Ho Jos

 Our shopping trips always seemed to take us past a Howard Johnson's. In the 40s, I don't remember calling Howard Johnson's "HoJo's.”

Pembroke, MA. Route 14 and the then-Route 3.

On our trips to Brockton, we would leave Seaview, finding our way to Water Street in Pembroke, turn left on what was then Route 3, then right on Route 14. A Howard Johnson's was on that corner, next to the Gilbert West Box Mill. There were long windows in front and on the south side. I remember sitting inside on the south side and how bright and warm it was.

Whitman, MA. Bedford Street and Warren Ave. The 2x4 Ho Jo's.

 As we wound our way through Whitman, there was a Howard Johnson's snack bar, an eat-outside only. It was a 2x4, as my Dad called it. Many years later I found out what a 2x4 building was!

Over the railroad tracks in the Montello section of Brockton, another HJ’s. I remember having our lunch there. We always had the same thing . . . that I will reveal later.

Late in the afternoon, after shopping, we headed home on Route 123. When we did not take Neal Gate Street to 3A, I knew that Dad had a plan. He would go to the lights in Greenbush, turn right, and then take another right into the nicest Howard Johnson’s I can remember seeing: a beautiful building, manicured grounds, and a paved parking lot.

There was always room to park. The front of the building was full of windows that ran from the ceiling to the floor. Above the orange roof, on a cupola, was my favorite weathervane, ''Simple Simon and The Pieman,'' with a dog. How I wished we could have one on our garage.

Simple Simon met a pieman going to the fair;
Said Simple Simon to the pieman "Let me taste your ware"
Said the pieman to Simple Simon "Show me first your penny"
Said Simple Simon to the pieman "Sir, I have not any!"

Simple Simon went a-fishing for to catch a whale;
All the water he had got was in his mother's pail.
Simple Simon went to look if plums grew on a thistle;
He pricked his fingers very much which made poor Simon whistle.
He went for water in a sieve but soon it all fell through;
And now poor Simple Simon bids you all "Adieu"

I seem to remember a ''Simple Simon'' weathervane whirly gig. The pieman's tray would move, Simon's finger or arm moved, and the dog's tail wagged up and down. I'm not sure if this was on the Greenbush HJs. I also remember a Lamplighter weathervane on a HJs somewhere.

Most of the time I would sit on one of the red stools at the soda fountain and order a frankfurt, now known as a hot dog -- plus an orangeade. My Mom and Dad would sit in a booth; they always ordered fried clams, french fries, and tea or coffee.

The frankfurts were sliced across on two sides, and fried on two sides. The bun was also fried on both sides (now called grilled). This was put in a cardboard container with “Simple Simon and The Pieman,” with his dog printed on both sides. Two straws came in a cardboard container for the soda.

I would always beg a few french fries, then look over the Howard Johnson toy trucks on the shelf that were for sale and way beyond my parents’ budget. I would save the paper placemats from the table. During the war, the mats had a fighter plane, a tank and a war ship printed on them. Also there was a mat with the 28 flavors of ice cream with a bumble bee flying with a spoon. I often wonder what ever happened to all that stuff?

When I was lucky, I could have a ten cent ice cream. Most of the time it would be a chocolate one, sometimes coffee. All of that would cost my Dad about $1.70.

We would visit other Howard Johnson’s in Scituate, Hingham, Wollaston Beach & Wollaston. There are only three Howard Johnson restaurants left.

Scituate MA. Hatherly Road, on the way to Minot.

Good bye to Howard Johnson’s, HJs & HoJo's.

Apple Cider Time

In the fall, when apples were a-plenty, my Dad and I would gather all kinds from around the neighborhood. We used bushel baskets to gather up the apples. I would fill ‘em, and Dad would carry them to the old Chevy and stack them where the back seat had been removed.

Back home, stems and leaves were removed, rotten ones discarded, then washed down. Now, out came the apple press and crusher. We washed it down with water and bleach. It was set up in the garage and fastened down. A blue and white enamel pot was fitted with a topping of cheesecloth and slid under the press. The baskets were set atop each other beside the press.

