car “fast” with windows

down and hanging out up to the waist. That had a little

numbing effect as well. Standing in front of the

refrigerator with the door open worked nicely but we

could only get away with that for very short periods of

time. Sometimes, I would even think if I rode my bike

fast enough or ran fast enough, I could create a cool

breeze. Of course, that back fired on me.

Finally, one summer day, this wonderful appliance

became a part of our household. It was an electric fan.

While it wasn’t a monster of a fan, it was nevertheless

“a fan”! It was actually pretty small with a

circumference of about twelve inches. Still, it stirred

up the air in the living room. Circulating hot air is still

better than stale hot air.

I can still see us on a hot night with Dad lying on the

couch, Mom sitting in the chair and the three of us on

the floor as close to the fan’s breeze as possible

soaking up every moment of semi-coolness. I’m sure

we were often blocking the air flow to Mom and Dad

but I really don’t remember them

complaining….maybe they did. Selective memory is

good at times. 

It was still many years before we were able to

experience the wonder of air conditioning. I do know

that even while in high school in the early 60’s, my

school was not air conditioned. As I recall, I think we

had that fan for many years.

As we fast forward to nowadays, I must leave my

air conditioned house to get in my air conditioned car

to go to the air conditioned grocery store and then off

to the air conditioned mall.

Wow, it sure is hot outside!

REFLECTIONS "Growing up in the 50's-Chapter 13- Touch of the Toe

Nostalgia Tidbit: Since I was 9 years old, I had always wanted to play little league football, but each year, prior to the pre-season draft I could never get my weight up to the minimum weight requirement which was 85 lbs. The weight range was from 85-115lbs.

Chapter 13

Touch of the Toe

Finally in 1959 at 12 years old my weight came within

range to qualify to play little league football. This was

the last year I would be eligible to play. I barely hit the

85 lb mark but felt I was close enough. I was a little

shrimp, wasn’t I?

Anyway, the day finally came when all would try to  

qualify. We had two teams in Auburndale. One was

sponsored by Publix Supermarkets and the other was

sponsored by a local business called Killebrews.

Publix wore green and white and Killebrew’s wore red

and white.

We had to do some basic workout events such as speed

running and catching the ball on the run.

 All the coaches were observing with the demeanor of

what I thought to be professional coaches. As you

might suspect with me being so small, I was fast! I did

catch their attention and did get drafted by the

Killebrew Killers! A couple of former Auburndale

High School players would be our coaches. They were

great high school players only the year before. This

would be a treat to learn from a couple of guys I really

looked up to.

Over the next couple of weeks, practice went well. I

was primarily at a running back position on offense

and defensive back on the defensive side of the ball. 

Overall, I felt pretty good about the way things were

developing.

Finally, came the night of our first game. I was filled

with butterflies and excitement …until…in the locker

room, one of the officials told us to step up to the

weigh in “one by one”.

 My heart was in my throat as I stepped onto the

scales. 79 pounds registered! How could I only

weigh 79 pounds? After all, I was 12 years old!

Anyway, I spent the whole night sitting on the

sidelines ineligible to play that night. How

disappointing.

The following week I practiced harder than ever

determined to impress the coaches to the point of  

making them forget about the weight issue.

After all, I could have better understood if I was in

excess of the maximum weight…I might hurt

someone…but as small as I was, they didn’t have to

worry about me really hurting anyone. Of course, I was

not worried about getting hurt. After all, I had two

older brothers who had broken me in when it came

to toughness.

During that week of practice, I was impressive. I ran

through defender after defender dodging and darting

and utilizing all that quickness and speed I was blessed

with. Speed was as critical in those days as now,

perhaps even more so, because there were a lot of

single and double reverses run in the backfield and

even on most kickoff returns. I was quick! As small as

I was I had better be quick or get smashed!

Game day was here again. From here on out, the

coaches had to conduct the weigh ins and record such.

