I just want to say that I hope that when I grow up, I can be just like **KlondikeGeoff **is going to be when *he *grows up 
They’ve even built a skyscraper 7 stories high, about as high as a building ought to go.
KlondikeGeoff, what era of cars do you like the most?
Klondike Geoff- are you certain coal had formed when you were young?
Anyway, until a few months ago my Dad (now 90) was using a computer. Limited use but still- Mum, 89 today still uses one everyday for most things. (I know as I’m still paying for her anti virus programme).
Thanks for starting the thread KG. I love talking to my Dad about growing up in Darwin in the 1920’s and how my Mum used to have to ride a horse to school in the same period (rural NSW though).
You got that right, I did not go into the army until the tail end of WWII. However, officially, the war did not end after the Japanese surrender, but a year or so later.
I’m sure the mention of the Kaiser was a joke, but who knows. My dad, of course, was in WWI.
Legal drinking ages then varied from state to state. I was in NYS then and the age was 18, although I started drinking at 14, and by 16 was hanging in the local Irish bars. I was so happy when I turned 18 adn could drink legally, then the Army sent me to Utah where it was 21. Curses! It was not difficult to get a phony pass with the right age.
The low-dive bars I patronized in the 40s never had barstools. Maybe the high class ones did, but they probably would not let me in anyway. 
Yup, and the corn was as high as an elephant’s eye.
That’s a tough one. Of course, I feel a great nostalgia for the 30s cars. In the 60s I bought and restored a '32 Model A Victoria. In the 20s some amazing and beautiful cars were built, but sort of died out during the Depression.
My first car, in L.A., was a -33 Teraplane roadster, souped up with a Hudson straight 8 engine. Man, that car could go. I’ve got to admit, nostalgia aside, these days cars are amazing. Fast, easy to handle, safe.
Anybody hear about the snail that went into a body shop and asked to have racing stripes pained on both sides of his shell, with a big letter S on each side. When asked why, he replied, “I want want people to look at me and remark, ‘Boy, look at that S car go.’”
Actually I was born shortly after that huge meteor impact, and all the dinosaurs had died out. But there still was not enough time left for coal or oil to form.
But appearance wise most cars today are about as exciting as washing machines. Those 1930s Hudsons were good looking automobiles.
As recently (relatively speaking) as 1960, the monster hot-air furnace in the basement of our house burned coal — huge chunks of anthracite and/or more expensive briquettes. The furnace didn’t have a new-fangled automatic stoker; it was hand-fed. “Never trust those chains in the hall to adjust the draft!”
Actually, “check the furnace” was shorthand for the phrase “adjust the draft.” “Go down and check the furnace!” I was too young to have thought of yelling back up the stairs, “Yep, I checked the furnace. It’s still here.”
The yelling and swearing by Darren McGavin as the father in A Christmas Story trying to get the furnace to draw brings a tear to my eye, though the era depicted was just before my time.
Assorted everyday memories, as they occur, of the '50s: Drivers opening their car doors to signal left turns; '49 to '51 Fords (always Fords) stalled in hot weather because of vapour lock; the next-door neighbour who had sprung for a windshield wiper on the back window (vacuum, though how well it worked with a vacuum tube that long is open to question) of his '50 Chevy torpedo (hell, vacuum wipers!). And Ramblers still had them in '65!.
For those unfamiliar with wipers powered by the vacuum created by the engine, they are counter-intuitive. The slower you drive, the faster they work. They work best of all when the car is stopped at a red light.
First gear acceleration: wipe . . . . I think I can I think I can . . . . wipe . . . . wipe; shift to second, clutch in: wipewipewipewipewipewipewipe; second gear acceleration: wipe . . . . I think I can I think I can . . . . wipe . . . . wipe; shift to third, clutch in: wipewipewipewipewipewipewipe; third gear cruising: wipe . . . wipe . . . wipe . . . wipe. Slowing or stopped: wipewipewipewipewipewipewipe.