Dad would crank the handle, I would stand on a wooden box and toss in the apples. Ground-up apples spewed out into a slatted barrel-like cage that contained the mash. When the cage was full, it would be topped with a wooden head. A screw was turned to press the mash. After a few turns, out of the tray would come a clear golden juice.

Then, back off the screw, clean out the cage and do it again and again until the apples were gone. I would have a drinking glass close by, to hold under the stream until full. Oh, how good that was.

Next step was to bottle this golden juice. Dad had a dipper that he dipped in the pot, then he poured the juice into a cheesecloth-covered funnel that was stuck into glass gallon jugs that we had scavenged from the dump. These jugs had been washed, scalded, and bleached days before -- that was my job. Mom would bring scalded corks out to us, steaming, and in they would go. That would take all of a Saturday.

Sunday morning, Dad would haul a six-foot table from the cellar and drag it to the side of Summer Street. The table was made from an old Singer sewing machine base and a shed door. Then out came a green ice cream chair with a splintery wood seat. This was my stand!

We filled the table with gallons and half gallons of fresh apple juice. A sign went up, “Fresh Apple Juice.” A gallon was 50 cents, plus a five cent jug deposit. Half gallon was 35 cents plus deposit.

One day I sold ten gallons. Wow, $5! I got 10% -- 50 cents. That would buy 10 candy bars or 10 Cokes or even a movie trip!

There was a customer that refused to pay the deposit and didn't return the jugs they had promised to. They never got another jug of juice either.

How sweet it was -- for about 3 or 4 days. It got tangy in about week or so. It was a good thing for corks. We would often find them popped out onto the porch floor as the juice fermented.

Dad would fill a small wood cask with apple juice and leave it in the cellar for about a year, we then had apple cider vinegar. I am now using a vinegar I made in 1975.

Roadside Stands

There were many roadside stands throughout Marshfield, and Seaview had its share. Most were vegetable or strawberry stands.

Before World War II, there was a stand on Summer Street across from the north end of Station Street. It was owned by Ollie & Anna Nourse. In the spring, many kinds of flowers were for sale, followed by early cherries and peaches. Then vegetables of all kinds. All grown on their property. You also could get a dozen eggs.

If that stand existed today, you would be taking your life in your hands stopping there! There was no off-street parking on their side, however you could park in a small space on the north end of the Seaview Garage and walk across Summer Street.

Further up Summer Street, about as far as Seaview extended, was Bob & Agnes Dow's stand. This was mostly a vegetable stand. Agnes did make some baked goods.

The most unforgettable stand was Agnes & Bill Bonney's, at the south end of Station Street at Summer Street. It was a 2x4 structure with lift-up front and sides. From the earliest flower to the latest, bunches would adorn the shelves as well as around the stand. Most were 15 cents; glads were 25 cents. The Bonneys had the most beautiful arrangements.

Glads were one of Mrs. Bonney's favorites.

 However flowers were not the big draw. It was Mrs. Bonney's baking. She filled the shelves with pies, cakes, cookies, and other sorts of pastries. Cakes were her best seller, specially decorated for any occasion. Mrs. Bonney would put a little extra decoration on a cake for her favorite customers -- the ones known to leave a tip.

On a Friday or Saturday afternoon during the summer, there was hardly a spot to park. Locals were arriving home after work, and summer people for the weekend. They would want her wonderful goods, rather than bake or cook. Mrs. Bonney's cooking was probably better than theirs anyway. On a Saturday, the pastries were gone by 1 p.m. Late Saturday afternoon, a line would form at the side porch door awaiting the baked beans, frankfurts and brown bread, along with any pastry left. Mrs. Bonney would have a new batch of goods for Sunday morning.

Notice the cuts in the frankfurt, the old fashion way.

 Summer Street was once the main route to Humarock from the Boston area, however those that came in from Route 3 would also find Bonney's wonderful goods.

We would never visit with Mrs. Bonney during her busy summer months, but an off-season visit was a treat. Brownies and a glass of milk were always on my priority list. Most families in the neighborhood were as poor as church mice, but were always generous with a cup of tea or coffee, and a home cooked treat.