I am going to take you back to 1948, and up to the present day, 2020.
My sister, two years older, and I grew up with my mom and dad in a one-bedroom apartment on South Prince Street in Lancaster, across from St. Mary’s Church.
I remember Queen Dairy bringing our milk every day in a wagon pulled by a horse. His name was Dick.
We had a black phone that you had to dial, and it had a party line that you had to share with other neighbors.
The Holsum bread truck came and brought bread and buns. We went to all the local schools, and had to come home for lunch.
If you got sick, the doctor would come to your house. He had a black bag, and you had to pay cash before he left.
We ate pretty good, and on Fridays we would have Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks.
Our dog never ate dog food; he would eat all our leftovers. By the way, he cost 50 cents at the dog shelter.
There were corner stores on almost every corner, and lots of penny candy.
My dad’s car was 15 years old, and it had wings on the windows to let in air. It also had a choke you pulled out to start the car.
Mister Softee would come by in the summer, and you could get ice cream when he rang the bell.
We bought soft pretzels along city streets.
We had Watt & Shand, Garvin’s and Hager department stores. The Army & Navy Store (on West King Street) was also neat.
My sister and I are now retired, and I look back at all these neat things we grew up with.
New things are nice, and make life easy, but I still miss the good old days.
The author lives in Willow Street.
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