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June,
1945
Marguerite and Carolyn |
Once upon a pre-war time, many homemakers
visited or called their local grocer, placed an order, and the
kindly grocer had it delivered to their homes. World War II
commercial gas rationing brought this happy practice to a rapid
conclusion. The result to Mrs. Homemaker was that she always
did her marketing in person.
During peacetime, grocery shopping had been
an uneventful task of perhaps an hour's duration. Generally,
it was completely successful. During the war years it became
a task which required the collection of all our money, ration
books, loose stamps and tokens, and our entire set of remaining
wits. It was a task never completed in any set period of time
and was more like a treasure hunt than an orderly activity.
For this reason, marketing became quite an adventure!
By the time War Ration Book Four was in
effect, blue ration stamp items — canned fruits and vegetables
— were usually available on our grocer's shelves. Except
for the terrifically high point values on canned fruits, we
now found it very easy to budget our blue stamps for the required
period. We frequently found we even had enough remaining points
to permit indulgence in a coveted can or jar of our favorite
coupon-heavy food.
It was the problem of meat that now confounded
the family shopper. We all knew that we had to plan with care
the use of our few red ration points for meat. The problem —
and it was a major problem — was finding a butcher
who had any meat at all for sale.
Purchasing the family meat under the earlier
provisions of Book Two now seemed so simple. At that time each
grocer had plenty of meat and we merely bought our allotted
share. But now the butcher cases were often bare except for
a few bones — the sort of bones
at which a pre-war dog would have turned up his nose.
Searching and Waiting…
All the stores in our neighborhood were in more or less the
same meatless condition. And it did not matter how hard or long
you searched. Should one persevere and travel from one grocer
to another, canvassing all the nearby meat departments, it was
still likely that we would come home empty-handed.
Of course there were meat deliveries to
the individual grocers, but on an irregular basis and often
with inconsistent and disappointing meat supplies. Nevertheless,
each deliveryman must have felt he was a modern hero because
there was a crowd waiting wherever he stopped. Hours before
he reached the store, a long line had formed at the meat counter.
Each person was clutching a number setting his or her turn to
be served by the butcher.
Once the meat was deposited behind the counter,
the would-be purchasers could scarcely restrain themselves long
enough for the butcher to prepare it for sale. Daring members
of the crowd might even taunt the butcher in hopes of speeding
his efforts.
During the butcher's skillful operations
the excitement soared, the crowd shuffled and shifted from one
direction to another. People stood on tiptoe, straining to get
a glimpse of the treasured meat. Noses were pressed against
the glass showcase. Latecomers tried unsuccessfully to edge
forward through the mob of packed humanity. There was widespread
speculation regarding the number of roasts or steaks. Bets were
placed as to how many customers could be served before the hamburger
ran out. Pessimists were certain there would be nothing at all
left by the time their number was reached. Many persons left
in disgust or from fatigue and their numbers were snatched up
by newcomers.
At last the wares were prepared and the
sales begun. Naturally it was a question of first-come-first-served
and the holders of the lowest numbers had the best selection.
Generally, during the most critical period of the meat shortage,
butchers restricted the amount and/or type of meat an individual
could purchase. In this manner the meager supply could serve
more customers. Even so the latecomers had little from which
to choose when their turn came.
Many disgruntled customers went home with
but a single frankfurter or a soup bone for their efforts. Others
purchased meat they actually disliked rather than leave empty-handed.
And there were always dozens of disappointed shoppers who saw
the last morsel of anything resembling meat purchased before
their turns came. Those unfortunate customers sometimes waited
on the faint possibility that additional meat might be delivered
rather than stand at the end of the meat line in another store.
More often than not, they would have to return home and fix
scrambled eggs for dinner.
The long wait at the butcher counter did,
however, give us plenty of time to scour the other departments
of the store in search of desired foodstuffs. Usually, we could
complete the rest of our shopping long, long before the butcher
was ready for us.
Meat Was Hardly
the Only Shortage…
Meat was not the only scarce commodity. At times all the red
points in the world could not purchase a few cans of evaporated
milk. The scarcity of this item became doubly important to us
after our baby was born. No matter what the merits of one brand
over another might be, we soon learned to be thankful for a
few cans of any brand.
