Recently on a TV series set in the late 1950s, I noticed everything from cigarette packs to breakfast cereals. The parking meters took pennies then. How impossible does that sound now?
It got me thinking about all that has vanished from our shared popular culture. I soon realized that one of the mainstays of my childhood is not relegated to misty memories: the milkman.
I think three must be people driving trucks around in 2018 who drop off dairy products somewhere. Perhaps in more rural settings, but there was a time when neighborhood streets were familiar territory for early morning milk trucks. In my neighborhood, there were Adohr, Carnation, Arden, Golden State, and a few others all vying to be the one who dropped off a couple of bottles of milk, or perhaps eggs and cottage cheese. The Milk Man was a welcome visitor. Not only did he (there were probably a few women) make Rice Krispies and Frosted Flakes possible, he was the source of ice to kids looking for something to do on a warm summer day. Those milk trucks were intriguing vehicles too. Cases of milk and dairy products packed in ice and two open doors enabling the driver to go on either side of the street to make deliveries. Often while the delivery was being made, we kids would hop inside the truck and nab a piece of ice. Nice chunks that refreshed.
On rare occasions, if the milkman had to shuffle a few cases of milk around, he'd leave a pile of snow in the street. Great discovery on a day that would reach 95 degrees before the sun set. On a good day, the milk truck would be followed by a bakery truck. That meant fresh bread, bagels, doughnuts, and Danishes at your doorstep. I recall the double doors in the rear of those trucks opening to reveal glass cases framed in beautifully finished wood with chrome handles. Those drawers held a miniature bakery. Those days are gone now. Having a drone drop off morning essentials would hardly be the same.
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