Dr. Donohue

He was an old time Doctor.  It was the 50’s and he made house calls. I can recall that when he came he checked us all, putting that black stethoscope up to our chests, checking out our throats and giving us the once over. It didn’t matter if only one of us were ailing; he went down the line, assuring mom that the rest of us were ok. I particularly remember our chicken pox episode. Mom had us on cots, the couch, and the floor, all in the living room. She would go to each of us with cotton balls and this pink concoction, applying it to our ugly sores. She was a loving nurse, dedicated equally to each and every one of us, with a great big smile, no matter how tired she was. When the Doc was called he always rounded the charge downward or said just forget it. It was before Medicine was a 9-5 job, with insurance companies squeezing everyone from all sides. It was when the Doctor treated the whole person, the whole family, and did not practice defensive medicine to avoid litigation. Dr. Donahue had a lot of experience, and a good deal of common sense. He knew our family, like he knew each family he treated. He took everything into consideration. He did not put medical decisions upon my parents, explaining all the possible ramifications. It was comforting to everyone involved. He also knew when the situation warranted calling in others, or hospitalizing us. He did just that when we all came down with the whooping cough. There we were, so many children, coughing up a storm; the germs whirling about like a windstorm. I vaguely remember being bored in the hospital and getting down from the bed and wandering along the corridor, barefoot. The nun nurse was furious, swooping me up into her arms and putting me back to bed. She washed my feet thoroughly, but behind it all was genuine care and concern. In fact in seemed that everyone that went into health care felt it was a calling to help and heal.

I know I speak like an old person, but it really was different back then. There was the human component. Now we are body parts, being treated by ‘specialist” who runs every conceivable test available. What happened to “experience”, prudence, and common sense? What happened to human interaction?  Our visits are short and to the point. We pay up front, wait inordinate amounts of time, and are limited to very short interaction with our physician, if we see a physician. Everything has been streamlined to maximize the monetary remuneration. I don’t doubt there are those of Dr. Donohue’s’ caliber out there but they are subject to the rules of the day. They over prescribe, under deliver on bedside manner, and rush on to the next patient.  I miss the days of compassionate physicians and caring nurses. I miss the experience of a Dr. Donohue in my life.

Drive In Theaters

The fabulous fifties; when gas was less than a quarter a gallon, milk was 92 cents, and a postage stamp cost 3 cents. Drive Ins' were popping up all over the country, almost 8,000 of them at peak. It was family fun and our family participated.

I remember when the children would be loaded into the car, us kids sliding into the back seat like sardines in a can. Mom would have the baby in her lap, and a toddler would be snuggled up in the back seat shelf. We were all excited but it had nothing to do with the movie. We were kids, we lived in the moment and this presented an opportunity for fun, adventure and some good snacks. We went to the Cranston Drive In and admission was a palsy $2.00 a carload. Mom had dressed the youngest in their pajamas. Dad would drive in the vast parking lot and find the best spot; front and center for the early arrivals. He would park the car on a small incline with the nose of the car pointing up and grab a speaker from the pole, placing it inside the window.  After fidgeting with the dial we would hear some music before the movie began.The tinny, static sound that would come out seemed like magic to us.

We always arrived early to get a good seat and get our play time in. Upon arrival we would bound from the car and head for the swings, see-saw and mini playground in front of the big screen. We spent our energy running, riding and laughing until the light took it's last breath. The movie couldn't start until dark and when the night shade was pulled down the flood lights over the screen would blink sending us children scrambling back to the car. The youngest would flip and flop until they found a comfortable position and fast fall asleep. I was the eldest and I would go out and sit on the hood, sometimes laying my head down so I could look up the star studded sky. It was never about the movies. I would watch all the cars with their hoods poised in mid air. I would watch children hanging out of the windows. I would glimpse girls resting their heads on the shoulders of their dates. The cars were big; 57 Chevys, Buick's, Ford convertibles and more. The girls wore pony tails and poodle skirts, the guys had gold chains around their necks and their hair greased back. I dreamed of when I would be sitting next to someone, basking in his adoration, wearing his school ring, swooning at his words.The movie would come on although I don't remember much of what I saw, except maybe Ben Hur with a cast of thousands.It fascinated me to see men and women of a different era. I marveled at their prowess and admired the ladies flowing garments.