When I stepped on the scales this time it was amazing

that in one week I had gained enough to qualify!

 I never did know whose toe was pressing on that

scale but it was pressing hard enough to add about 5

pounds to my weight. All teammates and coaches were

gathered so closely I couldn’t tell.     

All I know is there was a cheer once I stepped off the

scale. It appeared that “Rules are made to be

Broken”…not a very good testimony to my grand kids

one day but at the time it seemed like justice.

That night, we won the game by a big margin. I was

tackling people on all points of the field. It was so

invigorating to be a part of the team. 

By the way, on the first ball handed off to me in the

backfield, I ran  untouched for a 60 yard Touchdown.

It was the highlight of my football career. I never

played another season after that. I was always so small

throughout high school; I had to stick with basketball,

baseball and track.

I never had to weigh- in the remainder of that season.

Were rules made to be broken?

As perfect as memory tries to make the 50s era, I guess

we weren’t so perfect after all! I still wonder whose toe

rescued me and gave me the chance for that great

memory of being able to play the game. Whoever you

were…if by some chance you read this story, please let

me know. My football career was saved by

 “The Touch of the Toe”.

REFLECTIONS "Growing up in the 50's" -Chapter 12- Keep it Quiet

Nostalgia Tidbit: The house I grew up in was a 2BR, 1 Bath with a Living Room and a Kitchen. We had a very small back porch and a larger front porch. Total square footage was probably 1000sf. You can imagine that with the five of us (my two Brothers and Mom & Dad) things got a little tight at times. Mom and Dad always went to bed real early and the three of us usually got to stay up a little later and watch TV….under certain conditions, of course.

                                                                       Chapter 12

Keep it Quiet

Mom and Dad were always early to bed and early to

rise. Even though in later years Dad had trouble

hearing, back then I think he could hear “a pin drop on

the grass” from two blocks away.

Usually when Mom and Dad went to bed around 8

o’clock, my two older brothers and I were allowed to

stay up until 9 o’clock on school nights. We had to be

in bed as quickly after 9 as possible. The one

requirement was that the TV must be turned down low

so as not to disturb Dad’s sleep. 

Keep in mind,  we are in a two bedroom/one bath

house. There was probably only about 20 feet that

separated  the TV from Mom and Dad’s bedroom door.

Remember Dad is the guy who could hear a “pin drop  

on the grass”!

 Also, keep in mind, the only speaker was small and it

was on the TV…..no surround sound back then!

It had to be a sight to see with three boys huddled as

closely as could be in front of the TV….so close it was

hard  to see the picture. I know we all learned to read

lips  because the sound was so low. I am sure this

experience  is what made me such a “good listener”

later  in life. If you don’t believe me, ask my

wife…On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t ask

her. Oops, it is 9pm…early to bed and early to rise and don’t let the “sound bug bite”.

REFLECTIONS- "Growing up in the 50's" -Chapter 11- Comfort Zone

Nostalgia Tidbit: I would think we all have certain memories that brought an element of comfort to us when we were kids. I was so blessed to have such great parents and two fantastic brothers help solidify many of the comforts I enjoyed. To this day there are still so many memories that come to my mind in a refreshing way.

                                  Chapter 11

               Comfort Zone

Mom and Dad always got up around 5:00am. The

smell of coffee perking on the stove (remember there

were no coffee makers) was always a

welcome and soothing smell. On a school day, it also

meant I could roll back over and sleep another hour.

The smell of coffee brewing was and always has been

one of my most favorite odors. Still, to this day, the

smell of coffee brewing gives me a feeling of comfort

and often triggers the reflection of that comfort zone in

which I was allowed to grow up.                      

Growing up in Central Florida opened the door for

another “comfort smell”….orange blossoms! 

Nowadays, there are fewer and fewer orange groves in

Florida, so the opportunity to detect the orange

blossom odor is less likely. Still, the thought of that

sweet smell in the air hangs in my memory .

