Frankford Community Blog | Local News, Events, Community Resources
Cesar Viveros will be at the Historical Society on Sunday January 29th from 2 to 4PM and he would like to hear from you. What was it like growing up in Frankford. How long has your family been here. What are your hopes for the community. This is what will be the genesis of the murals that will take shape on Frankford Avenue. See the flyer below.
The iceman was also a very important part of our life, for ice was the only refrigerant at this time. He too would come up to each house with his horse and wagon which contained huge blocks of ice, I‟m sure they were well over one hundred pounds each. He would take an ice pick and very skillfully carve out a piece just the right size for each house. He would then hoist it onto the large leather shoulder pad he wore for protection with a large pair of tongs, and make his delivery. During the summer, it was great to follow the iceman around, for he would hand out small chunks of ice to the kids and we would suck on them like they were popcycles.
Who in the world ever thought this one up? It came in a pound bar wrapped in wax paper. It looked like a cake of lard with one exception; this package came complete with one small packet of a very orange liquid. When you opened the package of margarine you were also supposed to open this packet of liquid and mix it into the bar of margarine. This was one of my least favorite chores, I hated to get this stuff between my fingers but the only way to mix it was to squeeze it through your hands until it was all one color, yellow. The next task was to re-shape it into a reasonable looking oblong block, which would later make it to the kitchen or dining room table. YUK!
Diners were a big part of the Frankford social scene. From teenagers to adults, they could always meet at the diner. Most had an outside skin of stainless steel making them bright and shiny Inside a friendly waitress with a crisp starched uniform complete with apron greeted you. The first thing you heard from her was, “What can I get ya hon?” The tables on the window side of the diner were usually covered with white Formica, and had a chrome mini jukebox mounted within reach. You could get five plays for a quarter. B.L.Ts were a popular item to order, which got you a sandwich consisting of bacon, lettuce & tomato. In the center of the diner was a long counter with various colors of sparkling naugahide-covered stools. The last diner I can recall was located across from the Penn Fruit supermarket on Pratt St. and Frankford Ave. (Important Note) The diners with the best food, always had the most trucks and tractor trailers parked outside.
Most of the stores during these days were “Mom & Pop” stores, privately owned and operated. Unlike the Supermarkets of today, these stores were rather small in size. Upon entering one of these little gems, your nostrils were immediately awakened by the many different pleasant aromas! The wooden floors were always immaculately clean. There were no wide isles with huge stacks of merchandise. There were simply many shelves behind the counter against the walls; from floor to ceiling, stacked with can goods and boxes that were out of reach of the customer. The clerk would either have a ladder (on wheels) that slid from one end to the other or, he would use a device that was simply a long pole. That had a mechanical rubber tipped gripper on one end and a handle at the other that allowed him to reach and grab whatever item you wanted.
The Butcher always wore a white bib style apron and took great pride in his display case. Keeping the glass sparkling clean. All the different lunch meats were carefully arranged with little white tags on the end showing you the price per pound. There seemed to be no end to the supply of fresh parsley, which was used to separate the various pork, chops, fresh steaks, chicken etc. There was every kind of sausage imaginable hanging from a rack, which was suspended from the ceiling just above the meat counter. After making your selection, he expertly cut, weighed and wrapped it in white waxed paper and with his red or green grease pencil mark the price on the side of your package. Behind the butcher counter was a walkway of wooden 1x2s made up in sections about four feet long and three feet wide with cross boards holding them together. They were fashioned in such a way that they raised the floor by about three inches with a fresh supply of sawdust beneath them to catch any dropping from the fresh killed chickens which were kept in pens usually just outside the store. You can rest assured that the floor was swept and disinfected at the end of each workday.
During World War II, the grocery stores would accept all excess fat from their customers. This fat was rendered into soap and was used for many things in the war effort, lubricants, etc. In return for your efforts you would receive red ration stamps, which were good for meat products, in return. Friday seemed like it was the day to buy fish, for at that time the people who were of the Catholic faith were told by the Church that they were supposed to give up eating meat one day a week and Friday was the selected day. So it seemed the whole neighborhood decided that since they were sure the fish was super fresh on Friday that would be their fish day also. After you finished picking your selection you went to the front counter where the grocer was adding up your total purchases. He didn‟t have a scanner or a calculator, the grocer was adding up your purchases by hand with a pencil and did the math the hard way. He listed each item on the paper bag he was going to pack all your groceries in.
There was always a young boy working in these stores and he would be happy to carry all you groceries home for you using his “Red Flier” wagon to assist him for many times he would have to walk for blocks with a weeks worth of groceries in tow. He would be happy to get a whole quarter for his efforts. I imagine this was the first form of employment for many young lads.
