From the Comforts of Home

A few blogs back I shared stories of people who once received food deliveries at their homes. That blog focused on products our families bought from local dairies and vendors like Charles Chips. Many readers related to those memories and I received more comments about the bygone days of home delivery. Today’s blog features a few of those remembrances, starting with one more Charles Chips story, this one told by Fultonian Tom Frawley.

“I vividly remember sitting on our back porch and waiting for our Charlie Chips deliveryman, Dick Hitchcock, to arrive,” Tom said. “One time, we opened the big can of chips while still on the porch and ate every one before bringing the empty can into the house. Mom was not happy.”

Fortunately, there were other deliveries to the Frawleys that pleased Tom’s mom. Like the loaves of rye bread delivered from Syracuse once a week. “I was very young,” Tom said, “but I recall being with my mom and standing outside my grandmother’s house, receiving the fresh rye bread out of the van. We toasted it at our coal/wood stove and it remains the gold standard for the best toast ever: singed on the outside and perfect inside.”

The Frawleys had their milk delivered by a Mr. Sheldon and Tom can still picture the wooden milk box lined with a thick layer of cardboard that sat just inside their kitchen door. But Mr. Sheldon delivered more than milk. “One hot and humid day, he’d pulled the paper tab on a pint bottle of ice cold chocolate milk and handed it to me. Best chocolate milk I ever had!”

There was one more memory Tom shared of their dairy delivery man. “Mr. Sheldon would often let us ride on the little running board on his pickup truck. Mind you, the ‘ride’ lasted for about 20 feet as he backed up before heading down our driveway, but it was so much fun.”

There was one entrepreneur who visited the Frawley home occasionally, but not to sell a product. “I recall the junkman coming to our farmhouse looking for rags, newspapers and metal,” Tom said. He also remembered a delivery of sorts that didn’t take place in the Frawley neighborhood, but it did make an appearance near his St. Mary’s School. “Once, Mom bought me an ice cream cone at the Mr. Softee truck, which would park on East Third Street. Ice cream was a rare treat when I was a kid, saved for special occasions like birthday parties, so getting a cone on a hot afternoon was a true memory maker.”

After hearing Tom’s home delivery memories and those of other Fultonians, I recalled a story we received for the Fulton Library’s Memoir Project. In 2014, the library was collecting stories about our city’s factories and businesses, and one of the most unusual memoirs about small companies focused on the once-popular home service known as Tupperware. Written by Ursula & Joe Wolcik, their story featured Ursula’s mother, who had a 40-year career selling Tupperware in Fulton.  The Wolcik’s recollection is packed with memories.

“In 1955, my mother, Ruth Miller, went to a Tupperware party,” Ursula recalled. “The dealer explained how you could have a tossed salad one night, put the leftovers in a small Wonderlier bowl, refrigerate it, and then have it again the next night. That Tupperware bowl would keep the salad just as crisp as the first night. Mom ordered the bowls and tried it. That sold her and though she was already working for an insurance company, Mom soon became a Tupperware agent.”

Eleven years later, Ruth left the insurance company to become a Tupperware manager and, as the Wolcik’s noted, there were advantages to be in management. “Every two years, you were given a brand new company car to use for your business. Over the course of her time as a Tupperware manager, Mom was awarded 15 cars, most of which were Ford station wagons.”

Tupperware offered their salespeople and managers many contests and challenges, with gifts awarded based on the volume sold. Each year, Ursula’s mom received a catalog, which Ursula described as “like a Sears catalog, but not as thick. It was filled with toys, kitchenware and other items. Mom told me to look through it and mark the items I wanted.”

Along with prizes, Tupperware helped Ruth keep a home, send her daughter to college and even helped pay for Ursula’s wedding. “My husband, Joe, remembers marrying into ‘The Tupperware Family,’” Ursula said, “but he didn’t realize what that meant until we were preparing to move into our first apartment. One night, we were at Mom’s house for dinner. Joe looked around the house at the many boxes of Tupperware displays and products and stated, ‘We aren’t going to have any of this stuff in our house.’ Mom and I smiled – there were already at least five boxes at our new apartment!”

In their memoir, Ursula and Joe cover Tupperware’s unique history, describing how plastic changed our lives. The company released new products every year. There were items specific to holidays, summer picnics and such. Ultimately, as the Wolciks explained, though Tupperware made its fortune in people’s homes, those memorable parties nearly disappeared when the company branched out to opening kiosks at malls and shopping centers. Now that I think about it, I can’t remember the last time I heard about someone hosting a Tupperware party. That’s one more reason why we should hold tight to our memories of when good food and friendly service came right to our front door.

