New Seniors

When I was a kid, there was always something going on in my neighborhood.  I remember the daily routine of the milk man and bakery guy showing up each morning, first with horse drawn wagons and later in little trucks.  The mail was delivered twice a day and the trash as well as garbage wagons picked up twice a week.  And it seemed that there was a coal delivery for someone every week.  And this was just the beginning.

Ice was still delivered to homes until well after WWII ended.  People used to put little signs in their front windows to indicate how much they needed.  In the summer the boys on the block used to wait for the ice truck to pull up; and when the man was delivering his frosty product, we would hop in the back, grab a few slivers then high-tail it to the corner before the man returned from making the delivery, and then sit on the curb in front of the corner grocer’s to enjoy this free treat.  When he chased us away, we moved to the other corner were the drug store was located.  We used the same curbs to eat watermelon, if we were lucky enough to get a slice, and see how far we could spit the seeds.  Around Halloween, even though the cement was cold, we plopped ourselves down to eat pomegranates because our mom’s didn’t want us getting the red stuff all over the house,

We watched the produce hucksters make their rounds and the fish peddlers too; even the fresh horseradish man came around periodically.  The Italian water ice cart and the ice cream truck rolled by every warm afternoon.   And the hand-powered merry-go-round stopped at the corner, and a little old organ grinder with his monkey came by every couple of weeks.  Once in a while a man showed up with a pony.  He stopped showing up after realizing no one wanted to pay a nickel to sit on the moth-eaten animal or shell out a quarter to have a picture taken with the steed.

This wasn’t the end of the procession.  The big department stores were downtown.  They delivered, since the mothers couldn’t carry much home on public transportation.  Each store had its own trucks and delivered on different days of the week.  Plus, there were the debit insurance representatives that collected weekly along with the morning and evening newspaper boys and the people selling everything from brushes to vacuum cleaners to encyclopedias all making their way from house to house.  It was a captive market, since most moms stayed home; but I don’t know how well they responded to the sales pitches.

Money was tight until late in the 1940s when the economy opened up, new cars became available, television came on the scene, suburban branches of the downtown stores began to appear in newly constructed shopping centers.  That’s when American’s started to spend.  And we haven’t stopped; there were a few slow-downs along the way but we always came back and bought more.  For years we jumped into our cars, fought the traffic in search of the places that carried the things we want to buy, loaded up the trunk or the cargo area, and took our treasures home.  Now, we go online, order whatever we need, and have it delivered.  It’s convenient and efficient; but for this pre-boomer, it’s a long way from the ongoing activities and interactions that once took place on one little street in Northeast Philadelphia when I was a kid.

Don Potter: Editor-in-Chief

Don Potter, a veteran of the ad agency business, is a Philadelphia native currently living in Los Angeles. He is the author of an acclaimed marketing book, The 50+ Boomer: Your Key to 76 Million Consumers. In retirement, Potter has written two novels, hundreds of articles and is a frequent lecturer. A leading advocate for those 65+, he is a founder of NewSeniors.com.

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