One other odor was the smell of citrus pulp. I grew up

near two large citrus plants. When the “juice” plants

were in their high production season, the citrus pulp

smell filled the air……pollution at its best before most

folks knew what pollution was. To me, that odor had

an effect similar to the smell of smoke coming from a  

fireplace on a winter’s day. It is a smell that is difficult  

to describe. I liked it….it brought comfort! I must

admit however, that most folks exposed to the citrus

pulp odor probably would not find any comfort or

appreciation in it.

I did.

REFLECTIONS "Growing up in the 50s" Chapter 10- Full Speed Ahead

Nostalgia Tidbit

There were a lot of makeshift bikes around our neighborhood.

 I never had a new bike as a kid or teenager. Still we always found

 a way to have a bike of some kind. After riding,you just left it in

your yard with never a worry about someone stealing it. Try that

 this day and time! I probably never rode it more than a mile from

 the house…never mind those 30 mile bike rides we go on nowadays.

 

Chapter 10-   Full Speed Ahead

Learning to ride a bicycle was a trying experience for

me. Luckily, I had my two older brothers patient

enough to go to extremes to help me learn. First of all,

any and all bicycles we ever had were hybrid models.

Here a part and there a part and shazam, we had a

complete bike.

Two of the most difficult things for me to perfect were

getting on the bike mainly because I was so small and

the other was using the brakes.

 

Once I got on it and got going, all I wanted to do was

pedal for all I was worth…”Full Speed Ahead”! It

didn’t take long before I mastered the “getting on the

bike”. I learned I could get on the front porch, which

was about two feet high, and saddle the bike fairly

easily.

Where I had difficulty was when I had to pick myself

up off the ground after falling and there was no porch

nearby. Sometimes I would actually climb on the front

of a car…anybody’s car…and saddle the bike from

that elevation. Stopping was a whole story in

itself. Remember, in 1953 most bikes, if not all, did not

have brakes or gear shifts on the handle bars. The

brakes were only effective when you reversed the

forward pedal motion in order to apply enough

pressure to stop the wheels from turning.

 

I would pedal and pedal, but when it came time to stop,

I just could not for the life of me press the brakes. As

you might imagine, I found a lot of creative ways to

stop. There were a number of cars in the neighborhood

that had dents and scratches as well as my bike tire

prints to support the fact that I was guilty as charged. It

was great in those days, people didn’t care if you used

their car as a method of stopping, they just teased me

about it.

I was smart enough, however, that I never used a

moving car as a stopping post. I had a lot of other more

creative ways to stop including jumping off the bike

while in full flight. It hurt, but it worked. Usually the

bike continued for awhile with a mind of its own

eventually finding a way to stop.

 

I remember one time racing with a couple of buddies

and in order to stop I used a curve. Actually, I didn’t

make the curve but used the rough “off road”

experience to stop me. I can still feel the bark of that

tree being peeled off my face and elbows. Finally my

two brothers decided enough is enough! The need to

teach “little brother” how to use those brakes was long

overdue. Our dead end street was probably about 100

yards long from top to bottom. My brothers positioned

themselves with one at the top of the street which

would be my starting point and the other at the bottom

of the street which would be known as the “finish line”

or hopefully…the place in which I would successfully

utilize my brakes for a proper STOP!

 

This experience had to be one of the most exhilarating

experiences of my life to that point….ok, give me a

break…I lived in Auburndale, Florida in 1953..not a

lot going on for a 6 year old, ok? Anyway, my brother

at the top of the street assisted me in mounting the bike

while my other brother stood at the other end to help

stop me in the event I didn’t brake properly. I began

pedaling faster and faster. You can really build up

some speed within 100 yards when all you do is pedal

faster and faster. I did!

I can still see my brother’s eyes as I approached the

end of the street as he is yelling…”HIT THE

BRAKES…HIT THE BRAKES…All I could do was

pedal forward faster and faster! Finally as I was near

the end, my brother reached out and grabbed my

handle bars….the bike stopped!

