In the very first post of this blog, I told you I had never gone to bed hungry.But what I did not
tell you was that on the day I was born in Southwest Virginia, upon a hill, in a place that is
hardly there now, my mother only had one cold biscuit with pear butter to eat. How do I
know because she told me so.
It is in her memory I present this video that was produced by Anne Lewis and The Appalshop
of Whitesburg, Kentucky. It is also in Mom’s memory I repeat a saying of hers, "They won’t be
happy until we are all under their heel." (You can read between the lines as to who she is
referring to.)
Change takes time but change will come if we all stand together! Nothing happens
overnight.
In 1983, Senator Edward M. Kennedy traveled to the eastern Kentucky Counties of Letcher
and Floyd during a survey on hunger in America. He was accompanied by fellow Democrat
Carl D. Perkins, a member of the U.S. Representatives from Kentucky’s 7thCongressional
District who had built a legacy of support for the underprivileged. This hearing at
Neon, Kentucky took place on November 23, 1983 and was documented by filmmaker,
Anne Lewis. To learn more go to http://appalshop.org/.
I have asked for permission to use this video off You Tube but so far I have not
got an answer. So, if you want to see history in the making go to You Tube and
search for Kennedy, Neon, Kentucky and see what comes up. Thanks.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
SOME CALL IT A STORE, I CALL IT A MEMORY
The "Big Box Stores" like Meijer, WalMart, and Krogers weren’t around in 1940. There
were grocery stores like Liberals, Gershaw and maybe, there were a few others that I do not remember. But most of the stores were mom and pop stores. Stores like Sigs that sat on the corners and in the midst of the neighborhoods. Stores that today you might want to call a convenience store. But what an injustice it would be to call these stores a convenience store.
These stores were lifelines for their neighbors. Most of them were all the things a neighborhood needed, a grocery store, a place that had a phone, had a stamp, and more times than not, a grocer who loaned money to people to buy food, with an interest rate of nil.
The corner store I remembered was called, Kellner’s. A couple that lived above the store owned it. As I remember today they were tall people. Of course, I was only eight. I considered anyone above my eyeballs to be tall but these people were way passed my eyeballs. They were tall.
If they had children they hid them because I never saw them or played with them. She wore her hair tied up in a braid and spoke with an accent that sometimes I didn’t understand. The man, who I never saw out from behind the meat counter, never spoke except to ask, "How much?"
The store was a two-story building the width of a double bed alongside a twin. You had
to walk up three steps, pull on the screen door and in the winter time, turn the knob and push the wooden door open into the store. The smells assailed you, like the fist of a fighter. First, there was the smell of vinegar so strong it brought tears to your eyes. It had to be coming from the brine that held the big, fat, green, Dill Pickles. Or the Sauerkraut that was stored in the white ceramic jars with a blue ring around them. Then there were tangles of strange smells, some from Cheese, I couldn’t name, some from meat I had never eaten and some from food I hoped I would never have to eat.
On the right hand side as you came in the door stood a glass case with the bottom two shelves filled with penny candy. What the upper shelves held I don’t know because my eyes never got up that far. It was strange Candy from strange places like Germany, Poland, France and other strange places far, far away from (Old) North Dayton. The ones wrapped in blue and gold were chocolate filled with a grainy caramel that tasted of nuts. Oh, they were good but my favorite was wrapped in bright red and white shiny paper. It was in the shape of a square and it was pure candy that looked white but tasted like
chocolate. Oh, my, it was almost as good as a Sucker on a stick.
On the left hand side was a wire rack that held packaged bread, like Wonder Bread. The top shelf of the rack always held the Homemade Bread that was always the color of coal. In back of this rack and in back of the glass cases were shelves that held canned vegetables and fruits. I’m sure there were other things but what they were, I don’t know.
The meat counter, running almost wall-to-wall, faced the front door and guarded the steps leading to the upstairs. Between the meat counter and the bread rack was a space just large enough for someone to stand and lean into the wall to use the phone.
This phone hanging on the wall was ebony black and shone in the half-light of the store. It was a beacon of help, love, laughter and survival. A phone where you put money in the slot, dial a number, then listen, then talked and all the time knowing Mr. Kellner stood listening…but if you did not have the money for the slot, Mr. Kellner did.
It was a store of necessity, not convenience.
were grocery stores like Liberals, Gershaw and maybe, there were a few others that I do not remember. But most of the stores were mom and pop stores. Stores like Sigs that sat on the corners and in the midst of the neighborhoods. Stores that today you might want to call a convenience store. But what an injustice it would be to call these stores a convenience store.
These stores were lifelines for their neighbors. Most of them were all the things a neighborhood needed, a grocery store, a place that had a phone, had a stamp, and more times than not, a grocer who loaned money to people to buy food, with an interest rate of nil.
The corner store I remembered was called, Kellner’s. A couple that lived above the store owned it. As I remember today they were tall people. Of course, I was only eight. I considered anyone above my eyeballs to be tall but these people were way passed my eyeballs. They were tall.
If they had children they hid them because I never saw them or played with them. She wore her hair tied up in a braid and spoke with an accent that sometimes I didn’t understand. The man, who I never saw out from behind the meat counter, never spoke except to ask, "How much?"
The store was a two-story building the width of a double bed alongside a twin. You had
to walk up three steps, pull on the screen door and in the winter time, turn the knob and push the wooden door open into the store. The smells assailed you, like the fist of a fighter. First, there was the smell of vinegar so strong it brought tears to your eyes. It had to be coming from the brine that held the big, fat, green, Dill Pickles. Or the Sauerkraut that was stored in the white ceramic jars with a blue ring around them. Then there were tangles of strange smells, some from Cheese, I couldn’t name, some from meat I had never eaten and some from food I hoped I would never have to eat.
On the right hand side as you came in the door stood a glass case with the bottom two shelves filled with penny candy. What the upper shelves held I don’t know because my eyes never got up that far. It was strange Candy from strange places like Germany, Poland, France and other strange places far, far away from (Old) North Dayton. The ones wrapped in blue and gold were chocolate filled with a grainy caramel that tasted of nuts. Oh, they were good but my favorite was wrapped in bright red and white shiny paper. It was in the shape of a square and it was pure candy that looked white but tasted like
chocolate. Oh, my, it was almost as good as a Sucker on a stick.
On the left hand side was a wire rack that held packaged bread, like Wonder Bread. The top shelf of the rack always held the Homemade Bread that was always the color of coal. In back of this rack and in back of the glass cases were shelves that held canned vegetables and fruits. I’m sure there were other things but what they were, I don’t know.
The meat counter, running almost wall-to-wall, faced the front door and guarded the steps leading to the upstairs. Between the meat counter and the bread rack was a space just large enough for someone to stand and lean into the wall to use the phone.
This phone hanging on the wall was ebony black and shone in the half-light of the store. It was a beacon of help, love, laughter and survival. A phone where you put money in the slot, dial a number, then listen, then talked and all the time knowing Mr. Kellner stood listening…but if you did not have the money for the slot, Mr. Kellner did.
It was a store of necessity, not convenience.
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