The 50’s were a time of mass transit, over sized cars, and downtown shopping. On occasion I would take my sisters in tow and climb aboard a hissing, diesel spitting bus for the ride down town. We’d climb the steps; I would deposit the coins and settle down on the vinyl seats with my sisters holding tight to my hands... We would listen to the whistle of the door closing and smell the fumes of the diesel and it was all a part of our downtown adventure.
I would always study the people sitting across from me taking in their dress and hats, their heeled shoes and seamed nylons. I would guess about where they were going and where they came from. Sometimes they would speak to each other in foreign languages like Spanish and Portuguese or Italian. That’s what gave me the idea. I decided to speak French. I heard it all around me when the adults gathered at our house. It was so romantic and exotic sounding. I was game to be a French woman, better still a French mother. So I instructed Kathy and Mary to call me Mother and started babbling away in pretend French. Oh, it was so much fun. My vowels and words were so “foreign” sounding and the stares I got were amazing. In retrospect I don’t know if they stared because I was speaking gibberish, or it was because I was about 14 with two “children” a few years younger. At any rate I got a response and though myself the true Helen Hayes of the century.
When we would arrive downtown we would go into the Department Stores. I only remember the name of the Outlet Store but there were others. We would walk in and there would be this soft bell that would ring every few minutes. Ding, ding, it would go and we immediately became a part of the ‘shopping experience.” The first thing that would hit us when we entered was the wonderful smells of the perfume counter. Till this day I am a sucker for nice perfume. There would be ladies behind the class counters inviting us to sample the eau de toilet of the day. I was not a prospective customer but I sniffed at all the perfumes which usually resulted in a head ache. After perusing the perfume counter we would take the elevator to the second floor. There was a semi circle above the elevator which had a dial that pointed to which floor the elevator was on. We would watch the needle come down and feel the excitement of riding the elevator. When it arrived the highly polished brass doors would open from each side and there would be a colored man, with white gloves and a uniform that looked like a sergeant who would open this gold colored gate. “Going up” he would say in a rich baritone voice. We would file in, along with other passengers and ride to the next floor.
It was the toy floor. We would look at beautiful rubber faced dolls with eyes that had long lashes and would open and shut. They were attired in taffeta dresses or smock and white socks with black strapped shoes. We would look at doll houses that were made from tin and had windows and curtains painted on the walls, and plastic furniture filling each room. I would walk through each room in my mind and rearrange the furniture. I was empowered by my imagination. We also looked at toy trains, set out on display, chug, chugging along the tracks making us think about far away places, and padded coaches where they served meals on trays with cloth napkins. What a sojourn it was. I would pass by the ladies department and there was a hosiery counter. Ladies would come in with large bags full of their purchases and ask for their size in nylons. The nylons had seams in those days, and it was not uncommon for someone to turn to you and ask ‘Are my seams straight?” The nylons came in square flat boxes and the clerk would whisk then out in order for the customer to choose the right color. There was dark coffee, taupe, nude, and so on. There was great deliberation before a woman would find just the ride shade.
We would always find ourselves by the candy section. I’m sure that had a lot to do with me. A glass enclosed case would display candies with an assortment of fillings, and there would be one section with various shades of fudge. Sugar, sugar, sugar, how I loved sugar.
After our perusing the floors we would get back into the elevator, all to the tune of the little bell ringing every few seconds. We would go to the basement where there was a counter and a few tables for eating. I don’t know if we ate there but I’m guessing we got a donuts or some such thing and nibbled on it on our way home. That was our downtown trip and that was an era that is long gone now. Another treasured memory.
I don't ever remember going shopping with you on the bus but I remember you taking us girls to plays and opera's and theaters. Remember the Theater next to Cranston East when it only cost 25 cents to get in. I remember your first apartment. How I wanted to grow up and have my own. You were belly dancing to music and you seemed so free and so happy. You had these amazing cups that you would fix us tea in when we were there. They were this incredible color of peach and they were almost translucent. I wished I had my own set of teacups. They were in the shape of scalloped shells. Your first apartment was near Brown University I think. Or maybe in Boston. When I finally did get my own place you were happily married and living in Narragansett. I must have been following in your footsteps because my first apartment was down the street from Providence College and Brown University was close by. I remember you encouraging me to get my G.E.D. which I did to make you proud. I then went on to Rhode Island Jr college and studied Literature. I then went to University of Montana and studied Art and English. I then went on to Montana State University and studied Fine Art and Music. I wanted to study Architecture but It was a club back then and I was n't invited. Of course that was after many twists and turns on the path of where do I belong, Where am I and Where did I come from, including the Bob Marshall Wilderness Caracas Venezuela, rejecting a proposal of marriage and the infamous sliding off the mountain on black ice in the Swan Vally not to mention a few other social guffaws.
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