No drive in experience is possible without the intermission and the brighter than bright pictures of the food at the concession stand flashing on the screen. There were hotdogs, fully loaded, hamburgers, greasy, delicious French fries served in a cardboard boat, and soft drinks, hot cocoa and colas. Those of who were still awake anticipated our booty with salivating mouths. The air was permeated with the smell of fried food, and did I mention clam rolls. Yes, in R.I. clam rolls were as common as hotdogs. 

After the intermission the night darkened and the sand man visited the last of us hold outs. It was in a semi stupor I would hear the final music and the discordant notes of speakers being placed back on the poles, engines starting up, and feel the car lining up in a que to exit the show. Upon arriving home I would be awakened to help bring in the sleepy heads and place them in their waiting beds. All was right with the world, with our little world, and the Drive In Theaters were just another part of the 50's to be treasured.

 

When the intermission would come on the big screen they would show delicious, artery clogging food in full color that would make you salivate. Besides the usual popcorn there were fully loaded hot dogs, hamburgers, hot chocolate, ice cream, candy and greasy delicious French fries served in cardboard containers. The soda pop and goodies would be packed into a gray carton and we would sit in the car and enjoy the feast. All the fried, delicious smelling food would permeate the air while we watched the big screen tempt the hold backs counting down the minutes till the feature presentation would show.

The Woolworth Experience

When eyes have not traveled great distances, or feasted upon a lot of glitz and glamour, Woolworth’s was a real treat. I remember well in my preteen years entering the store with great anticipation of new and shinny. I would always first go to the jewelry counter and look at the little glass gems dangling from clips attached to cardboard.  The colors and shiny sphere earings attracted me like a monkey to a banana.  I devoured the display with my eyes and would at times pick one out to add to my treasure chest. My treasure chest was a blue vinyl box with a tiny little key and there I kept my cache of baubles.

The store was not fancy but it was inviting. There was always the smell of little hot nuts roasting away. They would go up a conveyor belt into hot oil and come out ready to eat. They were served in little white bags in the shape of a cone. Alongside the candy machine was a glass enclosed case displaying a myriad of chocolates. There were filled, nut encased, and one felt a bit of power as you perused the variety and made your choices.

Then there was the lunch counter. I can remember my neighbor taking me there and treating me to a grilled cheese sandwich. It cost twenty five cents. Eating out was so special. There were tall stools and a few booths. I loved sitting on the stool because it felt more grown up. The stools would twirl and my feet would dangle on the chrome bar half way down the leg of the stool. The menu was indicative of the times; grilled cheese, bacon, lettuce and tomato, triple deckers, ham and egg salad. The fountain treats were the epitome of the experience. They served up banana splits, ice cream sodas, Tulip Sundae’s and of course from the beverage menu malted milk, milk shakes, and for ten cents Coca Cola. My brother always asked for cherry coke.

They had a section of the store where they sold gold fish, and brightly colored canaries, and other innocuous pets.

I loved the section with perfumes and bath powders. They sold bubble bath in paper packets with pictures of different flowers on the cover. The scents included rose, carnation, lilac and other heavenly fragrances.

There was also a plethora of small toy cars and beautiful dolls with vinyl faces and pretty bonnets, and black shoes with straps. Then there were the paper dolls books which I loved. My favorite was ballerina paper dolls because their costumes were so glamorous. I would imagine myself in such pretty attire dancing around a room on my tippy toes. How many flights of imagination I had with my paper dolls.

In a time when eating out is not nearly so special, and these eyes have beheld much glitz and glamour I look back on the days of Woolworths’ as a special time when the magic of new experiences was mine to experience.