Oh yes, I mustn‟t forget the “Pickle Barrel.” Almost every store had a barrel located within easy reach so the customer could make their own selection from the many Jewish Pickles (they call them Kosher now.) floating n the wonderfully spiced brine that gave off an aroma, which filled the store. There was always a pair of wooden tongs and some waxed paper bags nearby so you could package your treasure for the trip home. Some of the things I have a hard time finding today are Large boxes of “Blue Tip” safety matches, Powdered cod fish, Ladyfingers, Junket custard pudding & Macaroons.
To be continued…
In 1956, when I was 3 years of age, my parents moved their growing family from Germantown to a house on Wakeling Street, across the street from Frankford Stadium in the Northwood section of Frankford.
Because of that move, the Stadium always figured significantly in our lives. We used to love Frankford High School football game days in the Fall, because then we would get to hear the band parading down Wakeling Street back to the high school after victories. Then we would watch the track and field events at the Stadium in the Spring.
But, the Stadium was also a place where we got into trouble. In 1960, I was a meek kid at 7 years of age, and at that time the youngest in our crowd. One day, while grounds keepers worked at the far end of the Stadium, near the Dyre Street gates, the older kids decided that we should try to sneak around the inside the Stadium, to see if we could do so undetected. I was reluctant, but went along. There were several ways into the Stadium when it was locked. On that day we used the most dangerous — over the top of the front gates, with its pointed iron pikes.
We crept behind the walls at the front of the bleachers in the direction of the grounds keepers, and into the giant hedges behind the Dyre Street side gates. I felt very guilty about sneaking around behind adults backs like that. One of our little group whispered, “Here come the men! Duck down!” But I was frozen with fear. The grounds keepers saw us. The one in charge said, “CALL POLICE!” I burst out crying. When they heard that reaction they relented, opened the gates, and told us to never do that again. The other kids were glad that my crying had “tugged on their heartstrings” and moved the grounds keepers to let us go.
A few years later, as little boys sometimes do, I discovered fire, and I became “the kid who played with matches.” Mrs. Hughes, in the stone building on the northwest corner of Wakeling and Rutland, would see me hiding in the nook between the pine tree and bushes and the Stadium building on the corner, building little fires there, and warned me to stop or I might accidentally set the tree on fire. A few weeks later, one of my fires went out of control, and first the bushes, and then the tree, caught fire. I was horrified. I ran home and saw police and fire trucks arrive and put out the fire. I watched Mrs. Hughes talking to police, and I became sick with fear, and waited upstairs in our bedroom with a terrible bellyache for the knock at the door, which never came. Mrs. Hughes, bless her heart, lied to police, blaming the fire on “a white kid” she had “never seen before.” She said, “Peter, I lied for you. You have one more chance. Never do it again.” I promised, and, shocked at the consequences of my own bad behavior, I kept my promise.
If hearing the name “Globe Dye Works” sends a shiver of recognition up your spine, Philadelphia Sculptors would love to hear from you. Philadelphia Sculptors will be producing a video portraying the history of Globe Dye Works and the role it played in the Frankford community. This will be shown in conjunction with ”Catagenesis”, a large exhibition of sculptural installations to be exhibited on Globe’s premises on Worth Street during September and October 2012. The focus of the video will be on the people whose lives were affected by the factory.
This will be an opportunity for former Globe workers, people who live(d) in the neighborhood and had a connection to Globe, or friends and relatives of Globe workers, to tell their stories and have their voices heard. Interviewers will visit the community and speak with all those interested in sharing their experiences, stories, mementos, and viewpoints on camera. No prior experience is necessary and all who are interested will be interviewed. Interviewing is set to begin immediately in order to complete the production before the show opens in September.
The video will be shown at Globe during the seven week run of the show and other venues will be sought after the show closes to make it available to a larger audience.
Anyone who is interested in being interviewed or otherwise involved in the project, or who has additional questions, should contact Leslie Kaufman at 215-413-9126 or by e-mail at lesliekaufman@verizon.net. For additional information about Philadelphia Sculptors and the upcoming exhibition, go to www.philasculptors.org.
Rick Spector
Rick Spector of Moviehouse Productions was the featured speaker at last weeks meeting at the Historical Society. I had not seen Rick before but his focus is on much more than the history of the theaters in the city. He took the crowd on a nostalgia tour through the city. He makes full use of his multimedia bag of tricks to bring the past to life. If you get the chance to see him in person, don’t miss it. Even the younger folks would be interested in seeing what the city was like only a few years ago.
