The way we were

My high school class recently had a dinner to commemorate our 70th reunion. Out of a group of slightly more than 200, we found that at least 95 of us are still alive, all in our late 80s.

I found a letter mailed to our 50th reunion committee in 1996. It was sent by classmate Joyce Johnson who married Rudy Bergstrom, who recently passed away. They lived in Whitefish for many years. I loved the letter and hope you will also:

We, the class of 1946 were before the Pill and the population explosion, which, curiously, went hand-in-hand.

We were before television, penicillin, antibiotics, credit cards and Frisbees. We were before radar, flourescent lights, frozen foods, nylon and dacron. We had fountain pens and bottles of real ink.

For us, time sharing meant togetherness. A chip was a piece of wood, hardware was hardware and software wasn’t even a word. The Webster Collegiate I took to college defines computer as “one who computes.”

We wouldn’t have dreamed of wearing “long pants” to class and we didn’t have panty hose. We had girdles with garters on them, or sometimes we “rolled our own” though it was harder to keep the seams straight.

We were before drip-dry clothes, dishwashers, ice makers, clothes dryers and electric blankets and before Alaska and Hawaii became states. Our classmates came from the Islands to the Mainland and they didn’t need Hula-Hoops. It was before commercial air travel — overseas flights were the domain of Lindberg and Amelia Earhart.

We were before men wore long hair and earrings and women wore tuxedos. We were before yogurt, Ann Landers, plastics, the 40-hour work week and pre-marital sex, or so we said. At any rate, we got married and lived together.

Pizzas, McDonald and instant coffee were unheard of. We thought fast food were something you ate during Lent.

We were before FM radios, tape recorders, synthesizers, disco dancing and MUZAK — and that’s not all bad.

If anyone had asked us to identify CIA, Ms, UFOs, NFL, BMW, ERA or IUD we would probably have said, oh — alphabet soup.

In our day cigarette smoking was chic, grass was mowed, coke was drunk and pot was something to cook in.

Closets were for clothes, not “coming out of” and a book about two young women could be called “Our Hearts were Young and Gay.”

In those days, bunnies were small rabbits and Rabbits were not Volkswagens.

We were before Grandma Moses and Frank Sinatra, and cup-sizing for bras. We thought a deep cleavage was something butchers did.

In our day there were 5 and 10 cent stores where you could but things for 5 and 10 cents. For a nickel you could make a phone call or buy enough stamps to mail one letter and two postcards. You could but a new Chevy coupe for $659 — but who could afford it? A pity, too, because gas was 11 cents a gallon.

“Made in Japan,” meant junk and “making out” meant how well you did in an exam.

We played heavy 78 records with CACTUS NEEDLES THAT ALWAYS NEEDED SHARPENING AND WE WORE SADDLES SHOES AND KNEW CONVERTIBLES WITH RUMBLE SEATS. We had the Big Bands and we knew how it felt to have our partners hold us close and do a double-dip to the music of Anson Weeks, or Ted Fio Rito or Tom Coakley.

We were not before the difference between the sexes was discovered, but we were before sex changes. We just made do with what we had.

And we were, perhaps, the last generation to think you needed a husband to have a baby. (Author Unknown).

G. George Ostrom is an award-winning columnist. He lives in Kalispell.