To read Ursula and Joe Wolcik’s full memoir of Tupperware, visit the Fulton Public Library and ask to see the Memoir Project book, “Fulton: The Businesses and Schools That Built Our Community.”

A View From the Top

When I think back on my summer vacations as a kid, I remember that last day of school seeming like I’d just been sprung from jail. Ahead were months of long days when I could do whatever I wanted (as long as Mom said it was okay). I grew up outside Fulton, on the Chase Road, so there were plenty of woods to explore or I could have hung out with the Richardson boys on their farm across the way. But when I got old enough, my favorite summer activity was riding my bicycle to the West Side Pool in Fulton.

A trip to the pool at Recreation Park was an all-day event. My brother and I packed a few PB & J sandwiches, a towel, and a T-shirt for the evening ride home. Slipped into the tiny pocket in our swimsuits was one dime: the cost of admission to the pool. Not a bad price for a day of fun.

As soon as those summer mornings started heating up, my brother and I hopped on our bikes, getting an easy start on the gradual downhill slope that took us to the end of Chase Road and onto Hannibal Street. We really didn’t have to start pumping until we turned onto Broadway (now known as Route 3), which took us to the park. By the time we’d finish pedaling, we’d worked up a sweat.

After stuffing our lunch and gear into a locker in the always-chilly changing room, we headed into the pool area, which to ten-year-old me seemed like an entire amusement park. I looked for my friends, hoping to find some deck space near them to claim as my own. The pool itself had two sections: a shallow end for toddlers and non-swimmers, and the deep end for everyone else. It was a good day when I passed the swim test and slipped under the buoy rope that put me in the deep end. I was an official swimmer!

There was actually a third section to the West Side Pool, the diving area, and entering it was another rite of passage. As soon as I became a confident swimmer I spent lots of time on the low diving boards. They were fun and just enough of a challenge to make me feel like I was no longer a little kid. My brother and I had already ventured onto the diving boards at Fair Haven Beach’s channel, so I already knew the routine of waiting in line to step onto the board, walking to its end, jumping or—if I felt really brave—diving in, swimming to the ladder and getting back in line for the tenth, twentieth or fiftieth time.  

As happy as I was with my low-diving fun, something towered above me, a constant reminder that I still had mountains to climb and fears to overcome. It was the high dive board. As an adult, I know that board was probably fifteen or so feet above the water, but when I was a kid it looked like the top of the Empire State Building. I got dizzy just looking up at it. 

For years, I watched the older kids casually climb rung after rung of the high dive ladder, then confidently walk to its edge to launch themselves into the air—all as if were a walk in the park. From the safety of my place on the deck, I watched person after self-assured person, trying to imagine myself as one of them. Thinking about high diving didn’t end when I headed home on my bike. Lying in bed after a day at the pool, I’d fall asleep thinking about those brave divers, which often led to a recurring nightmare: me on the West Side Pool high dive, petrified. 

I was twelve years old when I finally convinced myself it was time to overcome my high altitude fears. Of course, I had a lot of help (if you want to call it help) from my friends who’d called me every name in the book for being afraid. One by one, they’d all taken their first plunge and if I didn’t want to be left behind, I’d need to take mine.

One sunny day, I decided it was time. I waited until there was a long line at the bottom of the ladder, which would give me plenty of wiggle room if I talked myself out of taking the plunge. When my turn came to ascend, I mimicked what I’d seen, assuredly grabbing each rung one at a time, pulling myself up. From down below, nobody could see that I was gripping those rungs so tight because my sweaty palms could have caused a fall to my death.

At the top, I stepped onto the board, trying to get a feel for what looked like too thin of a walkway. One step at a time, each followed by a pause to breathe, I inched my way to the end of the board. And froze. Guys on the ladder got impatient and yelled “C’mon! Whataya waiting for?” Finally, the catcalls became worse than my fears of a painful belly flop and I jumped. In the two seconds it took me to hit water, I saw my twelve-year-old life tragically end and my never-to-be future vanish.

But, amazingly, I rose to the water’s surface, all in one piece. I’d survived! As I swam to the ladder and stepped onto solid concrete, I felt some pride. But I also knew that once was enough. Accomplishing a daring feat was one thing; experiencing that queasy fear over and over again was another. I never set foot on the high dive again.

