Vintage Things That Have Disappeared In Your Lifetime?

[LizzieMaine]

We did the same things here with clam and lobster shells. Grind 'em up and throw 'em in the garden.

 

[PeterGunnLives]

I know of a couple of cafes that let you take used grounds for your garden, or whatever else you might want to use them for.

As far as clothing goes, in bigger cities there are definitely boutique shops that specialize in finer dressier clothing, if you know where to look. It's more of a specialty thing rather than an everyday go-to for everybody.

 

[Shibumi]

I'm sure it's been mentioned before, but here's the Drive In I used to sneak into when I was a kid.

 

[tonyb]

I'm sure it's been mentioned before, but here's the Drive In I used to sneak into when I was a kid.

Long gone, I suspect.

 

[2jakes]

Original drive-in:

Restoration:

The only way to watch a classic horror movie!


Courtesy of Mother Nature.

 

[BobHufford]

I'm sure it's been mentioned before, but here's the Drive In I used to sneak into when I was a kid.

None left here in town, but there is one about 60 miles away that was brought back from the dead.

 

[Zombie_61]

We did the same things here with clam and lobster shells. Grind 'em up and throw 'em in the garden.

My dad worked for Pan Pacific Fisheries on Terminal Island, California, which processed tuna for human and animal consumption. After they would remove the meat from the tuna they would take the leftovers--heads, tails, fins, bones, guts, whatever--dry them out, and grind them into a coarse powder they called "fishmeal". Best fertilizer ever!

 

[green papaya]

WW1 - WW2 vets, everybody's father was a WW2 vet , now most are age 90 and up, and most have passed away.

 

[LizzieMaine]

My childhood eye doctor was a WW1 vet, and had a panoramic view of his Army company on the wall of his exam room, which I found endlessly fascinating, because he was the only one in the group with glasses on. I tell the kids that I knew and interacted with such a man, and they look at me like I'm even more of an antique than I actually am.

My family hit the sweet spot: my grandfather was too young for WW1 and too married with kids for WWII. My father and uncle were both too young for Korea and too old for Viet Nam. While I had a great uncle in the merchant marine who did some heroic deeds, the military in general was not a topic upon which we dwelt. My grandfather's service was limited to serving in the AWS, sitting on the roof of the Full Gospel Church with a pair of binoculars and a pint of liquid cheer to keep off the chill.

 

[LizzieMaine]

My dad worked for Pan Pacific Fisheries on Terminal Island, California, which processed tuna for human and animal consumption. After they would remove the meat from the tuna they would take the leftovers--heads, tails, fins, bones, guts, whatever--dry them out, and grind them into a coarse powder they called "fishmeal". Best fertilizer ever!

Oh, boy, the stories I could tell. We had a fish meal processing plant right here in town up until 1989, and my oh my, it was, as Jean Shepherd would say, "The King Kong of Stinks." They used pogies, which are the oiliest, stinkiest, most worthless fish there is, and rendered them down into fertilizer, producing a great greasy green cloud that hung over the whole town like a gigantic dirty gym sock. People would routinely call in bomb threats to the factory on hot days in August just to force them to shut down long enough to let the smell ease up a bit, but there was never a time the smell didn't climb up your nostrils and blackjack you into submission. I grew next to a town that processed poultry, and the entire surface of the bay was a solid mat of chicken feathers, blood, and fat -- the locals called it "Schmaltzville" -- but that stink was like a May basket compared to the pogie plant.

The plant finally shut down -- apparently the Soviets were cornering the world market on pogie fertilizer or something -- and about a month after it closed it went up in flames in the most spectacular bit of arson I ever covered in all my years as a reporter. The boards in the building were so soaked in sixty years' worth of pogie oil that the place burned like a gigantic kerosene torch that could be clearly seen six miles away. It's the only time a plant shut-down was greeted with cheers, even by the poor desperate souls who had worked there.

 

[Zombie_61]

There were a few processing rooms at Pan Pacific that were better left unentered; the smells were so pervasive that they almost replaced the oxygen.

My last place of employment was about a mile north of a Farmer John processing plant and two "rendering" plants (where they "recycle" slaughterhouse wastes into various products), and usually downwind of them as well. If we were lucky, the air was filled with the aroma of cooking pork products; if not, the stench (especially during the hot summer months) could be nauseating. We were rarely lucky. After working there for a few years most of us got so used to it that we paid it no attention. But every once-in-a-while a visitor to our happy little company would comment on the smell while trying not to vomit, and we'd look at each other, sniff the air sampling the stink of the moment, and say, "It's not so bad today."

 

[ChiTownScion]

WW1 - WW2 vets, everybody's father was a WW2 vet , now most are age 90 and up, and most have passed away.

Had a lot of teachers, bosses, and other mentors who were World War II vets as I was coming up. They were terrific role models. First boss had been a young tank officer under Patton. Another supervisor had been a waist gunner (Mighty 8th) on a B-17. The guy who hired me for my career position was a Navy vet who had seen a lot in the Pacific war. I actually am sad to lose them all: great guys individually, but I have to contemplate what a real perk it was to have men like that teaching me the realities of life. Kids today will never know that, sadly.

I remember when I started dating. Went out with a few gals whose fathers tried to play the hard ass tough guy bit, and were not World War II veterans. In fact, the most insufferable of the lot had never served at all.

