1930s Pop Culture and Sports

Music of some kind has always been a big part of living and it certainly was a vital part of our lives. The era of swing and the big bands was all the rage throughout the ‘30s with Benny Goodman setting the pace, followed quickly by Artie Shaw, the Dorsey Brothers, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, and a host of others including the inimitable Glenn Miller. Radio carried these marvelous sounds so wonderfully and it was not uncommon for a bunch of guys climbing into a family car someone was lucky enough to get for a night, and finding a quiet place to park and thrill to the musical sounds over the car radio. If somebody was thoughtful enough to bring along a bottle of cheap wine to pass around, the sounds were that much sweeter.

Then there were the dances sponsored by churches to enable young  people to fraternize in a positive environment. Favorite songs of the time would be played and you could, in turn, jitterbug or sway gently, depending upon the tempo. Through these gatherings, of course, plans for other activities could be made. Ice skating was a favorite sport for guys alone or for dates, and the Arena or Wintergarden  were popular rinks. Another great date was a ride on one of the river boats on the Mississippi. There were two of the old paddle-wheelers in the early days, until a more modern type replaced them. But they would cruise down the river every day, mostly for families, and then again at night for a more romantic trip. It was very special, especially if there happened to be a full moon reflected in the water, with sounds of a love song in the air.

Ice cream parlors where a nickel in the jukebox would deliver your favorite tune were also good places to congregate. This was a time when girls wore loose skirts and saddle shoes, and guys sported crew cuts and clothes that were actually designed to fit them. You’d stop in after a ball game or just to meet and talk. I can remember heading for the park with a buddy, a bat, ball, and a glove, and spending several hours hitting flies and grounders to each other. Or, if nobody was around, throwing a rubber ball against the steps just to while away the time. Swimming and tennis were fun pastimes in the summer months, with the former costing a bit but the latter usually free on the public courts. My buddy Paul and I often woke up around five in the morning so we could walk to the park and get on a court before anyone else. If someone was waiting to play, you had to observe a time limit so everyone had a chance.

St. Louis had two baseball teams that I remember as a kid, the Cardinals and the Browns. I think the Red Birds were in the National League and the Browns in the American, but I was always a fan of the Cards. Kids could belong to the “Knot-hole Gang” and get into Sportsman’s Park free, and I spent many afternoons cheering for Terry Moore in center field, Pepper Martin at shortstop, the Dean brothers on the mound, Enos Slaughter at second base, and a host of other favorites. The streetcar fare was only ten cents for the round trip, so a great afternoon was possible for not much money. My dad liked the Browns so we had many discussions concerning the merits of each team.

Even though the economy was picking up as the ‘30s rolled on, folks were still struggling because of the bad years and our business began to fall off. A supermarket opened nearby, and neighbors who had dealt with us for years were forced to go where the food was cheaper. The big store could sell items for less than we paid for them, so I’d often be sent to our competition to buy a quantity of a certain item which we would then resell and make a few pennies. We couldn’t help but notice that we rarely saw friendly faces of long-time customers, knowing that they were shopping elsewhere for less. Many would go around the block so we wouldn’t notice them heading for the supermarket. It got so bad that the family couldn’t afford to pay my tuition so I had to drop out of school and start working full time in the store. I didn’t grasp the significance of the situation and actually was kind of pleased to put the books aside and become an employee. Fact is, I enjoyed waiting on customers, taking orders over the phone, boxing all the items and delivering them in the family car. I can’t remember how old I was while all this was happening but I sure loved the driving part and earning a few dollars.

Our family car was a Studebaker, long gone from the automobile scene, but it served us well for many years. When I was much younger and conditions were better, we used to pile into the car and journey across the Mississippi to visit mom’s sister and her family. In the winter months it got cold so we packed blankets and got a little warm air from a vent in the floorboard. No heaters meant no defrosters so the windshield would cloud up and have to be wiped clean frequently. It was always good to get home after such a trip. Which reminds me of another crossing of the River, one I made on my bike. I had inherited this old “racer” from my brother and I rode it everywhere. It had those skinny tires, no brakes, and curled handlebars, and you stopped forward movement by jamming your foot between the frame and the front wheel. So one day I decided to surprise my aunt Catherine with a visit and off I rode, across the then “free” bridge and into East St. Louis, Illinois. Aunt Catherine was indeed surprised, as was my mother who, when she learned what I had done, advised me that we would discuss the matter when I returned home. I didn’t know what all the fuss was about but, fortified with a baloney sandwich with ketchup, I made the trip back and had to promise never to do anything that foolhardy again. Another trip comes to mind, this one with my buddy, Jim. We rode our bikes to Lambert Field, a long ride from South St. Louis, but with a plan in mind. We had saved for ages and each had a dollar plus to spend. We found a pilot who flew an open cockpit plane and dickered a ride for two dollars. We were small enough to sit together and were treated to the thrill of a lifetime, a circle over the St. Louis area, wearing helmets with goggles. It couldn’t get any better than that.