Fulton's Future History Makers

This column has always focused on people who’ve made history in our city, but, for today, I’m writing about those who will create our future: children. A few weeks ago, I wrote about Fultonian Carlton Barrett, a soldier who was awarded the Medal of Honor for his World War II service. I learned about Carlton’s valor by speaking with teacher Bill Cahill, whose sixth grade class project introduces the soldier to his students. The class was then given an assignment to write an essay about Barrett by answering this question: Why are you proud of Carlton Barrett’s actions and what character traits would be needed to do what he did? Here are some examples of what Cahill’s students wrote:

Audrey White focused on Barrett’s bravery. “I know it might seem as if he was fearless,” Audrey wrote, “but being brave and being fearless aren’t the same thing. Being fearless means not to be scared at all and it can lead to irrational choices. Being brave, however, means doing something despite of the fear and pain that you are facing.”

Cassie Clarke named her essay “You Don't Need A Superpower To Be A Superhero,” explaining that “Carlton got shot four times and still was swimming people back to the ship, where it was safe, instead of going on the ship himself. He risked his life so other people could be safe; he could have lost so much blood and died. I wish I could have as much bravery and loyalty to people as he did because we don't have many people in this world that would do things like that.”

Super heroic behavior was also important to Ava Pelky’s essay, in which she named four of Barrett’s superhero qualities: “gallantry, valor, intrepidity, and coolness. While risking his life and getting shot at and bombed, with shrapnel flying in all directions, he had to have all of these character traits….Having those skills is like having a superpower. For example, where would your favorites superheroes be if they weren’t brave, bold, and fearless?”

Examples of Barrett’s bravery, courage, and heroism were part of Kaleb Wise’s essay. “He showed courage because he was swimming nonstop to bring others to safety. He also showed bravery because he went back while getting shot at to save more people. He showed heroism because while wounded he cared more for others than himself.”

As Gianna Tucker sees it, Carlton Barrett was also altruistic. “[He was someone] who put other people's lives before their own. I wish I could be more like him. If everyone, including me, had a little drop of his bravery, this world would be amazing.”

 Aidan Bowman called Barrett “selfless,” explaining that “he was determined to save as many people as he could, that's why he is such a good man. I would like to have some of these character traits because it represents what a good man is.”  

 “It would be great if he was still alive,” wrote Cadence Schneider, “so he could visit schools [and] teach them what he went though, and tell them how horrible the events he went to were.…I feel like there should be a day in Fulton honoring him.”

Some people’s traits may not immediately seem to belong together. For Ava Ditton, Carlton had both kindness and strength. “We all want to treat people kind and we all want people to treat us kind. Another character trait he has is strength because he still decided to remain in the Army for many more years. He could have left and been done, but he stayed and choose to risk his life.”

Madeline Ligoci focused on Carlton’s physical ability to continue rescuing soldiers even after he’d been wounded. “Barrett was a determined person and showed great valor as a soldier….Could you imagine swimming back and forth in the ocean without being taught how to swim before war AND being shot three times? I would look up to him because he is so determined and he is authentic. He is as real as you could get.”

Like many of her classmates, Gracie Parry wants to possess the same trait as Barrett. “I would love to have the bravery Carlton W. Barrett had…. I bet none of us have that type of bravery to save others and keep going until you get four wounds. If one of us got one wound, we would have probably saved ourselves! He just kept saving fellow soldiers.”

Kyle Stuber had his eye on the future when he selected Barrett’s greatest character trait. “The reason I am so proud of his actions is because he was able to save people so they could possibly have kids, and those kids will have kids, and so on, and one of them could have developed a cure for cancer or something like that.”

Finally, Calie Shepard makes an important suggestion as to why we should all remember Carlton Barrett, but not just during World War II memorial services and not just once a year: “He should be more known because he saved a lot of people who lived and went home to their families and most likely had kids. If he didn’t save them then they would…not have been able to be in such a good and amazing world today.”

As I read these students’ essays, I was reminded of this quote: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” It was Spanish philosopher George Santayana who pointed out the importance of keeping our history alive and it’s teachers like Bill Cahill who are doing just that, making sure his students never forget—not just to preserve history, but to suggest to our children how to create a better future.

Students from Bill Cahill’s Volney Elementary School sixth-grade classroom recently wrote essays about Fulton’s Medal of Honor recipient Carlton Barrett.