SWEET MEMORIES

 

While I was in the process of Googling vintage Halloween stuff (a pathetic example of how I waste my time) I happened to come across this ancient ad for Wowe-e. It immediately ignited a burst of childhood memories.

Candy and childhood are synonymous and the Wowe-e wax harmonica whistle was one of my all-time favorites. Actually, it wasn't candy at all. It was made of sweet wax that could be chewed like gum. Most kids, however, liked the whistle so much that they didn't want to ruin it by chewing the wax. The Wowe-e whistles were 5 cents - which was a little out of my price-range - but I did manage to buy a few during my recklessly indulgent wonder years.

The wax whistles were patented in the 1920's and made by Glenn Confections. The above ad is from 1948, which was before my time. I remember them from the 1960's.

The original Wowe-e whistles are no longer made, but I think reasonable facsimiles are available. When I was a kid, it wasn't Halloween without them. I still remember the distinct fluted sound of the whistle.

 These are the exact whistles that I remember

with the same Halloween labels

I was crazy about the wax novelties that always appeared at the beginning of the Halloween season. Big red wax lips, black mustaches, vampire teeth, and wax fingers. I seldom chewed the wax, but rather preferred to keep my treasures preserved in a small box in the refrigerator. Naturally, my father would inevitably throw them out. 

The height of my childhood candy career came between the ages of 8 and 11, when we lived in Pomona, California. There were two stores where we kids would always buy candy - Ted's Liquor Store and Roy's Liquor Store. Both were located on Fifth Street, the street on which I lived (Fifth Street has since been renamed Mission Boulevard).

Ted's was a small store. We went there very often solely because it was conveniently located on our way to school. Unfortunately, Ted was the meanest SOB in Pomona. An incredibly grouchy old man who hated children (it's bitterly ironic that I can fully relate to his feelings now).

He would grumble under his breath as we dug out our pennies to purchase candy. He also always checked our pockets and lunch boxes to make sure we weren't stealing.
When I was a child, I was so impeccably innocent and unbearably honest, that the thought of stealing never even entered my mind.

Roy's Liquor Store was twice as big as Ted's and much more child-friendly, but we only went there on weekends because it was much farther down the street. Roy's had an enormous selection of candy. And comic books.

Is it only the sweet nostalgia of my memory, or was the quality and taste of candy really better back then?

There were so many varieties of candy favorites that my faulty memory can't contain them all.

Bit-O-Honey and Good & Plenty, Sugar Daddies and Black Cows, thin Necco Wafers and jellied Chuckles. Turkish Taffy in chocolate, banana, and strawberry. Impossibly hard Jujubes. Root Beer Barrels. Hot Tamales. LifeSavers. Tootsie Rolls. Abba-Zaba. Pay Day and Clark Bars. Chunkies. Giant jawbreakers that had different layers of colors.

Black Jack chewing gum, Chiclets, Dubble Bubble and Bazooka Bubble Gum. Not to mention candy cigarettes and cinnamon-flavored toothpicks. And bubble gum cards.

I remember when a little Mexican girl in our class accidentally swallowed a cinnamon toothpick and had to be rushed to the hospital. Our teacher Mrs. Butler immediately gave us a harrowing lecture about the dangers of cinnamon toothpicks.

Returning to the wax theme, I used to like those little cartons of tiny wax bottles that contained colored sugar liquid. They are still being manufactured under various names and variations.

The present infuriating restrictiveness of political correctness has inspired the ban of the once-popular wax six-shooters. They were pistol-shaped and (like the little wax bottles) were filled with a sweet colored liquid that you could drink.

I also recall the now obsolete and politically incorrect Nigger Babies. The startling name inspired me to do some research, but information is vague and very conflicting. They are mentioned in a 1945 issue of Confectionery & Ice Cream World, vol. 33, page 34.

Many people remember this candy but even the description varies. The original candy was supposedly made of licorice, but later the little baby-shaped candies were made of a caramel chocolate. I distinctly remember the chocolate-type ones.

My guess is that different candy companies manufactured similar black "baby" candies under various names at  different times - including Chocolate Babies and Tar Babies.

In the innocent age of my childhood the name wasn't considered offensive and we kids never thought of it as being racist. I actually thought the little babies were cute. Things are entirely different in the present era of intense racial awareness and extreme hypersensitivity. At any rate, the candy was never particularly popular.

While I'm on a roll, who could forget Pez? Let's face it, Pez candy was absolute crap but those dispensers were immensely appealing. They are still being manufactured and the old ones are collectibles.

Childhood trends come and go, but the intrigue of candy will always remain.

