Yes, there really is a Kalamazoo, Michigan!

In 1944 my mom and dad moved us to Riverside, from Bald Top Mountain where we had lived on "the skunk farm." I was three years old at the time and my memories were just kicking in.  I remember that move fairly vividly.

The house was a rental and was referred to as a "double home" as there was a mirror-image apartment on the other side.  In our kitchen was an old Kalamazoo stove.  It burned coal and had at least two burners with lids for which Mom lifted with a black "lifter" as she tended the fire.  I was about eye level with the front of our stove and vividly recall there was a logo that read "Kalamazoo" or "Kalamazoo Stove Company."

Our stove had a top shelf where Mom kept the saltines. The ceiling above the stove had a hole cut in the floor to allow heat to enter the upstairs.

Every Tuesday was "iron day" when Mom pressed the clothes that had been washed, hung on the line to dry, and sprinkled the day before. She used a bottle with a sprinkler attached to the top and, as each piece of clothing was dampened, it was placed into a basket to await the Tuesday ironing.  Mom had a black flat iron which was kept on the stove top. The ironing board was placed next to it for easy reach from stove top to ironing board.  I remember Mom teaching me to iron at an early age. Ironing was an art!  In fact, I loved ironing for that very reason; each piece had its own clever placing on the board.  A dress sleeve was folded this way and man's shirt was placed that way.  You didn't just iron.

I remember the black coal bucket stood on the floor to the left of the stove.  One day when I was somewhat older our stove caught on fire.  Mom yelled, "Kay, go get Phil!"   He was our neighbor.  Phil came rushing over and somehow grabbed the stove and yanked it outside to our back porch.  It was all anyone could have done to save the house...and Phil's too.  I can't recall where the stove ever went from there and I don't remember ever getting a new one, but perhaps that old stove had seen its day and finally ended up in some junk yard.

The years had gone by and about 45 years later I was attending a Christian speakers and writers conference in California.  It was there I met Nancy Dorner.  Over lunch I asked Nancy, "Where are you from?" She said, "Kalamazoo, Michigan."  My thoughts shifted to our kitchen in 1944 and the Kalamazoo stove.  I shared my memory with Nancy.  Later she invited me to fly out there for a visit.  While there I agreed to join her as her assistant for which I typed her manuscripts and traveled with her on speaking engagements.

Eventually I purchased a house at 928 Parker Avenue. I lived there from October, 1990 through September, 1992 before returning home to Danville. While in Kalamazoo I got my real estate license and sold houses for the duration.  None of those homes had a 1940's Kalamazoo stove, but you can bet there really is a Kalamazoo, Michigan!

NANCY L. DORNER, M.A. is a retreat and seminar leader listed on several national speakers bureaus which include: Christian Women's Club, World Bible League, and Christian

Medical Society. Married and the mother of three grown sons, this former atheist writes that God is real, God cares, and God answers prayer.

Saturday Matinees and other Capitol Theater Memories by Kay Derr

It's true.  My town did have a movie theater at one time.  My peers and I will attest to the fact that those were good ole days in Danville. On Saturday afternoons, around 1:00 as I recall, a line of kids led from the theater to the upper bank waiting to get in. The Capitol Theater front had an artfully-designed inlaid sidewalk sort of like the "Walk of Fame" stars on Hollywood Boulevard. Centered was the rounded ticket booth. In the 1950's Saturday was the big day of the matinee!  My friends and I exchanged thirteen cents for a ticket and off we went into the darkness of the concession area. A flash-light toting usher led us through one of the two entrances:  half-walled sections with red velvet draperies matching the draperies stretched across the stage. We'd chat over popcorn waiting for the show to begin.

Finally the curtains opened and, as I recall, the news was the first feature.  I remember such news events covering Dwight D. Eisenhower and much less boring news as Hawaii becoming a state.
We didn't much understand the plots of many movies, but we probably saw every famed movie produced in the 1950's. Shows such as Singin' in the Rain, Ben Hur, Shane and Three Coins in the Fountain. Sometimes, in the younger years, mom and dad would take my sister and me to an evening show. I'll never forget Uncle Remus! This mini-video features my favorite part of Song of the South: http://youtu.be/47ak4vjiNzw
During that era many people, mainly children, had been stricken with polio. Some of the news films, in black and white, depicted the afflicted suffering in iron lungs, which were assisted breathing machines.  At intermission an offering was taken for the March of Dimes, the organization targeting polio victims.  During the offering, "Blue Tango" by Leroy Anderson was always played.  It was this very song:   http://youtu.be/A30UXHw2Y40

Oh, my first 3-D movie!  Wearing the green and red lensed disposable glasses I was set to watch The Charge at Feather River. I can even remember where I was seated when that Indian stood on the mountain and thrust that arrow right into my face.  I ducked! Hit the back of the seat and, boy, it hurt!  When the cowboys won, I cheered.

Saturday mornings and "the races" were my favorites.  Upon paying for our tickets, we were all presented with numbers from 1-12. Three stooge-like characters rode bicycles, each with a number on his back.  Comically, they went through various courses in their race for the win:  falling into creeks, getting caught on tree branches, crashing, etc.  At the end, whoever had the number of the winner received a free box of popcorn or a big Hershey bar.  Believe me, a whole lot of cheering went on during those races.