The brown, cloth-covered wire from the black bakelite wall phone to the black bakelite receiver that eventually would be so knotted up it would be only six inches long; Pre-TV hockey-stick-like lengths of wood — they were everywhere — on house roofs to support single-wire AM and short-wave-band radio antennas; Our Miss Brooks on radio, then on TV; Sylvania TV with Halo Light/the best in TV/Sylvania, that’s right! (horrible TVs to watch).
A truth-in-advertising commercial would have said, "Hey, Mom, wanna know how to blind your kids in 90 minutes? That’s right! Sylvania TV with Halo Light!
The proper way to pour 7-UP, according to the TV commercial that brought you Soldiers of Fortune, was slowly into the glass that’s tilted at a 45° angle so it wouldn’t overflow with fizz.
Speaking of vacuums, “This young woman is staking her life on the suction power of a Lewitt!” (Trapeze artist swings back and forth.) Blah blah blah blah. Then, “Turn off the Lewitt and down she falls!” — into a net. She had staked her life on a Lewitt no more than I had watching the ad. That thing ran for years. It had stopped hooking anyone in even before the film was scratchy.
There was a spur line to a cement plant six or seven blocks west, and the gravel and whatever else the plant needed was hauled in by a steam locomotive. Sometimes in winter, in the still-dark morning, the engine whistle’s first blast was a high-pitched, banshee scream, much higher than a European steam-locomotive whistle, caused by ice that had formed in it and over it during the night. The engineer wouldn’t stop the whistle until it ran itself down the scale and had blown out or melted the ice.
That sound was unique, and now that China has scrapped all its steamers, it will never be heard again.
Oh yeah. Canada was pink on all the pull-down maps hanging over the blackboards, like the rest of the Empire that still could — only just — get away with the name.
I agree about new cars, almost all have the same style, sloped back, big ugly grills. Even Jaguar has lost its distinctive look.That is why last year I bought a 2007 XJ8, the last one that looked like a Jag. The new ones look just like Cadillacs.
The Hudsons looked great right through the 40s. Long hoods, sleek design. Also they were really fast. In the late 40s in L.A. they were winning many stock car races. Back when they had to really be stock. The winners had their engines taken apart and the specs checked, just to be sure they were not souped up.
By the time I could afford one, they no longer were being made. :mad:
Another cool car was the Studebaker. I think it was '48 or '49 when they came out with what probably was the first really unique design.
Glad you found us, KlondikeGeoff! You remind me of our dear departed friend David Simmons, who was older than you, but unfortunately he died about 4 years ago. His nephew posted a very nice message message about his passing.
David informed and amused us for years, and we were the better for it. I’m depending on you to do the same. Don’t screw it up! 
I have heard that back in the day of men-only taverns, some bars had a long urinal trough built into the front of the bar, so you could pee without leaving the bar.
Ever see one of those?
Ah, yes, he was a a fine “older brother for me” and i miss him alone with many other departed friends.
Too late, I have already screwed up with my OP, which nobody seemed to realize was a feeble attempt at humor, or even satire.
Holy cripes no. Never even heard of it. I suspect that is a myth, but who knows, some low dive may hve had one. As I really don’t think many dives could be lower than the ones I patronized, it seems unlikely.
Among the many things I remember from me yout’ that just popped into my mind are iceboxes. Who has seen or used those?
Usually very nicely made from wood outside, and galvanized iron inside, they had two compartments. The top was for the big cake of ice, and the lower for the food. The top had a lead pipe draining to the bottom, where there was a big round pan to collected the water. Emptying that was tricky, as it was heavy, and difficult to carry out with out spilling.
The iceman usually came once a week. We had a diamond shaped card, and in three corners were the figures 25, 50 and 75 for the weight of the block of ice needed. We put it in the window with the number we wanted on top, so the iceman, who commeth, knew which size block to bring. He had a leather shoulder pad, and a pair of big tongs to grab the block, sling it over his shoulder, and came in the back door and slipped the ice in the icebox.
It was several years after we got refrigerators before I stopped calling it an icebox.
Yeah, but when you’re old, World of Warcraft will be something only the geezers are into, and you will be complaining about kids these days and their artificial reality frontal lobe implants.