 

Note:
I originally posted this several years ago, and decided to rehash it for the Halloween season.
BTW - one of my favorite Halloween candies has long been the Mary Jane Peanut Butter kisses, wrapped in black and orange waxed paper.
They're nearly impossible to chew and can rip your crowns and fillings out - - but I still like them.

Cheers, Jon

 

 

RUMORS OF PARADISE

It's a gorgeous Tennessee morning: 
light snow, frigid temperatures, a sharp, crisp wind. A trio of whitetail deer bounded across my back yard and gracefully leaped a fence. Where is my camera when I need it? 

I'm drinking a cup of tea and unpacking a box of books. I found a volume of my poetry that was published long ago. One particular poem, Seventh Winter, caught my eye. I haven't seen it in aeons. It was written when I was only nineteen years old and depicts winter in Southern California when I was seven.

Reading it again has ignited a surge of memories - - and a poem that I previously never cared about suddenly seems alive and almost endearing.

Seventh Winter

Long after the others sleep
I lie awake counting
the frost-bitten stars
that fill my window, listening
to the dry rustle of palm trees
against a desert wind.
The stars shiver and blink,
as if long-ago lives
still watch from a distant place.
Last week near the boxcars
they found an old man's body
wrapped in layers of newspaper,
gnarled hands
still clasped in prayer.
Now the Mexican children
leave the fields early,
going home before dusk
in groups of no less than three.
Tonight the smudge pots are lighted,
smoking furiously
between fat rows of orange trees
as though cold January had not
already picked through the leaves
and ravaged every fruit.
Beyond the groves
restless dogs shred the night
with lean howls,
threatening the moon,
knowing that dawn will come
too late.

by Jon V.
from Dreams of Escape


Truth has never escaped my poetry. I remember the events clearly: 

the chilly winter nights, the nearby orange groves - - fruit glazed with frost, the acrid smell of eternally smoking smudge pots, the gentle wind rustling through the tops of palm trees.....the Mexican migrant workers....
..... the old man, found dead among newspapers in the boxcar. The mournful whistle of late-night freight trains.....

Smudge pots burning all night

in a feeble attempt to keep

the oranges from freezing

My parents moved to Southern California when I was five. We lived in Glendora (the first of many places) which is located in the gentle foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains.

At the time, it was as close to paradise as anybody could get. I lived in Southern California for nearly thirty years and can attest to the fact that rumors of paradise were no exaggeration.

An idealized scene

which wasn't at all far from the truth

My early introduction to California was steeped in the stuff that dreams are made of. The fact that it was viewed through the eyes of an imaginative child did not fictionalize the absolute perfection of the environment.

Our house was surrounded by orange groves.  I'd pick the huge, fragrant navel oranges and eat them right from the trees. There was an abundance of lemon trees, persimmons trees, avocado and walnut trees. The ripe walnuts, with their hard green shells, would fall on our roof....the occasional plunk, plunk,plunk was a sound that we were used to day and night.

There were seemingly endless rows of tall, majestic date palms everywhere - - and vast fields of the biggest, most magnificent strawberries I've ever tasted. Beyond the orange groves loomed the mountains, and  distant snow-capped Mount Baldy was a very familiar sight.

Colorful, fragrant flowers abounded - - roses, poppies, lilac, calliopsis, hollyhocks, gardenias, geraniums, bird of paradise.
And if the winter had been a particularly wet one, the desert flowers in early spring would be breathtaking.

The mountains, the desert, the ocean. The Great Southland offered an intoxicating array of unforgettable experiences.

This scene is so typical of my childhood memories

Southern California has a way of spoiling people. Once you've experienced it, no other place can possibly compare. At least that's how it used to be.

Life has changed drastically since I was a child and the things I loved the most about California have largely vanished - - or at least been corrupted beyond salvation.

To be brutally honest, I was corrupted beyond salvation during my wild & reckless years in Hollywood - but I admittedly loved every minute of it. It was an adventure beyond all others, and a lifestyle that few people were privileged to experience.

It was the other side of Southern California.

I left California when I was thirty-four and never looked back. I was burned out and yearning for new adventures. In retrospect, California didn't burn me out - - my destructive lifestyle did. My years in California were the golden years, the very best of my life, and I treasure them.

Why didn't you ever go back, Jon?

 Despite being a hardcore sentimentalist, I've never had a desire to repeat the past. It's a complete impossibility. I can only savor the memories and the delicious rumors of the paradise that I once knew.

Downtown Glendora, looking almost exactly as it did

when I lived there. My Mom and I often walked downtown

and shopped in the stores on this very street.

San Gabriel Mountains in the background.

Was this post to long? Hell, no........