I remember the summer when there was a ring worm epidemic. a contagious skin disease. You always knew which kids had it as they had white bandaged heads. Whenever I went to the movies Mom warned, "Now don't sit with your head against the seat!"   My, I hadn't a clue as to how I would watch a movie sitting forward!

Today whenever a 50's movie is featured on "Turner Classics" I can almost always say, "I saw that way back when."  Somehow a re-watch is nothing like back in the day.  When I hear "Blue Tango" I am reminded of the lights coming on in the darkened theater for the March of Dimes offering and the awfulness of the iron lung. Or, when I was about seven years old, sitting on the half wall with the red velvet curtain because there was standing room only for Song of the South.  As I recall those days I think of Jane Russel rising out of a colorful feathered stage box in one of those old movies.  I remember Charlton Heston in the explosive scene of the chariot race, and Pennsylvania's own Grace Kelly starring opposite Gary Cooper in High Noon.   I'd love to, once again, hear Mom yell "Now don't sit with your head against the seat!"

Memories of Dad, Vintage Autos and Ice Boxes by Kay Derr

My guess is it was 1945.  Dad had a black crank-type car. I'm not sure what year the car was and, in fact, I don't know the model but it had one of those fold-up hoods.  I remember sitting in the front seat of that old relic on a freezing cold day under the giant leafless maple tree in our front yard.  I can still see the black-knobbed gear shift sticking out of the floor next to me as I shivered waiting for Dad.  Finally, he grabbed the crank and began cranking at the front of the car.  I remember then he would jump back into the driver's seat and rev the engine.  He'd repeat this until it started.  When the stubborn thing refused to start...well I won't tell you what he did with the crank, but it was accompanied by a string of strange words.

Lucky it was winter time as we were headed to Peter's Ice Plant.  Located on East Market Street (just next to the then "non-existent" laundromat back in the day) Dad would pull up next to the dock and pay for a block of ice.  The ice man would grab that chunk of ice with his "pliers"  and plop it onto the bumper of our car. Off we'd go down the street and across the bridge to our house on Avenue E & 4th Streets in Riverside.  In the summer time, stopping at the ice plant had to be the last stop, as the ice melted in fast drops all the way home.

Our ice box, as I recall, was a white one.  It looked sort of like this one in the photo:

Later my Dad bought a 50's-something blue Dodge over at Johnny Wagner's garage (presently about where Burger King stands).  I won't forget that Dodge as I inherited it after my Dad died when I was in high school.  I remember it had what the boys called "a slippery six."  It was a standard shift drive and I could easily "slip" my foot in a faster motion which helped a lot when I was stopped at that dreaded hill on Railroad Street across from the present Dunkin Donut.

One day I was driving down Mill Street on an early summer evening.  Of course, the kids (high school classmates) were hanging out as was the thing back in those days.  I recall having to blow the horn on my old Dodge. A bunch of kids hanging out in front of Courogen's Restaurant laughed and I realized, for the first time, that I had an attention-getter horn.  It was the only thing about me that ever got a guy's attention.  I loved it!

I'm not sure what ever happened to Dad's old Dodge, but I can still hear the sound of the horn and how cheap gas was back in the day.  Neither do I know whatever happened to our old ice box after Mom and Dad replaced it with a real refrigerator, a Kelvinator I suppose.  Dreaming of the those old days bring a smile to my face.  I like to recall how we kids pitched in together for 58 cents worth of gas up at Emil Brady's garage, enough to get us to Bloomsburg to Dixie's Skating Rink.  I like to remember my sister and me. on our knees, watching out the back window of our old crank-car in the summertime so we might watch the water drops from the ice dapple the roadway.  But I guess now Dad's old cars are in some cemetery for rusty cars and the old ice box remain only in memory.  If I had photos of them, I'm sure they would join others on the fireplace mantel...among the dust.

Creasy's Store by Kay Derr

Growing up in Riverside, Pennsylvania was some kind of magic!  So also was the bubble gum machine just inside the door at Creasy's Store.

Across from the Delaware & Hudson railroad station in my home town, Creasy's had a promenade-style porch and a 1950's screen door. The glass display counter was long to a kid and, better yet, it featured penny candy.  I mean all kinds of penny candy: black licorice cigars, multi-colored jelly dots, Mary Jane's, candy buttons, wax "soda bottles" filled with sweet syrup, candy cigarettes, and many more.  My favorite was malted milk balls.  It was always hard to choose five pieces and we kids would linger over the glass like boys picking out favorite marbles.

Whenever we had a nickel we'd head up the street for a little brown paper bag of candy.  I will always remember the creak of the screen door at Creasy's.  Once inside you couldn't miss a certain smell.  One would hardly find an oiled wooden floor a pleasant odor, but to us kids it was candy heaven.  Just inside the door to the right was the gum ball machine.  I'd exchange my nickel for five pennies and try for the lucky striped gum or the speckled one. The speckled one got you one extra free piece of candy, but a striped one would net you five pieces.  For me, five malted milk balls!  I can't say I recall another thing in Creasy's store though I'm sure it was every bit a grocery store.

Today I'd love to walk up D & H Avenue, watch the train station come into sight, and find Creasy's store just across the tracks.  To, once again, walk the wooden promenade, hear the creak of the door and turn to the right to try for five malted milk balls.  But the promenade porch, the oiled floor boards and the creaky screen door have been replaced. A sign outside reads:  "The Muffin Man." Though they remain alive in my dreams, the years have left those candy store memories as mere mantel dust.