The butter situation was chronically discouraging. Beginning
at the humble level of eight ration points per pound, the value
of butter grew and grew until it finally reached a maximum of
twenty-four points! No longer did we call it by its proper name
but now — with proper reverence
— we referred to it as twenty-four karat gold.
Needless to say, little if any genuine butter
rested in our family refrigerator, for our combined family ration
books could have purchased but one pound weekly of this luxury
and only then at the sacrifice of all other meat and cheese
products. Of course, oleomargarine was a wonderful substitute.
We thought so. So did all our friends. And so the inevitable
happened. Since there was such a great demand for margarine
its point values skyrocketed, too. Before long the value placed
on margarine was not far behind that on butter. And, as with
meat, the purchase of either product was possible only when
a supply could be found. At the grocer's discretion only a half
or even a quarter pound would be sold to each customer.
In addition to the items rationed by law,
others were at times so scarce that that each grocer was permitted
to impose a type of temporary rationing. I can remember many
weeks when there were no onions, lettuce or potatoes at all.
During one such period, we were visiting family in Philadelphia
and found local potatoes in a market there. We were so excited
to find them that we purchased our entire rationed allotment
despite being hours from home. It was a long time before we
forgot the experience of having to lug all those pounds of potatoes
home on the train along with our suitcases!
The banana shortage was in a class all its
own. For over a year we did not have one in our kitchen. When
they did appear in a store it was sufficient cause for a brief
but stormy panic. The rare sight of the banana basket was enough
to instantly revive the weary waiters at the meat counter and
always furnished an exciting diversion. In our haste to reach
the grab bag in time no one's child, feet, hat or purse were
safe. Once we had succeeded in snatching our bananas we faced
the problem of retreat, back through the path of the oncoming
horde. Often our bananas were smashed to a pulp in the process
but even that did not diminish our sense of victory!
The sugar shortage resulted in a corresponding
shortage in soft drinks, gelatin products, pudding mixes and
candy, not to mention affecting any baking of cakes, cookies
or pies.
The scarcity of fats and oils caused lard,
mayonnaise and salad dressings to vanish from the shelves. And
during the entire wartime, soaps and soap flakes were always
hard to find, a condition that persisted for some time after
the war, too.
Paper and paper products were generally
in short supply. This was particularly evident in the grocery
stores. Brown paper bags were virtually non-existent. As a substitute
we were offered large cardboard cartons originally used for
packing canned goods. The capacity of these boxes was considerably
greater than the average pre-war paper sack, and the industrious
checker always managed to pack in every single item of our grocery
order. If we were unable to pull, drag, shove or bounce our
carton into our automobile, assistance was offered. Alas, no
similar assistance was available once we reached home and so
carrying groceries into one's home or apartment could be a lengthy
procedure.
Adding an Infant
to the Equation…
If my grocery shopping was a bad dream, it turned immediately
into a full-fledged nightmare after our daughter, Carolyn, was
born! I just couldn't take a newborn infant with me. We lived
too far, I thought, to push her in her carriage. Even if this
had not been true the time element was a major handicap. Many
mothers did take their babies with them but I always felt sorry
for both mother and child. The poor babies, kept waiting long
beyond their scheduled feeding, cried piteously. The distraught
mothers, showing signs of increasing nervousness, tried anxiously
to appease their shrieking infants long enough to receive their
long awaited turns at the butcher counter. Observing that shopping
with a tiny infant was a task calling for unusual patience and
fortitude, I tried desperately to avoid it.
Unfortunately, this reduced my shopping
times to hours when my husband was off duty or on the rare occasions
when I could find someone else to stay with our baby. And few
of these times coincided with a meat delivery at the grocery
store. It seemed we would be reduced to dining on scrambled
eggs or noodles indefinitely. And then a ray of hope appeared...
In nearby apartments were two small babies
whose mothers had recently tried a cooperative plan for grocery
shopping. One mother kept both infants while the other did marketing
for two families. I begged and pleaded for an opportunity to
join their ranks and make it a threesome. Blinded by enthusiasm
I was then able to see only the advantages of such a scheme
and did not bother to think of the headaches that were inevitably
to follow.