 

I still have scars in some delicate places that remind

me of that day. Still, the memory that stems from that

day is not the scars and the fright of not being able to

stop, but the warm memory of the fact that I had two

brothers who cared about their little brother.

Eventually, I learned to “stop on a dime”..or at least in

a reasonable amount of time! My next transportation

challenge years later would be mastering the

automobile. Stopping wasn’t the problem…keeping it

between the lines was. That is another story for another

day.

“Full Speed Ahead”!

I didn’t!

:

Reflections "Growing up in the 50s"- Chapter 9- The Battle of the Bulge

Nostalgia Tidbit: As a kid I could always find at least one other person and play some “one on one” basketball. We probably played basketball more than anything else because of how easy it was to step outside our door and play in the vacant lot next to our house. Back then no one I knew had aspirations of growing up to be a basketball player, never a thought of making a lot of money doing so. Of course the pros back then probably had to have a second job to make it. We played for fun!

                                                                           Chapter 9

The Battle of the Bulge

We had a vacant lot next to our house. The lot wasn’t  

very big but it was big enough to serve the

purpose of whatever sports season came around. We

had some great times there as we played tackle

football, had our own high jump pit with the sawdust

landing area, a boxing ring, and a basketball court. My

favorite was the basketball court, which consisted of

the goal being attached to a tall pine tree with a

home made backboard. 

We never had a net, so the greatest challenge was

chasing the ball down as it would often bounce off the

tree trunk or more often off a protruding root.

Basketballs were hard to come by in those days.

We might have been lucky to get a new one once every

couple of years. That’s not very often when you

consider just one bounce off the tree roots could give

you a ball with a bulge! Sounds bad, doesn’t it? The

seam of the ball would split a few inches so the rubber

tubing would balloon out. I think of all the times we

played with that weird looking ball with a big bulge,

just hoping and praying it would not “pop” that day.

 The battles on that basketball court will always be a

treasure of my memories, especially when we had to

battle with the bulge!

"TRAGIC DAY" a poem by Darrell Bassham (original January 28, 1986)

Today January 28, 2011 marks 25 years since The Challenger shuttle explosion. For many of us who observed it actually happen "in real time”, the vivid memory is embedded in us. I can easily remember standing in the parking lot of an office complex in Orlando with many others as we watched the Challenger rise in the sky and then suddenly explode.
I wrote the following thoughts later that evening:

TRAGIC DAY

By

Darrell T. Bassham

January 28, 1986

We hear so often about the peaks and valleys of life…
the times of peak excitement…the times of low disappointments…

Today, we as Americans, we as a Nation, experienced an ultimate
example of just that…
all within a matter of split seconds.

To be so excited and swollen with pride one moment in seeing
the shuttle blast off, only to be so saddened and physically
deflated the next moment in seeing the tragic death of all on board…

Yes, we as Americans have experienced tragedy before, but never
like this…
Never have so many of us viewed it live, first hand, all at the same time.

We ask ourselves…
What justice is there in this world for this to happen…Why?

We console ourselves in thinking perhaps there is a reason hidden
somewhere…Perhaps, it’s not for us to know, at least for now…

We must remember in our grief, that God has a purpose for all
events, though we may not always understand why.

Comfort must be found in the full belief that God is in control…
In control of those who lost their lives…
In control of their families,
In control of all our ultimate destinies.

It is through this realization may we, as proud Americans, find
the courage to look toward the future with the hope of a brighter
tomorrow…

Yes, we will vividly remember this tragic day for years to come…
But, let us also remember that God in his infinite wisdom has reason
for things that are done…

Let us lift up our shoulders, stick out our chest, and pick up our
spirits and go on!

America, if only we will live up to our motto and “TRUST IN GOD” we
will never, even through the worst of tragedy, be alone.