I also dated gals whose dads were World War II vets (like my dad) and they were generally more mellow and tolerant. Always thought that was an interesting dynamic, the way it played out. The guys who had actually "seen it all" wanted no part of tough guy posturing, and were, as a whole, fairly accepting of others who might be different.

 

[LizzieMaine]

A man I knew from church had seen and done some horrific things in the Air Corps-- and was one of the kindest, gentlest men I ever knew, the very antithesis of the "professional veteran." He didn't refuse to discuss what he'd seen and done, but neither did he allow it to control the rest of his life. He came home, settled down, and spent the rest of his life running an apple orchard.

He had served in the same unit with an airman by the name of Johnny Most. If you know New England sports at all, you know that name -- he was the long-time radio broadcaster for the Boston Celtics. My friend loved to tell how young Johnny had a rich, mellow voice -- but the carton-a-day smoking habit he picked up in the service gave him the rusty scrap-metal voice for which he would become legendary.

 

[LizzieMaine]

There were a few processing rooms at Pan Pacific that were better left unentered; the smells were so pervasive that they almost replaced the oxygen.

My last place of employment was about a mile north of a Farmer John processing plant and two "rendering" plants (where they "recycle" slaughterhouse wastes into various products), and usually downwind of them as well. If we were lucky, the air was filled with the aroma of cooking pork products; if not, the stench (especially during the hot summer months) could be nauseating. We were rarely lucky. After working there for a few years most of us got so used to it that we paid it no attention. But every once-in-a-while a visitor to our happy little company would comment on the smell while trying not to vomit, and we'd look at each other, sniff the air sampling the stink of the moment, and say, "It's not so bad today."

"Easternmost in Quality, Westernmost in Aroma!"

 

[HudsonHawk]

A couple of random responses:

Proper shoe stores, where a clerk sets you down, measures your foot, tells you all about the shoe, will return when people are willing to pay three times the price for the shoe. The reason for self service anything, be it shoes or gasoline, are that people don't want to pay an extra nickel for the extra service.

Percolator coffee: I happen to like perc coffee. It used to be that percolators just boiled the grounds and you were just recycling boiled, burnt coffee. But today's models don't have that problem. They keep a fairly constant temperature and shut off automatically.

Grease: my mother has a grease jar in the stove. It's a porcelain jar with a sieve that filters out the lumpy stuff and only let's the good stuff through. Growing up almost everyone I knew had one. It was simply part of the kitchen. Today, if I don't save it, I throw the grease in the trash. If I have a can or something to pour it into I'll use that. If not, a small piece of aluminum foil can make a fine little cup in which to pour hot grease. I never pour it in the sink.

 

[HudsonHawk]

He had served in the same unit with an airman by the name of Johnny Most. If you know New England sports at all, you know that name -- he was the long-time radio broadcaster for the Boston Celtics. My friend loved to tell how young Johnny had a rich, mellow voice -- but the carton-a-day smoking habit he picked up in the service gave him the rusty scrap-metal voice for which he would become legendary.

"Havlicek stole the ball!!!"

I once had an HR manager with that same voice. She kind of looked like Most too.

 

[ChrisB]

A man I knew from church had seen and done some horrific things in the Air Corps-- and was one of the kindest, gentlest men I ever knew, the very antithesis of the "professional veteran." He didn't refuse to discuss what he'd seen and done, but neither did he allow it to control the rest of his life. He came home, settled down, and spent the rest of his life running an apple orchard.

My father, having survived combat in WW2, spent the rest of his life amazed that he was still alive. When he talked of his experiences, he emphasized that aside from the times when someone was trying to kill you, the life of a frontline soldier was one of misery: living in muddy holes which you had to dig several times a day, bad food, dysentery. His chief criticism of war movies was that the soldiers were not dirty enough. He went through this in the same regiment as his twin brother, up until the day he (my father) was wounded. They both died last year, within 3 months of each other.

It is hard for me to see that generation slipping away.

 

[Harp]

I also dated gals whose dads were World War II vets (like my dad) and they were generally more mellow and tolerant...

While home on leave from the Army I met one of my sister's girlfriends at a party, and she suggested we go over to her house
and shoot some pool in the basement; so we could be alone together. Her dad was a WWII Army vet, and had run out for cigarettes
when we arrived, and he was not too happy that his daughter had brought home a GI. A few years later when I was in college he and I
ran into each other at church and shared a laugh over his past discomfiture.

 

[PeterGunnLives]

I think the Nordstrom shoe department is pretty close to the classic-type shoe store.

 

[2jakes]

WW1 - WW2 vets, everybody's father was a WW2 vet , now most are age 90 and up, and most have passed away.

I came to that realization three years ago when my dad, WW2 vet
passed away.
Also all the men in the family who had an influence on me are gone.
I have an uncle who was like a father.
He lives in another city.
I can no longer talk to him on the telephone because of his problem
with hearing. I visit as much as I can even though lately he no
longer recognizes me.

I went to a high school reunion once.
Never again.
All my teachers and most of my school friends are gone.

My best friend when I was in the military (Vietnam) died last spring.

I'm making the most of life and still enjoy many things although
as time goes on, many loved ones
are gone.
I face the lonely moments more
satisfied. Having been blessed
for the many that are still in
my heart .