The combination of three different grocery
lists, three sets of money and three groups of ration books
to be operated by one pair of hands and one muddled brain was
just too much for me! No matter how strategically I planned
my line of advance through the grocery aisles I always discovered
I had forgotten Mrs. Powers' lemons or lettuce in the produce
department or even worse I had completely overlooked the canned
milk on Mrs. Weiss' list.
Everything was never available in one grocery
store so the lists had to be brought up to date for each market
I entered. Butchers were skeptical when I pleaded that I was
shopping for three families and generally they would allow me
but one family's quota. Some items were not to be found anywhere
and I was constantly trying to decide whether it would be better
to guess at a different selection or to return home empty handed.
Even the grocery carts presented a problem
as one was never large enough for three sets of groceries. I
could either attempt to push two of these carts through the
crowded store or carry one load in my arms.
The final blow came at the cashier's box
when I attempted to pay for these three different sets of groceries.
As I waited in line, enduring the malicious glances of these
standing behind me and facing the unwelcome stare of the helpless
cashier, it was all I could do to stand my ground. Those behind
me took one look at my mountain of groceries and shifted to
another line whenever possible. And when the checkers learned
that I had three separate orders, requiring three separate checks
and three ration stamp adjustments I'm sure they wanted to strangle
me. Finally, I would further irritate the customers behind me
while I fumbled for the money, ration stamps and loose tokens,
painstakingly counting the change into three different purses.
And no matter how hard I tried, by the time I returned home
all our stamps, tokens and money were all hopelessly confused.
I never knew whether I was an asset or a
liability to our little corporation. I did know that it required
longer to recuperate from one of these shopping expeditions
than to do the actual shopping. Dejectedly, I admitted defeat
and resigned from the partnership.
Carolyn Comes, Too
— My Worst Idea…
Finally the day arrived when I felt it was time to take Carolyn
with me to the store. By this time she could walk quite well
— but instead of merely walking she always ran as
fast as her little legs could carry her. Probably I will never
know what madness convinced me to believe it would be easier
to take her with me at this time rather than when she could
remain safely anchored in one place. Some little girls are docile
dolls; mine, as you will see, was not. At any rate, I felt it
would be a new adventure for her. It was that indeed!
Nothing in her short life before had been
so fascinating as the inside of the grocery store! Scarcely
before I realized she had escaped, she had scampered into the
colorful fresh produce department, yanked an orange from the
bottom row of a beautiful, symmetrical arrangement of the fruit
and precipitated an avalanche of the entire display. Though
onlookers were pelted, Carolyn escaped unscathed.
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Carolyn...
Terror of the
Grocery Aisles! |
Before I could grab her she raced to the
canned goods section and repeated her experiment with a remarkable
degree of success. Although I finally managed to grab her, she
was constantly on the alert for any relaxation of my vigilance
and eluded my grasp whenever possible. She successfully poked
holes in the wrappers of bread, cookies and popcorn. She tore
the labels from the noodles, macaroni and spaghetti. She returned
to the scene of her first conquest, this time to attack the
broccoli and cauliflower. The final catastrophe occurred when
she spied the pickle jars, grappled with the largest one in
sight and, before I could catch her, hurled a quart of dills
onto the cement floor. Elated over her newest accomplishment,
she paddled in the salty brine and fingered the shiny fragments
of glass until I could reach her.
Mortified, weary and angry, I mumbled an
apology to the manager, paid for the pickles and carried my
gleeful child from the store. I deposited her in the car, locked
the door and, deaf to her sudden shrieks, returned to collect
my groceries.
And so I admitted defeat in the grocery
wars. From then on, we shopped as we had before. Either my husband
bought the groceries on his way home or I went when he was there
to stay with Carolyn. This procedure was much easier on my nerves
and our family budget. And having scrambled eggs for dinner
on a regular basis wasn't nearly as upsetting as tackling the
market with my toddler, the terror!
Editor's
note:
For
all the friends and family members who remember our oldest child
as a small boy, I believe the question of whom he “takes
after” has now been answered!
C.G.F.
